I scrolled through my phone while my personal stylist worked on my hair. My eyes move over the screen, but my mind is far away. I have to attend this party, obviously, because I am the one who organized it, but if someone asks me what I truly want right now, the answer would be shamefully simple. I want a quiet corner, a warm cup of coffee, and Meher’s diary in my hands. I know it is wrong. I know it violates privacy on every ethical level that exists. But the way she writes pulls me in so deeply that I stop caring about the morality of it. The innocence in her words, the hope that blooms in her heart, the tiny dreams she grows inside the pages… sometimes I feel like if life had been gentler to me, if just a few things had been different, maybe I would have been like her.