The Odd One In

Sue had always been terrified of being alone, not in the spooky horror movie sense, but in the quieter, lonelier kind of way. The kind where you are sitting in a room full of people, laughter buzzing in the air, and yet no one is talking to you. The kind of alone that feels like you are not invisible, but just overlooked.

She had spent years trying to fix it. In school, when the teacher announced, “Pair up for the project,” Sue’s heart always dropped. Everyone around her would lock eyes with a friend, or someone would tug a sleeve, whispering, “Wanna team up?” Sue, on the other hand, stood still, smiling nervously, pretending to scan the room like she was about to make her move. But she never had to. The teacher always sighed and said, “Sue, you’ll work solo this time.”

And she would nod like it didn’t matter. Like she didn’t notice. It’s probably an odd number of students, she told herself every single time.

Even outside the classroom, this pattern followed her: school trips, summer camps. Groups naturally formed, friendships clicked into place like puzzle pieces, and Sue often ended up nearby but not quite included. Close enough to watch, but not enough to belong.

She didn’t resent people, not really. Most were nice enough. It was just that somehow, when others found natural ways to slip into conversations or claim seats beside each other with easy familiarity, Sue felt like she needed a written application and three references to earn a place.

People were not unkind, but they were not exactly pulling her in either. It was like trying to join a conversation on a moving train. By the time she got her words together, it had already sped off without her.

Deep down she knew the reason, but she never wanted to acknowledge it. Because acknowledging makes it real, and she did not want it to be real.

So when she came across a local meetup for book lovers called “New People, New Stories,” her heart fluttered with cautious hope. She was not exactly a bookworm, but reading had always been a quiet joy, something she turned to when the world felt too far away. The event was being held at a cozy café, a place she had always wanted to visit but never had the courage to enter alone. The description promised a gathering of strangers, all drawn together by a shared love for stories. No cliques, no past history, no inside jokes. Everyone would be starting fresh. It felt like the perfect clean slate.

This time will be different. I will connect. I will find my people, she told herself with determination.

She journaled her affirmations and practiced it before the mirror, I have a magnetic personality. Everyone likes me.

She had visualized herself laughing with strangers who would soon become friends and walking away with a phone full of new contacts.

The day had finally arrived. Sue picked a new dress that was not gaudy or too casual, just perfect, she thought. She had bought this dress specifically for the occasion, but she did not want to admit it. She told herself she needed a new dress anyway.

She arrived at the café early, knowing that being late would almost guarantee getting left out of the flow before it even began.

At the counter, she chose something that seemed interesting , not her favorite, but the kind of drink that felt safe to like.

She chose a seat at the long table, not too close to the edge, not quite at the center. Just neutral enough to avoid pressure, and hopefully, to be surrounded by others

Slowly, people trickled in. Some shy, some talkative, and they began introducing themselves. Sue smiled, said her name, and listened with interest. They started talking about books, and she joined in eagerly, mentioning a novel that had deeply moved her.

Seemed like no one had read that book. One person said he would give it a try and thanked her for the recommendation. Her heart fluttered with happiness. Finally! she thought.

One person brought up a dense literary novel. Another chimed in with Russian literature. There was a full and fast side conversation about speculative fiction and someone’s thesis on unreliable narrators, spiraling into passionate debates about authors she had not read and jokes she did not get.

Sue, panicking just a little, tried to say something clever, but in her nervousness she stumbled over her words and no one really got what she was trying to say.

The others responded with polite nods, then continued chatting.

She chuckled when others chuckled, leaned forward when someone spoke passionately, nodded like she was already part of the rhythm.

Yet, conversations formed without her. The group bonded around her, but not with her.

Her smile stayed on, but inside, she was shrinking.

She muttered affirmations under her breath, Everyone wants to be friends with me, they are attracted to me, as if she was casting a spell.

Minutes passed. Then an hour. And then it began. The slow creeping realization. Her worst nightmare had come true. She was alone. Again.

Even here, among people who did not know each other, people who had not formed bonds before today, she was still the outsider.

They were not being rude. Not at all. But they were syncing with each other, tones matching, jokes building, and she was not syncing with anyone. She was simply... there.

This was the group she thought she had a real chance with. And yet, it too was slipping away. All the unacknowledged feelings were rising to the surface, forcing her to confront what she feared most. That she was... uninteresting.

Her eyes brimmed with tears at the harsh realization. It took every ounce of her willpower not to cry. As a means of distraction, she leaned back and looked sideways. At first it was just to occupy herself, but then she kept looking. Something had caught her eye.

At the table next to theirs, a girl around her age or maybe a bit older sat alone. Not scrolling on her phone, not pretending to be busy. Just sitting. A cup of black coffee in front of her, and a novel resting lightly in her hands. Her posture was relaxed, her face soft, her entire presence calm and serene, like she wasn’t alone by accident but by choice. Because this was what Sue had feared her whole life, being alone in public. Being the person without someone across the table.

Sue watched her in quiet fascination.

The girl was not trying to join another table. She was not awkwardly glancing around. She was not even mildly concerned about being alone. There was no sign of discomfort. No sign that she was trying to make herself smaller or more likeable. She radiated stillness. Confidence. Peace.

It was a kind of self-assuredness Sue had never seen up close before.

She found herself sitting up straighter, angling her body slightly in the girl’s direction, as if proximity alone could teach her something.

How, she wondered. How can she just be?

There was no performance in the girl’s solitude. No desperation. Just a presence. Whole and unshaken.

And then, in a quiet flash of clarity, Sue understood.

She had spent her whole life chasing companionship like a prize she needed to earn. As if being liked by others was the ultimate proof that she mattered. She had convinced herself that connection was everything and if she was not chosen, she was failing.

But maybe she had missed the point all along.

That girl at the next table did not need validation to feel full. She did not need laughter from a group or a seat at someone else’s table to feel worthy. She had chosen herself. And that, Sue realized, was the missing piece.

All this time, she had thought her nightmare was being left out. But maybe the real fear, the real challenge was learning to be comfortable with herself. To find joy in her own company. To sit alone at a table and feel at home.

Sue breathed in deeply.

She stood up gently, careful not to draw attention to herself. She stepped away from the long table. Nobody noticed. She walked to the counter. Ordered a drink she actually liked this time. Extra whipped cream. No shame.

She found a small table in the corner. Tucked but not hidden. She took out her notebook and started journaling, this time about how she felt.

And she looked back once at the girl by the window.

The girl looked up. Their eyes met. A small smile passed between them, easy, unforced.

Something in her settled.

She had found something better than fitting in. A quiet acceptance of herself.

Maybe she was still the odd one out. Maybe she always would be. But it did not feel tragic anymore.

Because maybe, being the odd one out meant she was finally in the right place with herself.

There was a kind of ease in that.

She was not the girl who is always left out. But the girl who was finally letting herself in.