After Neela's last breaths of rarefied air in the coveted apartment she'd once called home, the door slammed shut on the part of her life labeled 'Luc,' giving way to a new beginning.

This new beginning was comprised of all that things you wouldn't find on any bucket list: dank walls, cramped quarters, and run down...everything.

My how the mighty have fallen.

This twenty-square-meter studio apartment was Neela's official new address, and although it was lacking in all things roomy and aesthetic, it was at least still a victory in symbolic terms—as long as she squinted her eyes to avoiding taking in the cruddy details.

What Neela hadn't yet realized due to her previously privileged existence, was that tiny studio life was very much the norm for those who couldn't stand to live outside the coveted Paris postal codes.

So this wasn't embarrassing at all!

Besides, Neela now had the luxury of viewing her entire kitchen (a.k.a. a two-burner flat-top stove, three cupboards, and a bar-sized fridge) from the comfort of her squeaky bed. Not only would she never fall asleep with the frightening risk of accidentally having left the stove on, she would also be able to detect any fires immediately. Or perhaps this incredibly close proximity meant a kitchen fire would kill her within seconds. Unclear.

As she eyed the burners with increasing suspicion, she adjusted her cross-legged position, a bed that precariously held the full weight of herself, Tiff, Dante and Chloe—not to mention the large pizza, bottle of champagne and mismatched mugs that were between them.

"And what did he say after that?" Chloe urged, desperate for the next reveal in Neela's dramatic retelling of her final conversation with Luc.

"Well..." Neela started, before pausing for a fond little moment of reflection, "...he was on such a roll of being all cute and wise and friendly and shit, that I actually wasn't sure how the ring-thing would go down." She took a bite of pizza, drawing out the suspense for as long as possible.

Tiff gestured to Neela's left hand. "Well, you're not wearing it so..."

Dante snorted. "What does that prove? She obviously wouldn't keep it on after breaking off an engagement; that's tacky as hell!"

Neela nodded. "He's right; I am a lot classier than that." She chugged some champagne to wash down the pizza.

"Like obviously you would melt it down into a diamond solitaire necklace," he added.

Neela shrugged. "I'm actually more of a diamond-earring gal..."

"So did he let you keep the goddamn ring or not?" Chloe hissed.

Neela tried not to laugh. "I promise I'll get to the point, but it's really fun to see you so unhinged and obsessed."

Dante laughed. "It's very satisfying; French people: they're just like us!" He winked at Chloe and lowered his voice to a whisper for what came next: "Just take the abuse for tonight, okay? She's depressed and needs a laugh!"

Neela frowned. "You know I'm sitting less than a foot from you, right?"

Tiff grabbed Neela's coffee mug and poured her some champagne. "Forget him; just drink."

Neela obeyed and took a long sip before continuing on with her story. "Obviously, as an independent woman who wants to make it on her own, it wouldn't be right to keep the ring." She sighed. "But at the same time..." she gestured to the cardboard boxes and the ugly apartment, "...a part of me was hoping he'd be all like, it will always be yours, please keep it."

She studied their reactions to her horrible attempt at mimicking Luc's French accent.

It was low-key cringing across the board.

Tiff opened a packet of chili oil and drizzled it onto her pizza. "So is that what actually happened?" she said smirking.

"Nope," she said flatly. "He just swiped it out of my grimy little hands."

"Right I see," Dante said, scratching his chin as he processed this info. "I mean maybe after you called him a 'French little bitch' in front of all his friends and family, he wasn't exactly feeling so generous."

Neela hid her face behind her mug of champagne. "Shit, I thought whispered that..."

Dante rolled his eyes. "Bitch please, I have wax in my ears and I heard it just fine." He noticed Chloe cringe at the mention of wax. "Don't pretend your ears are squeaky clean," he said pointedly. "Wax build up happens to the best of us." Chloe started to blush, but he wasn't done. "It's time for society to normalize earwax." He raised his fist in defiance. "We should not be ashamed of the waxy natural processes of the human ear canal!"

Tiff grabbed his fist and forcibly lowered it. "Thank you for that, and I promise that on another night, we will celebrate 'wax pride,' okay?"

He crossed his arms. "Fine."

"But tonight let's focus on the better topic," Tiff added. She took Neela's hand in a rare sentimental gesture. "Everything is going to work out; you know that, right?"

While Neela appreciated Tiff's supportive gesture, it was hard to absorb it given the trauma of spectacularly blowing up her life to wind up here.

How did Neela know that things would be okay at all?

The joking around certainly worked as a temporary distraction, but underneath that? She felt like she was standing outside of her body, watching this entire night unfold like it was happening to someone else. "Thank you," she managed to say, before her face became a little bit robotic. "I think we ended things on a really good note," she added clinically. "And it was the first time in a long time that I really enjoyed talking to him." She nodded firmly. "But it's over now, so I guess I just have to focus on not getting deported." She gestured to Dante. "Pizza me."

He handed her a slice.

"Did you enroll in those classes like I told you?" Tiff asked, back to being in 'mom mode' and better than ever.

Neela gave her a confident thumbs up. "I will officially be taking University-level French when I'm not trying to scrounge up every last freelance dollar!"

Dante held up his mug so they could 'cheers' to this official new beginning. "To the dream!"

Neela clinked her mug with his and managed a halfway smile. After taking a sip, she folded her slice of pizza in half and shoved it into her mouth. The cure-all.

"Have you spoken to your parents yet?" Chloe said, very much out of nowhere.

Neela nearly choked on her pizza, which was now slightly less than a cure-all. She recovered with a swig of champagne. "We spoke," she confirmed. "My dad still says I should fly back to Canada, live at home, and go back to school to get a business certificate."

Tiff raised an eyebrow. "Seems you've made quite the opposite choice," she observed, gesturing to the cramped apartment.

"I sure have," Neela admitted. "Oh my god...I chose a shitty apartment and a totally unstable income." Her eyes widened. "In my thirties." In addition to her parents' disapproval, society's standardized expectations were also now kicking in. "Fuck..." she whispered. She noticed Dante looking at her sternly. "What?"

"Claude let you sub-let this apartment at an excellent price," he said frowning. "Should I tell him that it's shitty?"

"What? No!" She smiled innocently. "I'm really grateful. Tell him thanks." Dante didn't seem convinced. "I mean it!" she insisted. "It's way better than the place that had the toilet next to the kitchen sink." She shuddered at the thought, before taking stock of her official new home. She finally smiled for real. "This'll definitely work."

Dante grinned. "I knew the reminder of the toilet and kitchen sink combo would pull you out of your sad-gal spiral." He grabbed her by the shoulders. "When in doubt, always remember that you have a separate bathroom."

***

Dante's strange but wise words echoed in Neela's mind a couple of hours later, as transferred the empty mugs into the sink and put the cardboard pizza box by the door. There was a bit of champagne remaining, so she chugged it straight from the bottle. It made her think of how people always said to make a wish when a champagne bottle emptied into their glass. Did the same rule apply to the bottle being emptied into one's mouth? She squeezed her eyes shut and made a wish just in case.

She started to unpack one of her moving boxes, but after only two dinner plates she lost all motivation.

She poked her head out of the window next to her bed instead, watching as the final two patrons of a typical Parisian brasserie finished their wine. It looked like a date. An early date. The kind when everything is funnier and not just because it's the third glass of wine.

One day...that would be her again, trying to impress a new man by not letting her hair go five whole days without a wash. The thought of it made her vomit.

She crawled into bed and opened her Instagram feed. After the customary scroll of observing people's updates through the filter through which they wanted her to see their reality, Neela joined them by posting a new Instagram story. It was a strategic video of Dante and Neela opening a new bottle of fancy French champagne, a happy moment with her best friend. They'd stood by the window when they'd opened that bottle, bathed in the pinkish hue of dusk. It was the perfect view because it hid how small her apartment was, along with the fact that the kitchen was almost next to the bed. That view represented the cropped-out reality she was willing to share with her followers. She added the caption "Now THAT's how you make a fresh start!" in glittery text, along with a few strategic emojis that evoked the idea of joy.

She hit 'send,' and a few seconds later, her distorted story of a new beginning was now the official reality...

***

The August sunlight bathed Neela's apartment in the yellow glow of midday.

The scene was entirely different from a new nights before, with her belongings fully unpacked, the cardboard boxes cleared away, and a charming area rug adding some much-needed ambience to the minimal space.

Neela now sat cross-legged on the center of the rug, eyes closed and in the midst of a focused meditation. Her phone played the sounds of ocean waves to complete the soothing experience.

She thought about all those times when she'd heard about how happy people attributed their inner joy to regular meditation.

Then she started thinking about how she was the one meditating now, and how she wasn't supposed to be thinking about anything at all.

She exhaled deeply and refocused on the self-actualization at hand.

But then she had to scratch her nose, an itch resulting from a floating piece of dust or some other airborne nuisance.

And then she had to fix her posture, so she wouldn't end up like the Hunchback of Notre Dame.

And then she had to take a moment to wish for the swift restoration of the partially burned down Cathédrale de Notre-Dame de Paris.

She shook her head solemnly. One day, you'll be whole again.

And then finally, she had to open one eye and look at her phone to see if any messages had come in, since she'd left said phone on 'silent' so she wouldn't be distracted while she meditated. Shit.

She definitely hadn't needed to check her phone, but perhaps she needed to finally admit that feeling happy again wasn't going to happen in a matter of days.

She turned off the soothing ocean sounds and sprawled out onto her back.

She was a human-shaped starfish of anxiety and despair, and unlike a romantic comedy movie, it wouldn't be over after a three-minute sequence that would play against the backdrop of a melancholy song.

Real life? It was messy and it was chaotic. The process to feel alive again would take a lot more than a self-care to-do list and a can-do attitude.

And there was nothing wrong with admitting that.

She rolled onto her side and texted her group chat of BFFs:

Whoever sees this first, I am urgently requesting human contact

One day at a time...