Stories by Preetam

Part 1: The Decision

Good intentions, poor resistance.

Most of my friends are very sensible people.

They believe in saving with intention. They track expenses. They have categories for money. When their salary gets credited, they feel reassured. Calm. Like adults who know what they’re doing.

When my salary gets credited, my first instinct is to stare at my bank balance and ask myself a deeply unserious question.

Okay… how much of this can I spend without future-me filing a police complaint?

This isn’t recklessness. This is philosophy.

Kal kisne dekha hai isn’t just something I say casually. It’s how my brain operates. Live well. Spend smart. Don’t go into debt. But also, don’t hoard joy like it’s going out of stock.

So when the financial year wrapped up in March and work finally slowed down enough for my nervous system to exhale, I did what I always do after prolonged discipline.

I opened my bank app.

And immediately felt uncomfortable.

Not because the balance was low. Because it was… healthy. Too healthy. I had saved properly for three straight months. No random trips. No emotional purchases disguised as self-care. No dramatic lifestyle upgrades.

Honestly, it felt suspicious.

This much money sitting idle did not align with my personality. It felt like a mismatch. Like seeing myself in formal shoes on a Sunday.

Something had to be done.

Naturally, my brain jumped straight to travel.

Not dramatically. More like a quiet escalation. If I don’t spend this, I’ll overthink it. If I overthink it, I’ll convince myself I don’t deserve it. If I convince myself of that, I’ll end up doing nothing and call it maturity.

Absolutely not.

So I started “looking.”

Casually, of course. The kind of casual where you’re definitely planning but pretending you’re not.

Vietnam showed up first. Affordable. Fun. Food alone felt like a solid argument. Suddenly everyone I knew had either been there or became an expert the moment I mentioned it.

Kazakhstan came next, which genuinely surprised me. Mountains. Vastness. A little wild. Very cinematic. The kind of place that makes you feel like the main character even if nothing actually happens.

Then Europe quietly entered the frame.

And Europe is dangerous territory for someone like me.

Because Europe has a way of turning “I deserve this” into “why is my card declining?” very quickly. I wanted to spend money, yes. But I did not want to fund my memories on EMI.

So I started negotiating with myself like a reasonable person arguing with a slightly impulsive version of himself.

What if not Europe-Europe?

What if just one place?

What if no country hopping?

What if I keep it calm?

That’s when Greece appeared.

Not party-Greece. Not honeymoon-Greece. Autumn Greece. October. When the crowds thin out. When prices behave. When the place feels like it’s breathing instead of performing.

Zakynthos.

I said it out loud. Got it wrong. Said it again. Still wrong. But the images stayed. Clear water. Cliffs. An island that didn’t look like it was trying too hard.

I opened my notes app. Again.

On paper, everything made sense.

Finish the financial year.

Save properly.

October.

Greece.

Solo.

I stared at the word solo for a bit.

Not because it scared me. More because it felt deliberate. No compromises. No aligning calendars. No pretending I wanted to do something I didn’t. Just me, my decisions, and whatever followed.

Saving continued. Quietly. Almost aggressively. I cut back without making announcements. Watched my balance grow and felt increasingly itchy about it.

I didn’t tell many people. Solo plans don’t like noise. The moment too many people know, they start projecting their fears onto you.

Why alone?

Why so far?

Why now?

Valid questions. I just didn’t feel like answering them out loud.

Somewhere during all this planning, I remembered something important.

I had just renewed my passport.

Not because I’d used the old one. The old one had lived a full ten-year life with exactly zero stamps. Not one. A government-issued document with global potential that had never crossed the border.

It expired quietly. Unused. Like a gym membership with excellent intentions.

Applying for a new one felt mildly humiliating. Fresh pages. Clean slate. Subtle pressure.

I remember flipping through it and thinking, you better do something with this.

Booking the flights was the point of no return. Payment done. Tickets in inbox. Dates locked.

Immediately, my brain switched modes.

Okay. Now we execute.

That’s when logistics decided to test me.

Visa appointments that didn’t align with office leaves.

Documents I was convinced I had, but apparently didn’t.

Currency calculations that made me pause and reassess my life philosophy for a solid five minutes.

Friends asked, “Who are you going with?”

“Alone,” I said.

There’s always a pause after that. Not judgment. Just recalibration. Like people need a second to process choosing your own company on purpose.

The weeks leading up to October felt strange. Work stayed busy. Days stayed routine. But the trip existed in the background like a promise I’d made to myself and now had to keep.

Occasionally, doubt knocked.

Is this unnecessary?

Is this impulsive?

Is this just a very expensive way to escape routine?

Then I’d look at my passport. Brand new. Still blank. And think, if not now, when?

The night before departure, my bag lay open on the bed like it had opinions.

Too many clothes.

Too few.

Do you really need this?

What if you need that?

I packed. Unpacked. Packed again. Left space intentionally. For souvenirs or poor decisions. Same thing, sometimes.

At the airport, everything turned mechanical. Security trays. Boarding passes. People rushing or panicking. I moved calmly, passport in hand, pretending this was something I did all the time.

Sitting at the gate, I flipped through the passport again.

Blank pages.

So much potential.

Finally in danger.

I caught my reflection in the glass. Backpack. Passport. Slightly tired eyes. Not a seasoned traveler. Just someone who had finally stopped postponing things.

“Don’t come back with this empty,” I told myself.

“No pressure. But also, pressure.”

As the flight lifted and India disappeared beneath clouds, the plan stopped being hypothetical.

Greece still wasn’t real yet.

But the decision was.

And this time, I was actually following through.

It didn’t need a perfect day. It just needed day one.