The Group Chat Isn’t Home Anymore

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It used to feel like a safe place.

Every inside joke. Every 2AM meme. Every photo that didn’t make it to Instagram but made us laugh anyway. The group chat was more than just texts, it was a rhythm. A habit. A shared pulse.

Now, it’s just noise.

I still read the messages. I still react sometimes. But I don’t feel like I live there anymore.

And nothing happened. That’s the weird part. There was no big fight, no falling out. Just… slow spacing. The kind that creeps up in quiet ways. People stopped replying fast. Or at all. Plans were made without asking. Or I stopped showing up. Maybe both.

Sometimes I stare at the screen and wonder if they notice I’ve gone quiet.
Other times, I reply like nothing’s changed because pretending is easier than explaining a feeling I can’t even name.

I scroll through the chat and catch myself smiling at old messages. But it’s not the warm kind of nostalgia. It’s the kind that makes your chest tighten. Because I can remember exactly what it felt like to be part of it, and I know I don’t feel that anymore.

And it’s no one’s fault. That’s the part that stings more.

We’re all growing. Shifting. Moving into different versions of ourselves. I can feel it in the jokes I don’t find funny anymore. In the things I don’t want to talk about. In the energy I don’t have to perform. I don’t blame them. And I don’t even think they’d blame me. But that doesn’t make it less sad.

You don’t realize how many of your days revolved around a group chat until it doesn’t hit the same. Until you check it out of habit, not excitement. Until you realize you could leave for a week and nothing would feel different when you come back.

It’s not about being left out. It’s about not feeling in it anymore.

I used to think these were the people who’d be there for everything. That this would be the group I’d grow up with. That we’d be messy and real and chaotic forever. But some bonds don’t break, they just blur. They stay in your life like a faint echo. Familiar, but distant.

And maybe that’s okay.
Maybe we were everything we needed to be to each other then.
Maybe we were the right people at the right time.
And maybe now, we’re just… somewhere else.

But that doesn’t make the memories less real.
Or the love less true.
Or the loss any easier.

The group chat isn’t home anymore.
But for a while, it was.
And I’ll always be grateful for that.

*****

From my mind to this page to your screen— thanks for being here.

~ Devika

2000 of You. Still Processing That

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I don’t even know how to begin writing this because nothing I say seems big enough to match what I’m feeling right now. But I’ll try anyway.

Yesterday I posted a 2000 followers giveaway. It felt special and exciting, but honestly, I didn’t expect anything crazy. I just wanted to say thank you and give something back to this community that’s given me so much. But what happened right after I hit “post” completely caught me off guard.

Within a minute, I had over eight likes. That might not sound like a lot to some people, but for me? I refreshed the page thinking it had to be some kind of glitch. I literally blinked at my screen and whispered, “Wait what?” Because not too long ago, I remember posting something and then waiting. And waiting. And waiting some more. Half an hour would pass and I’d still be sitting with a single like from one of my close friends. It felt lonely sometimes. Like I was speaking into the void and hoping someone out there was listening.

And now suddenly, there are people not just listening but cheering me on. Liking. Commenting. Reacting to stories. Sending DMs that actually make me pause and smile because they’re filled with genuine love. I’m not sure how to wrap my head around it. It’s a lot. In the best, most overwhelming kind of way.

I think what’s hitting me the hardest is that this didn’t happen overnight. Behind that giveaway post is someone who has spent hours thinking about content, rewriting captions, re-editing reels, second-guessing almost every creative decision, and still showing up. Even on days when engagement dipped. Even when I felt like no one noticed. Even when I didn’t really have the energy. I kept showing up because deep down, I knew this space mattered to me. And now, looking back, I’m just… proud. Not of the numbers, but of the fact that I didn’t give up when it was quiet.

This 2k milestone isn’t just about a number on the screen. It’s about how far I’ve come since the first time I hesitantly started this account, unsure of where it was going. It’s about the people I’ve met along the way. The small circle that’s slowly grown into a community. The comments that feel like warm hugs. The support that still makes me emotional when I least expect it.

These are the days that make every hour of content creation worth it. Every time I pushed through a creative block. Every time I hit “post” even when I wasn’t sure it was good enough. Every little decision to stay consistent even when life got chaotic.

If you’ve ever liked a post, left a kind comment, replied to a story, shared something I created, or even just silently rooted for me—I hope you know how much that means to me. This is your milestone too. You’ve made this journey so much more than I ever imagined it could be.

So yeah. I’m overwhelmed. In awe. A little teary. A lot grateful.

Here’s to every small step that added up. Here’s to all 2000 of you. And here’s to whatever comes next.

I’m just really happy to be here.

*****

From my mind to this page to your screen— thanks for being here.

~Devika

I’m Not Quiet, I’m Just Tired Of Explaining Myself

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There’s always someone who thinks I’m quiet. That I’m “too reserved” or “kind of cold” or “hard to figure out.” 

And for the longest time, I believed them.

I kept thinking I should try harder. Be more fun. More available. More “easy to talk to.” I tried to be louder, quicker, smoother. I smiled more than I felt like. I overshared things I hadn’t even processed, just so people wouldn’t call me distant. I said yes when I wanted to leave. I kept the conversation going even when it had nothing to give back.

But the truth is, I’m not quiet. I’m just tired of explaining myself to people who never actually want to listen.

There’s a difference.

I’m tired of being reduced to a one-word label because I didn’t jump into the group chat immediately. Because I said less at the table. Because I wasn’t laughing the loudest.
I’ve had entire conversations in my head before deciding it’s not worth saying out loud. Not because I have nothing to say. But because I don’t want to waste my words on people who only listen to respond.

Sometimes, silence is peace. Sometimes, it’s protection. Sometimes, it’s me holding space for myself in a room that doesn’t feel safe enough to unfold in.

People forget that energy costs something.

You don’t always have the capacity to perform, especially when the performance isn’t even for you. It’s for validation. For approval. For making sure no one calls you “the boring one” or “the one who never talks.”

But what if I don’t want to talk today?
What if I just want to exist without needing to narrate everything I’m thinking?

What if the version of me that’s calm and low-effort is still just as whole?

I’m not building walls. I’m just done handing out blueprints to people who don’t even plan to stay.

There’s a certain freedom in no longer rushing to explain yourself. In realizing that the right people won’t need subtitles to understand your pauses. That silence doesn’t mean absence. That presence doesn’t have to be loud to be real.

So no, I’m not quiet.
I’m just choosing my peace over your perception.

And that’s not something I owe you a reason for.

*****

From my mind to this page to your screen—thanks for being here.

~Devika

The Joy Of Reading Without Posting About It

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There’s a kind of peace that comes with reading a book no one knows you’re reading.

No aesthetic flatlay. No highlighted quote on your story. No pressure to review it, rate it, or even finish it quickly. Just you, a book, and the quiet permission to enjoy it without turning it into content.

And honestly? I’d forgotten what that felt like.

Because somewhere along the way, reading became a little bit performative.
I do love sharing books I adore, screaming about characters, and talking to people who get it. That part is beautiful.
But sometimes, the pressure creeps in. The need to keep up. The subtle expectation that every book I pick up should be part of my feed. Should spark engagement. Should fit a vibe.

So when I started reading something random, off my shelf, completely unplanned, and didn’t post about it, it felt rebellious in the best way.

No one knew. No one asked for updates. I didn’t feel the need to justify why I liked it or why I DNFed the one before. I didn’t take notes. I didn’t pause to think about captions. I just… read.

Slowly. Quietly. Selfishly.

And that’s when I realized how much noise I’d been reading through.

Reading without posting is like listening to your favorite song on loop without telling anyone. It’s personal. Yours. Untouched by expectations.

It reminded me of who I was before all of this. Before I ever tried to “be a bookstagrammer.” Before I had an audience, even a small one. Before reading turned into performance.

I used to read for comfort. For company. For quiet. I’d read books that never trended. I’d dog-ear pages and scribble in the margins. I’d reread chapters just because they felt safe.

And I want that again, not all the time, but sometimes. I want to give myself permission to read books that don’t come with a reel idea or a caption plan. I want to fall into stories without planning how to share them. I want to read and keep some of it just for me.

Because not everything has to be content.
Not everything needs to be shared.
Sometimes, the most meaningful stories are the ones that stay between you and the page.

And the best part?
Those books don’t ask for anything back.
They don’t care about lighting, reviews, or algorithms.
They just wait to be read.

So here’s your reminder: you’re allowed to read quietly.
You’re allowed to keep a book to yourself.
You’re allowed to fall in love with a story and never tell anyone about it.

And if you’ve forgotten what that feels like, maybe it’s time to pick up something you don’t plan to post.

Just for the joy of it.

*****

From my mind to this page to your screen—thanks for being here.

~Devika

The Side of Bookstagram I Wish We Talked About More

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I don’t say this lightly, but some days bookstagram breaks my heart a little.

Not because I don’t love it. I really, really do. This space has held so much joy for me. It’s given me connection and creativity and moments that have made me feel like I belong to something special. But it’s also made me feel small. Invisible. Like I’m constantly doing everything I can and still somehow falling short.

There’s this quiet kind of tired that creeps in when you’ve been doing everything “right” and it still feels like you’re being overlooked.

You’re signing up for ARC forms the second they drop. You’re refreshing the spreadsheet to check your name. You’re reading that hyped new release before you even want to because that’s what everyone’s talking about. You’re curating your grid. Following the audio trends. Shooting reels from every angle to fit what’s working right now. Tagging the right brands. Writing engaging captions. Answering comments. Sharing posts to stories. Reaching out to publishers with carefully crafted emails.

And you keep telling yourself this will be the one.
This post will hit.
This review will land.
This pitch will finally get a yes.

But more often than not, you don’t hear back.

And even if you do, it’s not what you hoped.
Your engagement tanks for no reason.
The reel you spent hours on flops.
Someone else with better lighting or better luck gets the collab you were hoping for.
Or worse, you see someone else get the same opportunity you applied for, and you wonder what you’re missing. Was it the follower count? The vibe? The look? Were you too early? Too late?

It starts to mess with your head. Because how do you keep putting your heart into something that constantly leaves you second-guessing your worth?

No one really tells you how exhausting it gets.
To be creative on demand.
To constantly think in content.
To turn reading—this thing you once did to escape—into something that now needs to be measured and marketed.

You start picking books based on popularity, not preference.
You choose aesthetics over authenticity.
You burn yourself out trying to stay consistent, even when your life behind the screen is anything but.

And here’s the thing nobody really says out loud.
Most of us are doing the same thing.
Most of us are tired.
Most of us are scared to admit it because we don’t want to seem ungrateful.

Because we do love books.
We do love this community.
We just don’t love what it’s starting to feel like.

We don’t love the pressure.
The constant comparison.
The way a fun hobby slowly turned into a performance we didn’t sign up for.

We tell ourselves: if I hit that number, if I get that collab, if I just land one more thing, then maybe it’ll all feel worth it again.

But what if it already is?
What if we’re already doing enough?
What if the effort we’re putting in counts even when it doesn’t come with boxes or emails or reshares?

This space is hard because it’s full of people who care so much. That’s the beautiful and brutal part. We care. We try. We show up.

I’ve had days where I question everything. Where I stare at my grid wondering if I’m still doing this for me. Where I write something that means so much and it just vanishes into the feed. Where I see someone get the exact opportunity I applied for and I smile for them, but I still feel like crying after.

But I’ve also had days where someone tells me they picked up a book because of me. Or that something I wrote made them feel seen. Or that my reel made them laugh on a hard day. And suddenly, none of the numbers matter again. Suddenly, that is enough.

And let’s not forget the community.
This isn’t just an influencer space.
It’s a home.
It’s a place where strangers become friends because you both cried over the same chapter.
It’s where we help each other through slumps, celebrate tiny wins, and hype each other up when we feel stuck.
It’s warmth in the comment section. It’s late-night DMs about book boyfriends. It’s someone you’ve never met saying, “I get you.”

That’s the magic I don’t want to lose.

So if you’re reading this and you’re tired—tired of chasing, tired of hoping, tired of doing everything and feeling like it’s not enough—you are so not alone.

Some of the best voices go unheard simply because the algorithm didn’t like them that day.
Some of the most thoughtful reviews get buried because they weren’t trendy enough.
Some of the kindest people don’t get noticed because they didn’t scream the loudest.

But they’re still here. And so are you.

Your value isn’t based on who emails you back.
Your voice matters even when it feels like no one’s listening.
And one day, when you’re not chasing opportunities but creating your own, this grind will mean something else entirely.

But for now, breathe.
You’re allowed to rest.
You’re allowed to love books without always performing that love.
You’re allowed to be soft in a space that keeps asking you to toughen up.

You’re allowed to belong here simply because you care. That’s enough.

I wrote this for you.
But maybe I also wrote it for me.

*****

From my mind to this page to your screen—thanks for being here.

~Devika

The Summer I Thought I’d Do Everything

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There’s a certain kind of delusion that hits when the semester ends and summer begins. You convince yourself this is it. The Big Break. The season of becoming That Girl™—well-rested, productive, glowing, employed, possibly fluent in a new language by July.

I made lists. Actual lists. Of things I’d do with all this glorious free time. Books I was finally going to read, topics I wanted to dive into, internship applications I’d submit, personal projects I’d actually finish, and some vague dream of becoming more “put together,” whatever that means.

And for the first few days, I really believed I’d follow through. I opened my laptop with a fresh sense of purpose. I romanticised the grind. I told myself this break wasn’t just a break—it was a chance to move forward.

But now, I’m halfway in, and everything feels a bit… floaty. Like I’ve been moving through thick air. Not completely stuck, not completely flowing, just hovering somewhere in the middle.

Some days start off well. I wake up early-ish, open a tab for an internship portal, even update my resume for the fifth time. But then I’ll scroll for a bit, get distracted, open Instagram to “check one thing,” and suddenly it’s three in the afternoon and I’ve done exactly zero of the things I set out to do.

Other days are more peaceful. I’ll lie on my bed with music playing and let myself actually rest, guilt-free. But even that starts to feel heavy after a while. There’s this pressure that comes with free time. This constant feeling that I should be doing more, that if I’m not maximising my break, I’m wasting it.

It’s weird. I’m not overwhelmed by work, but I’m overwhelmed by how much I thought I’d get done. By how much I still want to do. There are moments when I feel genuinely excited—when I start planning something or get that burst of energy to reorganise my space or write something just because I want to. But it never lasts long enough to feel like momentum.

The truth is, summer break has turned into this open space I don’t quite know how to fill. And maybe part of that is me learning how to deal with time when no one’s telling me what to do with it. It’s easy to be productive when you’re in a routine, when the deadlines are external and urgent. But this? This is self-initiated. And that’s a whole other game.

I’m trying not to beat myself up about it. I know I’m still figuring things out. I know the effort I’m putting in doesn’t always show up in neat outcomes or bullet-point progress. I am looking for internships. I am showing up. It’s just slower, messier, more scattered than I pictured.

So no, I haven’t had a big glow-up. I haven’t become a morning yoga journaling Pinterest version of myself. But I’ve been learning things. Quietly. In the way my motivation comes and goes. In how I’m finally understanding that rest and laziness aren’t the same thing. In how I’m starting to trust that even the in-between phases are part of becoming.

If nothing else, I’m being honest with myself. And maybe that’s where real progress starts. Not in the picture-perfect productivity, but in the quiet way you start to notice what actually matters to you, and what you just thought should.

Anyway. That’s where I’m at. In between all the plans and the pauses. Still figuring it out, but showing up.

And that counts for something.

*****

From my mind to this page to your screen—thanks for being here.

~Devika

I’m Back (But It’s Different Now)

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It feels a little strange to be here again. This space used to be familiar—something I turned to when I wanted to talk about books, stories I loved, characters I couldn’t stop thinking about. For a long time, that felt like enough. It gave me comfort. It gave me something steady to return to.

But over time, things changed. I changed.

And somewhere along the way, I stopped writing here. Not because anything huge happened, and not because I stopped caring. It just happened gradually. I stepped away, thinking I’d return soon. Then weeks passed. Then months.

Now that I’m back, I don’t want to return to things exactly as they were. I still love books. They’ll always be a part of me. But I want this space to grow into something more.

I want to write about life too. Not life with answers or neat conclusions. Just life as I’m figuring it out. The everyday thoughts. The in-between moments. The things I don’t always say out loud. Some days it might still be about books. Other days it might be something I felt while walking or something I’m working through quietly.

Sometimes it will be a full piece. Sometimes just a few lines. But all of it will be honest.

I don’t want to overthink what belongs here anymore. I want this space to reflect where I am—not where I was, and not where I think I’m supposed to be. Just here. In progress. Open to change.

If you’ve been here since the beginning, thank you. If you’re new, welcome. I’m glad you’re here.

This blog isn’t about having everything together. It’s about showing up anyway.

So here I am. Starting again.

And this time, it feels right.