Chapter 6: Thai on my skin

She returned home with skin sun-warmed and journal pages swollen with sea air and scribbled truths. Her suitcase carried the lingering scent of frangipani and freedom. Her soul carried something else entirely... not a thunderclap or a grand epiphany, but a quiet, unshakable knowing. Like something ancient in her had settled.

She was greeted with gentle hugs at the airport. There was no dramatic reunion. Just her stepping out into the arrivals hall, breathing in familiar air and realising: she had come back different.

And that was going to change everything.

 The Marriage, Rewritten

The new energy she carried was subtle, but unmistakable. She didn’t rush to unpack or launch into family logistics. She made hot honey lemon ginger drink barefoot in the kitchen, humming Rick Astley to herself, hips swaying slightly as the steam curled up, as if her body remembered freedom before her mind did.

That night, she climbed into bed next to him, still wearing salt on her skin, and said quietly, “I don’t want to go back to the way it was.”
He turned to her, kindly. “Yes.”

He understood. It wasn’t going to be easy, but it was necessary for both of them. He reached for her hand under the covers. His palm was warm, familiar. He didn’t speak for a long time. And then, “Okay.”

What followed wasn’t instant transformation. There were silences. Clashes. Learning curves. But also… laughter. Playfulness. The rediscovery of each other beyond survival mode.

 They hiked together. Camped. Slept under stars that had witnessed both love and war in equal measure — and somehow still shone. One morning, after hiking a mountain trail that left her flushed and breathless, she looked at him sweat-soaked, grinning, swearing  and thought: I like you.

Not just love. Not just duty. But like.

 And when they did yoga together, she laughed as he struggled to do the yogi squat, knowing that teasing him was her love language, and that if she was scolding back, it meant she was fully checked into the marriage.

They held hands in the car again. Sometimes they would argue about the little things. Sometimes they lay side by side, scrolling silently, legs touching, fully content.

Their love didn’t need fireworks anymore. It needed fresh air, small adventures, and the ability to say, “I need space today,” without fear of unraveling. There was no illusion of perfection just a raw, real togetherness they were finally strong enough to carry.

A Life That Feels Like Hers

Her own life...that small, quiet corner of the world that belonged to her alone... began to bloom.

She woke early, not to get ahead of the day but to sit with it. A cup of lemon balm tea in hand, morning air on her face, birdsong not as background noise but as melody.

She lit candles on Tuesdays for no reason. Danced barefoot in the kitchen while the dhal simmered. Stopped waiting for occasions to wear her caftans.

She wrote like she used to (not for an audience), but for release. Scribbled truths onto everything. Sometimes just three words: I am enough. Sometimes whole monologues to her younger self. And sometimes love notes to no one in particular, just because the words had to be said.

 She no longer filled every gap in the day. She took herself on solo lunches. Spent entire afternoons reading under fuzzy blankets and dimmed lights. She disappeared sometimes, but not in the old way, not to avoid. This time, to connect.

Her phone was filled with voice notes her people... brilliant, brave, funny women from London to Montenegro, and Oman to Riyadh, Cape Town to Italy , all vibrantly in a quest to live life knowing joy well.

 She wasn’t always peaceful. Some days she still lost her keys, cried at the traffic lights, cursed careless drivers. But she didn’t spiral. She anchored herself in breath, in playlists, in the plants she finally had time to learn how to grow.

She was still 80% cool, 20% manic (and that felt just right(.

She wears her graying hairs proudly. And still prefer hiking boots over high heels. She can sing every lyric to her favourite songs and swear like a sailor in the same breath.

She wasn’t a new woman.

She was the same one, just a little more forgiving and kinder to herself.