I woke up at 9 that morning—too late for breakfast.
The mess had already closed at 8:45, but my friends saved food for me.
I ate quietly, thankful, already feeling like the day was running ahead of me.
There was an exam at 3.
I tried studying in my room but my mind wouldn’t sit still,
so I moved to the next room, hoping a change of space would change my thoughts too.
A small child came by, laughing, pulling me into play for a few minutes.
For a moment, everything felt light.
At 1:30, there was a mentor meeting.
I said I wouldn’t go—then still went.
I attended class, skipped the meeting, filled a form because someone asked me to.
I sat down again to study, but my heart wasn’t fully there.
After the exam, everyone rushed.
Devi had to go to the temple, so we hurried.
At the canteen, I ate a chicken roll alone while she didn’t take anything.
Small things, but they stayed with me.
Later, we watched a movie, waiting for gobi to arrive.
We ate dinner together and talked about college politics,
about teams and choices.
I joked, lightly—but my words were shut down loudly.
I went silent.
They started talking among themselves.
Laughing. Sharing.
I sat there and asked, almost shyly,
“Shall I do your hairstyle?”
No answer.
Time passed.
My chest felt tight.
Later she said, “Tomorrow.”
Just one word—but it came too late for that moment.
It wasn’t about the hairstyle.
It was about feeling unseen
while sitting right there.
I didn’t argue.
I didn’t cry.
I just walked back to my room.
Now I’m here—
typing, breathing,
trying to understand why small moments hurt so much.
Maybe because all I wanted
was to feel included.
Understood.
Chosen—at least for a second.
And maybe…
that’s not too much to ask.
