Oh no it’s Friday!

“Are you coming tonight?” Jess asks as he rolls down his “Pearl Arctic white” Baleno, his tattooed arm perched up on the steering wheel. He carries an easy “I don’t care” attitude which makes me wonder if he really expects an answer. “Of course” I reply casually. I am about to lean in to kiss him goodbye when Mohena walks in. Well practically jumps in. She claims she has the hottest gossip around the campus and just like that sweeps me into a nearby coffee shop because I must know the details. I give Jess an apologetic nod before hurrying after her. He gives a little shrug and disappears behind the gates in seconds. Sometimes I am not even sure why we are together. 

Mohena does all the justice to her name, which means a talking bird. With her short legs, chirpy voice, and porcelain soft skin she qualifies for a bird. The talking part is engraved on her soul. She is someone you meet in the train or maybe a supermarket queue, who slips into your life effortlessly, who talks about her hobbies, family, native place, horror scope, and every possible detail like none of it is too personal. You are bound to either love her or loathe her instantly. She does most of the talking (obviously) and I fuel our conversation with occasional hmms, oohhs and no ways. 

It is 7 o’clock on a Friday, which means time to get ready. In newspapers, National Tech Institute might have a reputation of being one of the leading engineering universities in the country, nurturing prodigies to become world-class scientists and engineers, but in reality, it is just like any other college in the country. Weekdays bring a heap of assignments, exams, project dues, and an unending rant of suicidal speeches by students and roommates. The elixir of life here is weekends. Someone or the other throws a party almost every Friday so that everyone can drink in the pressure and dance till all their problems turn into a joke and the world stops making sense. My life has turned into a series of young adult parties. When we are not doing this, we are engaged in organizing cultural events, social conferences, hosting competitions, or jumping on the stands with posters to support our college football team.

I put on my short maroon dress and a little makeup to suit my olive skin. I don’t pay much attention to my hair, Jess likes the natural frizzy look of them and so does everybody. Mohena walks in with four others and for the second time today, I am drawn into the turbulent sea of stories, jokes, and swearing. This is my bunch of people. We are considered the coolest group on the campus. Everyone knows us, wants to be friends with us, and absolutely adores me and Jess together. We disappoint nobody. We go to all parties we are invited to and do all the chatting, dancing, and playing with them. But on a long term basis, it’s just the seven of us. I am the heart of the group they say, for I am the prettiest and dating the most handsome guy on the campus.

Today we are going to a new location, not the usual restaurants and gaming pubs but somewhere near the outskirts of the city. It’s a huge house of some rich kid whose name I never bothered to ask. It’s mostly glass and wood, situated near a beautiful lake and facing a long stretch of garden. As we enter through the giant wooden doors, I can smell the blend of alcohol and expensive perfume scents, the big rooms are crowded and as I walk inside I bump into a couple of people swaying to the ear-piercing music. I join a big gang of rowdies sitting in the living room and we start talking. We play some weird made-up game and in 3 hours almost everyone has passed out, some on the floor, some on the sofa, and some who had a little dignity left called an Ola and rode to their dormitories. Because my beloved friends are not yet done partying, I stay put. For the whole time we have been here Jess has not even acknowledged my presence. He is busy flirting with some slim blond in a tight black dress. This should aggravate me or at least make me sad but I know he will have something nice to say later which will make it up for his behaviour. Besides, to be honest it’s a relief not having him around.

Finally, I am back in my dorm. Alone (Thanks to my roommate who moved in with the love of her life into a tiny apartment nearby some time back). My Friday adventure might convince you that I am an extrovert. If you are an avid reader, perhaps you guessed I am actually an introvert. Some brainiacs might call me an ambivert. The truth is, every bone in my body is an introvert.

As I close the door behind me and start pulling off the dress I replay all the embarrassing things I said at the party. I start thinking (overthinking really) about the girls whispering and giggling behind me while we were there. Were they talking about how unkempt my hair was? Did they notice how I felt out of place? And then I think about how Jess humiliated me in front of everyone when he agreed to drive the blond girl home when I was standing right next to him (for the record he did not even bother to offer me a ride). A part of me knows that everyone did foolish things and none of them is going to have second thoughts about what they did or said. With a fresh day, they’ll start new. It is as simple as deleting the browser history for them. For me, these things will keep playing in the back of my head until next Friday when I’ll do something stupider or crack some dim-witted joke that’s worse than the previous.

As I pull on my soft cotton nightdress, I see my reflection in the mirror. It is so different from the one I used to see a year ago. The version of me separated by 365 days in the past would spend a Friday between a heap of books, would make lame excuses to skip parties, would act sick to miss family functions, and most importantly would be happy. 

Weekdays pass in the blink of an eye and it's Friday again. Today I am sipping a cocktail in my sleeveless blue dress at Barney’s, a restaurant where we usually hang out when we run out of people to host a party. The six jewels of my precious group are lazily spread around the table. They crack some jokes I don’t get but I manage to laugh when the others laugh, I hoot when others do, I nod when others do. I am a monkey now. I wait to go back to my bed and bury my face in my pillow to swallow all the uneasiness.

My calendar never runs out of Fridays. This Friday is worse. I am in a black dress, hair open and all, listening to Mohena vociferate about Prof Kingsley who she swears is planning to fail her this semester, when that blond from lake-house party walks in. “Geet” she introduces herself with a wave of her hand. She is draped in a pink dress and has high pink heels on. Her sharp features and bold manners immediately claim the room. I think she notices my blank expression during the conversation, which is why she chooses to direct a question at me. “You know about Kiera right? How she wanted to be the cheerleader but everyone thought I’d do it better?” Mohena might have narrated the story in the coffee house someday but I don’t care enough to keep a track of all the nonsense that goes on around the campus. “Yeah, I don’t remember what happened exactly” I confess because I know she can call me out if she pleases. She gives me a mischievous grin and changes the subject smoothly. The worst part of tonight is not the fact that I am left out but it is the spotlight I get once Geet leaves with Jess. Everyone saw how proximately they were seated, how he could not keep his eyes off her, how she whispered so often in his ears to make him smile. Now my friends feel entitled to make me feel better. They pity me and are doing what they think they ought to. Cheering me up. To add to my misery, everyone in the restaurant, who had once volunteered for an event with me, who sat near me in a classroom, or whose parties I’ve been to, are asking me if I want to talk about it. Some are happy to have yet another hot piece of gossip, some are genuinely concerned, and for some, it’s just another reason to throw a party. I have survived the parties and college activities, but I don’t think I can survive this sudden spotlight. All eyes are turned to me in anticipation to see me burst out crying or laughing. I remain very still, agreeing to whatever anyone says to me. I wait till everyone loses some interest in me and leave with Mohena.

Back in the dorm, I am alone again. Relief gushes over me. Before I realize my eyes well up and within seconds I am sobbing into my pillow. Minutes pass by and I continue crying silently. I no longer remember why I am crying. It’s certainly not because Jess went with some other girl. I never really cared enough for him. I dread the next few days in class. Everyone will be looking at me. The news will spread like fire tomorrow, and everyone will want the details. This would never have been the case if I was a ghost. If no one knew me and if the guy who supposedly broke my heart wasn’t one of the most popular faces in the college. 

I remember the time when I was invisible and happy. Back in school, I was perfectly complacent with one friend and a hundred books. I lived in a small town. I enjoyed the sparse population there. I would sit in solitude on my terrace and write verses to flatter the moon, the birds, and other little objects of my curiosity. 

My school wasn’t very big or dynamic. It followed a curriculum where most things were autonomous. We had to read our chapters give tests and for projects, we had to reflect our thoughts on certain topics on a piece of paper. My teachers loved me and I was doing great. I thought University will be just like this but better. Clearly, I was wrong. 

Nischay was my only friend. He was a studier of characters. He spoke very little but whatever he said was pure wit. He chose his words very carefully and he was always rewarded with an A+ on his essays because of the big words he used. Our ideal weekends revolved around going to the library and sitting there in one position with a book for hours. In the evening we would sit in his backyard and discuss the characters most animatedly. We never told our parents about any school trip. We used to spend the day on his balcony instead, watching movies and passersby. I remember how we felt awkward on the school annual day when each one of us had to make a speech in front of everyone. We laughed till we lost all our breath the next day, remembering the nervous smiles we passed, the strained voice of our speech, and how our tensed muscles made us look like lunatics. 

Everything changed when I moved to NTI. Everyone here was smarter, funnier, and energetic. Students who raised their hands to participate in a class discussion won an approving look from the professors. Subjects like Physics, which I believed should be admired in seclusion, just like great physicists in textbooks, had group projects and required a lot of social skills. Everyone seemed to know each other and the world was moving too fast for me to catch up. One day I decided that I need to change for good. If I had to be someone in this loud world I need to raise my voice. My fate favoured me. I met Mohena the next day and she talked me into a party where I became the object of interest for Jess. I did not like it particularly but I thought if I endured a little maybe I’ll learn to live like them. In a few weeks, I was a part of an extroverted group I once dreaded. I lost all contact with Nischay eventually. I waited and waited but I could never understand their jokes, I could never catch up with their gossips, I could never be them.

I think when I decided I needed to change myself for good, I never wanted to be where I am now. I think I overcorrected myself. After all, being social or extroverted does not necessarily mean parties, alcohol, and gossips. Nevertheless, today here I am. I have turned all attention towards me. People are going to talk to me and about me. There is nothing I can do. Or maybe, my subconscious reminds me, there is something I can.

It is 7 O’clock on a Friday again. I put on my yellow cotton sun-flower print dress and white sneakers. I am going to the night library, to spend my perfect evening. The week after last Friday was bad, but it could have been worse. With little effort, I was able to ghost myself yet again (I guess I am still a pro at it after all). I am still friends with my group but I join them only when I want to. I spend my weekends in solitude mostly, writing poems and admiring the sky, the stars, and the moon. I have better ideas now. The last project I did individually rewarded me with a scholarship for higher studies. Now I cry less and smile more. And most importantly, just like everyone else I love Fridays again.