They don't ask, "Are you happy?" anymore. They just assume I am. And I let them. I nod, I say, "Yeah, just busy," like that explains everything. But the truth is, I'm tired of feeling like I'm running late to my own life. Everyone's building their lives, chasing dreams, finding purpose, and I'm here, trying to convince myself I'm not too late. It's not jealousy. It's this dull ache that maybe I'm missing something everyone else already knows. I laugh, I say "I'm fine," I pretend I'm okay with where I am. But inside, it burns. I lie awake at night wondering why I feel stuck when I'm doing everything I can. I don't talk about it. No one really does. We just keep pretending we're fine, hoping one day we actually will be.