The day began a little later than usual. Perhaps it was the heavy fried chicken dinner from the night before that left me with little appetite in the morning. Skipping a traditional breakfast, Me & my cofounder Manas settled for a quick, oily fast food bite before heading out.
It was a Sunday—typically reserved for rest—but this one was different. I don’t often visit the office on weekends unless duty demands so. This time, it did.
We were deep into a high-stakes project, one that demanded more responsibility and focus than any assignment we had undertaken before.
With little appetite and a packed schedule, lunch was just a quick glass of lemon juice. We got back to work immediately, fully focused as the tasks kept piling up.
By evening, around 7:30 PM, we concluded the day’s objectives. With a bit of time in hand, we headed to a nearby electronics store. The goal was simple: to purchase a smartphone and a tablet for the team’s growing work requirements.
The store had two distinct sections—an open lobby displaying a wide range of devices and a narrower passage leading to an extended area with more products arranged near a reception counter.
We spent around 15–20 minutes selecting a suitable tablet for official use. While the paperwork was being processed, we also browsed through a few mobile phone options to pick a reliable device for our sales team’s calling requirements.
Shortly after entering the store, I began to feel a mild headache creeping in. I dismissed it at first, thinking it might be due to fatigue, the weather, or simply because I hadn’t eaten properly all day.
However, the discomfort gradually intensified. The closed, confined space inside the store added to my unease. As Manas handled the discussions and negotiated offers, I began pacing slowly around the store, trying to stay composed and manage the growing discomfort.
I started feeling a need for some fresh air, so made some hard steps to come to the lobby. The heavy bag on my shoulders however, acting as an added load to my already burdened mind & body.
Gathering some strength, I stepped back inside briefly to complete the payment. But I could sense something was off. I couldn’t stay any longer and quickly made my way out. Manas had just finished packing the devices and began following me.
As I stepped outside the store, my energy levels dropped drastically. The shop was on the first floor, and I had about 20–30 stairs ahead. Barely 10 steps in, I felt my body giving up—almost on the verge of fainting.
My vision blurred into darkness, and with no strength left to continue, I sat down on the stairs, holding my head. The headache had now become overwhelming—deep, piercing, and almost paralyzing. I was completely drained, unable to stand, and visibly struggling.
Manas quickly sensed something was wrong. Alarmed by the sudden shift, he rushed over and sat beside me, visibly concerned. With immediate worry, he asked, “Should I call an ambulance?”
That question struck me— I could hardly process it. Just half an hour earlier, we were browsing new gadgets, and now we were considering emergency help. It was already 10 PM at night & we were on the streets of Bhubaneswar.
Out of instinctive hesitation— and perhaps fear— I declined. The thought of an ambulance and hospital brought along a wave of overthinking and discomfort. He then asked me to guide him through the route back home, as he wasn’t familiar with the streets. I insisted I’d be fine and even tried to pull myself together—walking down and attempting to unlock the scooty.
But the moment I reached it, I felt completely disoriented again. I couldn’t even figure out the lock and key. The headache had grown unbearable. I walked back to the stairs and sat down once more.
Realizing I couldn't push further, I asked Manas to take over. He immediately helped. Placing the bag on the front shelf, he held the scooty steady while I got on, doing my best to stay composed.
Sitting on the back seat, the ride felt intense—one of those moments I won’t forget. Even now, thinking about it gives me goosebumps. After riding for about a kilometer, the fresh air hit my face, and I felt a slight sense of relief, though the pain was still strong.
Before heading home, we made a brief stop at a local food point for a quick dinner. While food was ordered for both of us, I could barely manage more than a few bites & a glass of Coke. I applied some balm on my forehead, hoping for even a hint of relief.
Soon after, I rushed to the basin and vomited. It hit me then—my negligence toward proper meals, combined with the mounting stress, had taken a real toll. A few bites of food helped ease the discomfort slightly, bringing some stability to my system.
Thankfully, we made it home safely. Out of fear and not wanting to cause unnecessary worry, we chose not to inform the family at that time. I'm deeply grateful for Manas’ presence and the timely support that helped me bounce back. By the next day, I had regained enough strength to return to work and resume my responsibilities.
That night was a quiet reminder of how fragile the human body can be when stretched beyond its limits—and how easily we ignore its signals in the name of duty, deadlines, and discipline. It wasn’t just about physical exhaustion; it was a culmination of long days, skipped meals, and mental fatigue that finally demanded to be heard.
Looking back, it wasn’t just a health scare. It was a wake-up call—a moment that urged me to pause, to listen, and to recalibrate.
Sometimes, strength isn’t just about pushing through. It’s also about knowing when to step back, breathe, and take care of yourself!
