A comment popped up on my feed, and I recognised the name. Clicking on it, I was directed to the commenters page. Happy faces smiled back at me; my own heart ached. Was I so difficult to love? I scrolled down, the void inside me aching to be filled. I clicked on the picture of the commenter—it was taken on her wedding day, and brightly coloured sarees filled the screen. ‘They look truly happy with each other,’ I whispered to myself.

I quickly clicked on another profile. I didn’t want to get caught up in a couple’s happiness now. Not while my heart was breaking. The person I viewed next was popular, far more popular than me, but I noticed that there was no boyfriend on her account. All her pictures were with her friends, carefully curated to show that she was strong and independent. Clicking back to my account, I scrolled quickly through my feed. Skipping over anything that reminded me of Puneet, I focused on my content; looking at my follower count and checking my page views, I continued to filter through my feed.

‘You don’t need a man, Jhanvi,’ I told myself. ‘You have a good follower count; you are already invited to some great events. You can be just as famous as these other women.’ Locking my phone and putting it in my bag, I decided to walk to the market. With new clarity and a destination in mind, I pushed my way through the crowds. The market was filled with people haggling for the best possible price. The day’s rubbish and offcuts littered the pavement. Street children rummaged through discarded items, hoping to pick up something they could sell or swap for something to eat.

A group of tourists walked past, directed by an Indian woman dressed in a bright red salwar kameez. Local traders tried desperately to push their wares on the tourists. A woman with blonde hair dug into her pocket and handed a doe-eyed child some money. The child slunk into the crowd before being noticed by other children begging on the street; I was sure she would go straight back to her mother to hand her the money. I reflected on my childhood, how I was spared all of this heartache. I had a good upbringing, my father and mother were always present, they worked hard to provide for me, and if I was honest, I never needed anything from them. Money had not come easy, but it was never scarce either. I don’t remember much about those early years, other than that I was a loner who enjoyed playing by myself. I did not have a sibling, and as an only child, I was often only in adult company. I looked very much like my mother, and when I attended high school, boys began to notice me. I was frequently told how beautiful I was; inevitably, I found my way to social media, where my following began to grow from school friends to a larger audience.