Unwritten Pages

Being the new girl is never a good thing, if one sees a popular girl they know what to expect from her, for a nerd, can raise their expectations when a new girl unexpectedly moves into their class, they refuse to know anything about me which is the reason I am sitting alone and every student much rather sit anywhere else than with me. And it’s not a surprise to me; it’s not my first time, and I should be used to it, being the girl no one wants to sit with, even though I am unclear about what I did to my classmates in India and now in England. I should be fine. I am not. I see my sister having friends at school, in a group of artists, and she seems happy, so I should find my people, the group I belong to. I realise I sound like The Little Mermaid; at least she got her happy ending. It’s not like I have a chance of meeting a perfect guy to have a date on a boat, I won’t be alone, not again, and not this time. I nervously tap my feet on the ground, looking around. I need to approach, or maybe I need to be approachable. That can be a weakness. No, I need to be brave; I can do this. I need to make some changes in my life, and I need friends. I push myself by getting up from the chair to walk to a group of pretty girls laughing. I recognised one of the girls; her name was Olivia. I am guessing she is the group leader, with a perfect, blond, slim body like a Disney princess. The opposite of me, and she was the exact kind of girl I needed to be my friend.

I put on a bright smile as best as I can and walk to Olivia, “Hello.” My voice has the group quickly turning their heads to me. I wave at them, ”My name is Lilly.”

I haven’t received any friendly responses from them; they just stare, making me feel small. I can feel myself shrinking. I am not sure if I should continue or walk away; I made the mistake of choosing the first part, “I am from India, well, more like Kannada, more like Bangalore.” Olivia raises her eyebrows. I am trying to tell myself to stop talking to her. I keep going no matter how small my self-esteem is becoming, “I love Taylor Swift. What’s your favourite song?” I prefer classic rock music. I am lying to them for friendship.

Olivia finally says, “I am going to shake it off, weird girl.” They laugh at Olivia’s comment, while I feel everything starting to spin, as if I know I might faint from being with them. I quickly move my feet; however, my head hits against something, more like someone. It takes a second to realise it is a chest belonging to a guy; I look up to see him staring at me. He is furrowing his eyebrows at me. The first thing I notice is how green his eyes are; it kind of reminds me of my bedroom; my mom wasn’t happy with the colour I chose, and it’s easy to compare. His eyes aren’t the only ones I seem to be interested in; his jaw looks so sharp and defined, and his cheekbones look so prominent. I can look at his face all day.

He clears his throat, “Excuse me.”

I pull myself together, “I am sorry I didn’t see you there. You were quick like a vampire.” Adding a small laugh is a bad idea; he is still frowning at me, and if anything, it gets deeper, and I am not sure why I am talking to him when he doesn’t have any interest in doing the same. I need to try.

I keep my smile and hold my hand up to him, “I am Lilly, it’s nice to meet you.” Expecting a warm greeting from him or a smile is not one of the many reasons I shouldn’t have any expectations

He looks at my hand like he is deciding what to do, “My name is Jack. And move away, you’re blocking my way.”

I nod quickly, “Right, sorry.” I have no reason to apologise; the only thing I was doing was being nice to Jack, and this is what I get in return. A cold shoulder from Jack and more laughter from the girls.

“If you thought you had a chance of being friends with Jack, then there is something wrong with you.” I hate to say it out loud, but Olivia is right; I can tell from this moment that Jack is never going to be my friend; I might not join the popular group, and I will be alone until I graduate from high school. Then again, God knows how life will be after school. With a tight feeling in my throat, I go back to my seat, lost in my head and not able to listen to anything the teacher is saying. What happened is playing in my head, teaching me a lesson: girls like me will always be alone for the rest of their lives. I just have to write one more page; I tell myself to write as often as possible, I consider writing a chore, at the same time, it’s like listening to music to clear my head. Right now, I am noting down all my thoughts in my notebook. Writing is the only thing I have; I may not know how to get a date or have many friends, but writing is the only comfort I know other than reading. So I am in my room, finishing my writing even though I have so much packing to do.

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Only one last box to pack, and it’s off to the start of adult life. And I am still deciding which books to pack. For the past ten years, my book collection has kept growing and growing. It has gone from only ten books to one hundred books. Since I am finally moving away, I can only decide to carry twenty books. Just twenty books, it’s not enough. I wouldn’t mind packing fewer clothes and more books; there is a chance my mom will see my baggage; she will be the one to inspect my packing. And so here I am in my bedroom, with all of my books lying in front of me, begging me to take them with me to the next chapter of my life. Soon their sad eyes will pop, making me feel guilty if I make a wrong decision. If I choose one book, I will hurt the other book. Choosing one genre means I will miss the other genre. I groan, hang my head low, hating my overthinking brain. I can never make the right decision, and I cannot choose one thing. I wonder if I am the only one who feels like this, overthinking about packing, and having too many thoughts in my mind. Is it just me? Maybe the internet can give me answers.

I reach out for my phone, and the door is open. My sister walks in with a beaming smile as if she is more excited for today than I am. She is the elder sister, and yet people confuse her as if she is the younger sister, not because of her being short. One of many reasons can be that I act like a mature adult, as in sitting quietly, speaking softly. My sister likes to interact with everyone, making them laugh with her personality, and never disappoints me. I question if we are related at all. She notices my bed being a mess with books and rolls her eyes, “Are you serious? You still haven’t packed?”

I say without looking at her, “It’s not easy.”

She comments, “Yes, yes, it is. Just pick a book. And only twenty, leave the rest here.” I repeat, “It’s not that easy.”

Brinda sits next to me, “Look, I know you love your books, you want to take all of them with you, you need to carry more things.”

“Books are important too.” I tried many times to turn her into a reader. I tried many times to show her all kinds of genres she can enjoy, like romance or myths, and thrillers, but sadly, she prefers to paint her canvas. To create her art instead of reading, I gave up. If she were a reader, she could understand how I was feeling. She nudges my shoulder, “Besides, you will come back here for Navaratri and Diwali, plus it is a good time to buy new books” Brinda is trying to make me feel better, and I appreciate it, now that she brought up the festivals, all I can think about is meeting the relatives. Festivals are never peaceful; I can never relax with my relatives; it can be exhausting and tiring. Occasionally, I find myself in an empty room to have a breakdown.

Brinda squeezes my shoulder, “Okay, I know you’re thinking about meeting the family, forget about that, just think about your favourite bookstores in MG Road; later on, we can have momos and bowling. How does that sound?” I smile at her, “I will keep that in mind. Thank you.” She matches her smile, “Before anything happens, here is your present.” Right, not only is today the day I am leaving India, but it is also my birthday, another reminder of growing old, and time will keep on moving. I get out of those thoughts as my sister hands me a present. I laugh while shredding the wrapping paper, excited about what’s inside. “You could’ve saved the wrapping paper.”

I shake my head, “Who cares?”

What I see inside has been paused for a moment, my sister has given me a Kindle, including the Harry Potter series. I saw these devices all over Instagram, noticing how easy it is to use them to read everywhere I go, even in the dark. I quickly turned away the idea, enjoying the paperbacks. She says while I stare at my gift, “I know paperbacks are better. I thought since you cannot take all your books with you, maybe you can carry on your device. Do you like it?”

Brinda looks nervous as if I get upset, and really, she is the greatest sister I could ask for. I grinned and pulled her in a hug, “You are the best, even though I want to punch most of the time.”

She laughs, “I will miss this.”

“Me too. How long will you be here? Aren’t you going back to Dubai?” Brinda and her husband had their first baby and came to India for a visit. She says, “I might leave in a week, I have some work to do. You know you can visit me in Dubai, and I can book tickets for you. Just tell me when.”

“We will see.” I want to see how my life goes after settling in England, and I can’t tell if my new job will allow me to have even one day to travel anywhere. I like the idea of visiting my old home, the place where I was raised. After a knock on the door, my mom peeks through the door, “You two come downstairs. They are here.”

Before I can ask any more questions, she has already left, so I turn to my sister, “What is she talking about?”

Brinda looks guilty, not knowing, wanting to give me the answer, so I hold up my fist to her; she holds up her arms, “Okay, some people are coming over; Mom and Dad are planning a birthday party for you.” I panic, “Who is coming?”

“Not many people, just some relatives from both mom and dad’s sides, also from Canada and the US.”I raise my voice, “What? This is crazy.”

“Not just them.” She pauses for a moment and tells me, “Kabir is coming also.” Hearing the name makes me get up from my bed, “Is Mom crazy? Why would she do this to me?” I need to tell her to make this stop. My sister grabs my arms, “I am sorry, I know you don’t want to see too many people, and I know you don’t want to see Kabir.”

I remind her, “You know what he did to me.”

“Yes, I do, I hate him. Mom thinks there is a chance of you two getting back together, and having a future together like she wants.”

“So get married, hate each other, resent each other, have children, and be unhappy for the rest of your life. Wow, that sounds nice.” I cannot allow myself to have an image of my future. I already have too many problems.

Brinda calms me, “No. Lilly, just be cool, just talk, interact with a smile like I do, and it will be over before you know it. You will be at the airport in no time.” Her words encouraged me to get through the party. I am sure I will be okay.

What I am feeling is the opposite of okay. What I am feeling is the need to run away to an empty room to scream at the top of my lungs until my voice breaks. I am more than happy to do anything to stand in front of my aunt as she rants on about why getting married is more important than a career. I tried to tell her about my love for writing stories, to share with the readers, and nothing writing. Freelancing is the start I need to write, and soon I can start on my first novel. After explaining to my aunt, she simply nods and starts talking about why getting married is a must and how happy she is. I can see that she got married at sixteen while my uncle was 24 years old, just like most of the older generation, plus they spend all their time watching Tamil TV shows, the kind that makes my mind go numb if I watch for five minutes.

Thankfully, my mom cuts in with a smile, “So sorry, but Lilly is needed.” I want to thank her for saving me. I see who is coming towards me, I stop walking, hoping I can turn around and pretend I didn’t see him, my mom pulls me to keep walking.

“You need to work it out. All relationships have problems, and you can fix whatever happened between you two.”

I know how to fix a printer, I know how to fix a bad soup if it gets too salty, and I know how to fix it when there is a stain on a shirt. This is different. Kabir is some stain I can remove with a club soda. I loved him for three years, and since the day we met at college, I was filled with the hope of being together, living together, and having a family. I even imagined what our kids would look like. I thought our story came straight from a chick-lit book. The hope died ever since I saw him with another woman, as if he thought I could be replaced with a woman with a slim body, longer hair, and fair skin. It took me weeks to stop comparing myself to her; whoever she is, it doesn’t matter. I have my career to focus on. I don’t need him. My mom pats me on my arms, “I will let you talk. Happy birthday, Lilly.” After she leaves, Kabir smiles and says, “Happy birthday, Lilly. I got you a present.” He presents me with a box. Once upon I fell for his looks, his light skin as opposed to my dark skin, he isn’t exactly filled with strong muscles, I still loved leaning on his shoulders, and his soft hair used to be comforting for me, to run my hands through it was what I enjoyed the most. It’s all in the past. Looking at him, I feel different. My feelings for him have changed. There is no going back, and I hope he knows it.

I smile at him, “Thank you.” Inside the box, I pulled out the present. It was a sundress with long sleeves and a bright pink and white flower pattern. I noticed the dress is a bit small for me.

Kabir notices my expression and says, “I know this dress won’t fit you. When I saw this dress, I thought of you. You always wear blue or green clothes, plus you need to wear something other than jeans. This dress will make you look more attractive.” I always forget how Kabir can be like my mother, telling me what kind of clothes I need to wear, instead of accepting my preferences in clothing. Even when I try to be good for him, he still prefers other girls. My mom jumps, not allowing me to say anything, “Wow, Lilly, what a beautiful dress. I knew inviting Kabir was the best idea.” I stare at her, hoping she is kidding. Does she know what happened when I walked into his apartment and found him in his bedroom? He wasn’t alone. She then grabs my arms, “Come with me, you are wanted.” Her words indicate that I should be excited to interact more with my relatives, and I tried. Mostly it’s them who do the talking, about their children being successful in their careers. My mind has a way of not being able to keep up with the conversations. I think of my cousins and how great it must be to be praised like celebrities. I then notice the conversation has moved on to something else, and I can’t understand what the conversation is all about. This happens all the time, my mind will be covered in fog in conversations, I space, and when I come back, I get lost, not knowing what is happening. I shouldn’t look like a fool, so I smile and nod, pretending to be interested in the conversations, no matter how badly I want to escape. My sister and my dad look at me worried, as if they are asking if I need anything. I shake my head, telling them I will be fine. There is no need to worry, they have to know that I am a strong woman, I am growing up, I am an independent woman, capable of handling anything, any obstacles. Not some kid calling her parents for everything, not anymore. Even though on the inside, I am feeling anxious, everything happening around me is moving fast, making it hard to keep up with my surroundings. Do most people feel the same? Am I the only one? Am I the only one spacing out in conversations, feeling speechless when I have to talk, being stared at like a statue, being frozen with my mouth open? Do I have to fzt orce myself to say something or do something? I am back in my room with my notebook, writing everything that happened at the party, with tears in my eyes. Then again, I cry for everything. I cry while reading happy endings.

I cry while I lie in the night thinking about everything I said in front of people, feeling embarrassed. Right now, I am crying every conversation at the party, playing in my mind over and over again, making sleeping difficult, which leads to worrying about tomorrow, hoping I have everything I need, hoping I remember all of it. Why am I not accepted the way I am? Why can’t my mom just be happy for me for taking a step in my life, or why can’t I be comfortable in public? I am now worried about whether I space out during conversations with my relatives, and how I will manage in England, located on another continent, on the other side of the world. There isn’t anyone who will help me; I need to figure it out. I am on my own, I’ve always been.