The Second Sunrise…

Karthik woke up before his alarm that morning — not out of excitement, but because he hadn’t really slept. There was something about turning 37 that made the walls of his rented apartment feel tighter. The fan squeaked a little louder. The ceiling looked a little emptier. And his mind, as usual, wouldn’t stop asking: “Is this all there is?” He sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the half-open cupboard.

One side held ironed formals. The other had cricket gloves he hadn’t touched in years. Both smelled like choices he had stopped making. Work started in an hour. But today, something inside him said: pause. So instead of booting up his laptop, Karthik laced up his old running shoes and stepped out. No destination. No plan. Just him. The early breeze.

The rhythm of footsteps on forgotten roads. And then, he saw it. The sun rising over the city skyline — golden, quiet, unapologetically new. He stopped walking. Closed his eyes. Took a long breath. It wasn’t just a sunrise. It was his. That morning didn’t fix everything. His inbox still overflowed. His manager still pinged with “urgent” tasks. His heart still carried the weight of missed chances and unspoken dreams.

But for the first time in years, Karthik felt something stir inside him — not pressure, not anxiety. Possibility. He didn’t quit his job that day. He didn’t post a #newbeginnings selfie either. He just started rebuilding — quietly, steadily. A few handwritten pages each night. One ignored call from his boss on Sunday. A cricket bat, dusted off and held with reverence. The world didn’t notice the change. But Karthik did. He was no longer surviving sunrises. He was chasing them.

We don’t always need a dramatic turning point to restart our lives. Sometimes, all it takes is a single morning where we choose ourselves