It was the cold New Year’s Eve. She enjoyed a breezy long drive after the promotional party and unlocked the door of her apartment to the twinkling fairylights of the room, which illuminated her face. Years of struggle had begun to bear fruits of labour. She knew she worked hard and the news of her promotion encompassed her with a sense of fulfillment. Her house decor displayed everything from Rabindranath Tagore to Bukowski in her bookshelf, and had Presley and Elton John in the music list. 
Entering with a grave smile, she tossed her handbag on the divan beside her, poured herself some wine and sank into the plush sofa. And as the music system had Presley crooning, “Like a river flows surely to the sea…”, the liquid danced through her veins. 
Her phone buzzed. She knew it had to be one of her admirers, interested to take her out for a coffee date without knowing that she was more of a tea-person. She deliberately and royally ignored those calls as she found solace in the words of Bukowski. 
She soon got distracted by the constant buzzing of her phone. She lifted it up in a relaxed manner to find a few WhatsApp messages wishing 'Happy New Year', followed by emojis, sent by some distant friends. 
Elvis had by then paved way its way to Collins, but as her eyes fell upon a few messages from the past, random thoughts went to the words sent to her long back. 
Words that were supposed to mean a lot. 
Words that lost their purpose. 
For a moment, she felt the walls of her room closing in, her solitude was a metamorphosis of being nothing and she felt stranded. She immediately started feeling this was not what she ever wanted. 
Many summers could have been cool. 
Many winters could have been warm. 
For a moment she gave in to her self-doubt. For a moment everything was hollow within – oblivious to the fact that she touched the hearts of so many people and that there was a stadium to cheer her, to shower her with oodles of love. Forgetful of the fact that there was someone always extremely proud of her. 

A matter of seconds… May be a few minutes… She came back to her senses. She realised who she was. She was no more a woman of self-doubt. Rather, she was a woman of resolute decisions; a woman of substance. Yes, she took years to be the woman she was. Therefore, she, very gracefully, sent a few 'Thank yous' followed with relevant emojis and went back to her Bukowski.