I thought happiness would look like a postcard — sunsets over the Amalfi Coast, croissants in Paris, something cinematic. But when I finally set off across Europe with nothing but a backpack, it turned out happiness was quieter, smaller. It showed up in train stations, shared hostels, and the moments in between.

I’d been planning it for months — quietly checking flight prices, pretending I wasn’t up to anything, and finding excuses every time my mum got suspicious.