the day I found out I wasn't the main character

I was sitting in a crowded cafe, waiting for my order and staring at people I would never meet.

A man near the entrance kept checking his phone every few seconds. He looked impatient,but perhaps he was waiting for news from someone importent.

A woman in the corner was smilling ar her screen. Maybe someone has just told her something wonderfulacross from her another person sat completely still. Looking at a cup of coffee they hadn't touched. Maybe they had recived bad news. Maybe they were trying not to cry in public.

I would never know.

That was the strange thing.

Every person. Around me was carrying an entire life I knew nothing about.

The man who looked annoyed might have been rushing home to his children.

The woman laughing into her phone might have just received the best news of her life.

The person staring blankly at the table might have spent the morning pretending everything was fine.

Thay all had people waiting for them somewhere.

Problems they were trying to solve..

Memories they were carrying

Fears they. Never talked about

Dreams they were quietly working towardand

And yet, from where I was sitting,they were just strangerß passing through my afternoon.

I suddenly wondered how many times I had done the same thing.

How many people had seen me walking through acollege corridor,staring at my phone, and assumed I was simply distracted?

They would never know that I might have been carrying about my future.

They wouldn't know about the decisions. I was struggling with the responsibilities. I carried,or the things I had never told anyone.

To me,my problems often feel enormous.

They occupy my entire mind.

Sometimes I become so trapped inside my own thoughts that I forget the rest of the world is also struggling with something.

Everyone has their own version of an important day.

While I am worrying about my futher, someone else is waiting for an answer that could change theirs.

While I am upset about something that happened to me, someone else is experiencing the best day of their life.

While I am wondering whether anyone understands me. Someone also is probably wondering the exact same thing.

It was a strangely humbling realisation.

I am important.

My problems matter.

My feelings are real.

But I am not the centre of everyone's world.

And neither is anyone else.

We areall main characters,just in different stories.

The person who ignored me might have been having the worst day of their life.

The stranger who smiled at me might have been celebrating something wonderful.

The person I judged in passing might have been carrying more than I could ever imagine.

I finished my coffee and left the cafe.

Nothing about the would had visibly changed.

But I felt slightly different walking through it.

Everyone I pass is carrying a story I will never know.

Perhaps being human means learning to remember that my story is not the only one happening.