Destiny Isn’t the Ending. It’s the Story We Walk Through
Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about destiny—not as some shiny promise waiting at the end of the road, but as the road itself.
Maybe it’s because I’m in the middle of writing Book Two right now. There’s something about living inside a story while also standing inside your own life that blurs the line between fiction and truth. When you spend your days guiding characters through impossible choices, haunted histories, and crooked paths toward becoming, you start noticing the shape of your own narrative more clearly.
I don’t believe destiny is a single moment.
I don’t believe it’s the meeting, the kiss, the ending, or the arrival.
If that were true, then everything before it—the years of missteps, heartbreak, survival, rebuilding, and quiet resilience—would just be filler. Background noise before the “real” part begins. And that doesn’t sit right with me.
I think destiny is the story itself.
I see life like a mystery novel. There is a beginning. There is an ending. But the meaning is not found in either of those points—it’s found in the chapters in between. The wrong turns. The roads you swear you’ll never walk again. The moments you thought were mistakes until you realised they taught you how to see, how to choose, how to trust your own instincts.
Some paths lead to chaos.
Some lead to peace.
Some look like dead ends until you realise they were initiations.
Maybe we are always being guided toward the same inner destination— not a perfect outcome, but a deeper truth about who we are meant to become. The destination doesn’t change. The landscapes do. The terrain changes based on the choices we make.
I don’t believe destiny is about perfect timing.
I don’t believe it’s about two people being flawlessly aligned and available at the same moment in life.
I think destiny is about the work we do in the in-between.
The healing we avoid until it’s unavoidable.
The patterns we finally choose to break.
The ways we learn—slowly, awkwardly, imperfectly—to love without conditions and to trust without illusions.
Sometimes a connection enters our life not to complete the story, but to interrupt it. To tilt the narrative. To show us a version of ourselves we didn’t know existed yet. Not every encounter is meant to last forever—but some are meant to change the way we walk forward from that moment on.
And maybe that’s why this reflection is surfacing for me now, in the middle of writing a sequel. Because sequels aren’t about endings—they’re about consequences. They’re about who the characters are after the storm, after the revelation, after the moment that changed everything.
Life works that way too.
Destiny isn’t the final chapter.
It’s the courage to keep turning the page—even when the story stops making sense.
Even when the path isn’t straight.
Even when the truth asks more of you than the fantasy ever did.
Maybe the real question isn’t “Who am I destined to end up with?”
Maybe it’s “Who am I becoming as I walk this story?”
And maybe that is the only destiny that was ever promised. <3