Getting over him before Sunrise

A friend of mine recently went through a heartbreak. And let me tell you, when you're in your late thirties, breakups aren’t just emotional—they’re logistically complex. One person cries herself to sleep; the other (me) becomes a part-time therapist with no benefits.

That grey, tragic night, I arrived late to find her curled up on my couch like a defeated potato, looking absolutely miserable and dangerously close to giving up her search for Mr. Right in favor of Mr. Carbs.

This woman - once full of dreams, hopes, ambition—was now full of garlic bread and fries. I was still trying to process how someone so dainty could inhale food for three and knew then: the Five Stages of Grief had checked in and were settling down for a few weeks. But somehow, she managed to fast-forward through them all, in a single night, impressive in a slightly concerning way.

It all began, as it usually does, with Denial.

Between gulps of wine and soggy sniffles, she composed a long, heartfelt message to her now-ex. It was a literary masterpiece of emotional maturity—she empathized with his stress, took responsibility for being “too focused on work,” and even suggested they take a little space to cool off. She blamed herself with such grace, I started wondering if she had broken up with him. While she went on typing like an expert stenographer, she also gave me a TED Talk (unsolicited) on how he clearly still loved her and was just confused. Final verdict “Poor him, he has no clue what he is doing”.

Then, the time it took me to put my phone on charge, she propelled into Anger.

The heartfelt texts gave way to fiery voice notes. There she was—voice raised, eyes blazing—declaring that she was the best thing to ever happen to him. She was a 10; he was a generous 3. She compromised, sacrificed and moisturized, only for him to throw it all away? The audacity! Each “sent” message came with a sharp rise in decibel levels.There were so many beeps in those voice notes, that for a second it scared me as well and a little prayer did leave my lips for the man at the receiving end.

Somewhere between fries and a late-night pizza, she entered the tunnel of Bargaining.

This was the “Let's make a deal” phase, and I—unwillingly—became her emotional finance advisor. “What if we stay apart for a week? He’ll realize my worth, right?” she asked, eyes wide with hope. Then came the ultimate decision: “Should I buy concert tickets for him and all his friends?”—the concert being ₹25,000 a head and his “friends” being a small cricket team. I was mentally calculating how many months of rent that would cost. Phew!!

And then, just like that, it arrived — the most dreaded guest of all. Depression.

It didn’t knock, it barged in. Tears flowed and sighs echoed. She had transformed — not into the classic Cinderella fleeing the ball — but into one who ran toward the palace, clutching her shoe like it was a boarding pass to Happily Ever After. Desperate for the Prince, the Ring, the Forever.

"What’s the point of slaying life if I have no man to share a bowl of popcorn with?” she sobbed, her mascara making a dramatic exit down her cheeks, while her nose went full clown mode.

At exactly 4:02 a.m., came the royal proclamation: “I don’t want to die alone. I don’t want to be a fierce, independent woman with plants and cats. I want a man to love me.” I wanted to say something profound, instead I whispered the most cliché line ever invented:“Everything will be fine, my love”. Spoiler: it wasn’t. Not yet, anyway.

Somewhere between the sun peeking in to say hey and me fumbling for my coffee flask like a half awake raccoon, she hit the final stage : Acceptance.

“Maybe he met someone else. Maybe I will too. Maybe it was a life lesson. Maybe he never loved me.” Her maybes multiplied like rabbits. Then, without drama, she got up, brushed her hair, plugged in her phone, and headed to bed. “I think I’ll sleep in today. You have a good day at work.” Spoiler: I was not going to have a good day—I looked like a sleep-deprived owl. But she? She seemed lighter, like the storm had finally passed in a single night.

I switched off the lights, drew the curtains and quietly locked the door where she slept. Hopefully, peacefully.