Author's thought

Author's Note

You know… writing this story felt different.

Not because it was complex or dramatic. But because somewhere, as I was building Diana’s life piece by piece, it started whispering things back to me. Quiet things. Honest ones.

When I began This Is Not Her Ending, I didn’t try to write something grand. I just wanted to explore a life—a woman’s life—that doesn’t follow the usual map. You know, the one where people "make it" by thirty, become successful young, and after that, life kind of… smoothens out, like a calm river.

But that’s not how real life works, is it?

We still keep changing. Still keep trying. Still keep falling apart and rebuilding—at 37, at 42, even at 53.

That’s why Diana’s journey didn’t end early. She doesn’t reach the top young. Her story stretches. She stumbles. She walks slowly. She builds, fails, breaks, and begins again. Not because she’s confused. But because she’s alive.

And alive people evolve.

She’s not chasing one dream stubbornly forever, either. That’s something I’ve thought about a lot. People often say, “Pick one thing and never let it go.” But in reality? If you hold on too tightly to just one dream without adapting, you might reach it and find yourself in a mess—burnt out, broke, or alone.

Diana doesn’t do that.

She adjusts. She listens to herself. She lets go when she knows it’s time—not out of weakness, but because she’s wise enough to ask, “Is this still worth the cost?” And I think… that’s something worth telling.

Yes, she starts with a trust fund. But she’s not wrapped in wealth. Her parents aren’t running some family business she’ll inherit. They’re just people—her dad in the army, her mum working reception. They can give her warmth, a few tools, a steady start—but not a finished path. Diana has to carve her way. She has a lamp in her hand. Not a Flashlight. Not a Stones. Just a bit of light to begin walking.

Looking back, maybe the childhood I wrote for her seems a bit ideal. She’s good at things, well-supported, and kind-hearted. But maybe that’s the point, too. Not every story has to be from scratch. Some stories begin halfway up the tree and still have the whole sky left to climb.

And yes, I added her mother’s death.
It’s something I debated a lot.
It wasn’t there just to pull heartstrings.
But because loss does something to us—it doesn’t always destroy us, but it shifts the way we see. It rearranges the room. I didn’t write it to add spice. I wrote it because many of us carry a before and after. Diana does too.

What I wanted, though… was to write someone who keeps walking.

Who gets tired, Who pauses. Who gets confused, who fails publicly, and still tries again—but each time, a bit quieter, a bit wiser.

She doesn’t explode into fame. She builds into peace.

And in the end, she never becomes the global singer she dreamed of as a girl. But she finds something else—something that fits. A life that holds her. A rhythm that feels like home.

Not everyone gets that.
Not because they don’t try, but because life pulls us in directions we never expected.
Sometimes what we wanted at 16 no longer feeds us at 40.

And that’s okay.

Letting go of an old dream isn’t failure.
Sometimes, it’s how you finally begin to live your way.

That’s what this story is about.

Not a success.
Not perfection.
But becoming.

Quietly. Slowly. On your terms.

So yeah… that’s the kind of story I wanted to tell.
And if you’ve read it and you’re here now, just sitting quietly with these thoughts, thank you.
Not as a reader. But just as a person sitting with another.

Maybe Diana’s story will stay with you.
Maybe it won’t.

But I’m glad she existed—at least for a while.

Thanks for being here.

— Rupesh