Friends. Forever?

Aafia and I first met in seventh grade, during the post-COVID period. I was a new admission, and like anyone else, I was confused and hopeful about making new friends—especially since we were finally meeting people in person after years of isolation. Due to the pandemic, most of seventh grade had been conducted online. It was only after the half-yearly examinations that students were permitted to attend school physically, following strict precautions such as social distancing, masks, and hand sanitizers. Essentially, we were returning to school after nearly two and a half years.

To my surprise, one of my former school friends was in my class at this new school, so I quickly connected with her, as it felt easier to bond with someone, I already shared a history with. However, because of social distancing protocols, I was seated two seats away from Shruti, my former school friend. During a class teacher period, I asked her about the new school and how she had been coping during lockdown. As our conversation flowed, we unknowingly began discussing Aafia—the class topper since Grade 1, ever since she joined the school.

Curious, I turned my head to spot Aafia in the classroom. She was a chubby girl sitting on the first bench in the far corner, wearing a mask like everyone else. Her straight, dark brown hair brushed her shoulders, and her big eyes—the only visible part of her face—seemed to look directly at us, as if she knew we were talking about her. That was the first time I truly noticed Aafia.

Attendance in seventh grade was irregular due to post-pandemic recovery, but Aafia was almost always present, quietly seated in that same corner, rarely speaking. I officially spoke to her for the first time in the computer lab, where we were assigned to create a Python program. True to her reputation, Aafia completed her program within ten minutes, while I was still struggling with a persistent syntax error. She had been one of those students who stayed consistent with online classes during the pandemic, whereas I was clearly still catching up.

After struggling for a while, I finally gathered the courage to ask her for help. She glanced at me briefly and helped without hesitation.

“I’m dumb,” I sighed. “No, you’re not,” she replied politely. “It can be confusing when you try it for the first time.”

After that interaction, we did not interact much. I was occupied spending time with Riza and Anvi—unaware at the time that I was essentially third-wheeling. I genuinely believed we were a trio. Aafia, on the other hand, seemed focused on her studies and was close to Shreya, Manvi, and Aditi.

In hindsight, my experience with Riza and Anvi deserves a chapter of its own. It was evident that they did not need me, or perhaps I simply was not the kind of person they wanted to spend time with. Still, I kept forcing myself into that dynamic, so I accept my share of the blame. Nevertheless, I did enjoy participating in school festivals with them, as we were all part of the school choir.

A few months later, I grew close to Eshmaal during the fall. However, her best friend Vani disliked me, believing I was trying to replace her. She seemed insecure about my presence, which I noticed, and as a result, I distanced myself from Eshmaal. By the end of seventh grade, I found myself once again feeling like a third wheel.

At the beginning of eighth grade, our class was gathered in the auditorium for an extracurricular workshop. Being my usual self, I was joking around and being expressive. During this time, a classmate named Abdul—who was often bullied by other boys for not fitting into their idea of being “cool” and for having traditionally feminine interests—made a comment about me. I did not hear it, but Aafia, who was seated next to him, did. Without hesitation, she struck him on the head with the heavy notebook she carried.

The boys began hooting, while the girls, including me, sat in stunned silence, trying to process what had just happened.

“Think before you speak,” Aafia said firmly, before returning to her seat near the podium.

A few days later, Abdul approached me and apologized for his comment in the auditorium. Although I never knew what he had said, I accepted his apology. Over time, we developed a strong bond—purely platonic and very much sibling-like. Abdul was also an excellent singer, and he later joined the school choir. During choir rehearsals, while Riza and Anvi stayed together, I would talk to Abdul. For once, I was no longer the third wheel—at least temporarily.

Once, Abdul and I were sitting and talking outside the swimming pool area, which is located just below the music room. We had finished our part of the school concert rehearsals and were taking a short break. While we were there, we noticed a teacher approaching us. We immediately realized that she assumed we were bunking classes. We tried to return to the music room, but it was too late—she shouted and stopped us.

She questioned us sharply, saying, “What were you two doing alone outside the pool at this hour?” From her tone and choice of words, it was clear that she had misjudged the situation and the nature of our friendship. Abdul and I were simply friends. However, there is a deeply ingrained, misogynistic mindset in parts of Indian society that assumes a girl and a boy cannot be “just friends.”

Without allowing us to explain, she took us to our class teacher and complained in a suggestive manner, saying, “They were sitting alone together in front of the swimming pool.” Before we had a chance to clarify, our class teacher scolded us and instructed us not to sit together again.

I still do not understand why the teachers interpreted the situation so negatively. They assumed we were dating, even though dating was strictly prohibited in school and is generally not accepted by many Indian parents. I do acknowledge that we were at fault for being outside the music room during rehearsals; however, we had taken prior permission from our music teacher to step out briefly.

The real fault lay in the teachers’ refusal to hear our side of the story and their decision to act based on prejudice rather than facts. Unfortunately, the situation escalated. Rumours began circulating that Abdul and I were dating, which was completely untrue. Even the teachers seemed aware of these rumours. No matter how much we denied them, no one was willing to listen or understand what had actually happened.

Eventually, we had no choice but to limit our interactions and speak to each other less, simply to allow the rumours to die down.

For the next school choir, I chose to withdraw, citing reasons such as focusing on my studies and avoiding any possibility of unwanted rumours. Eshmaal was selected to take my place. Over time, Abdul and Eshmaal developed a strong bond as well. I began to suspect that Abdul liked Eshmaal—not because I believe that girls and boys cannot be just friends, but because his behaviour around her was noticeably different from how he interacted with me, Riza, and Anvi, all of whom were part of the school choir.

I would often tease him about it, and his blushing reactions were enough to convince me that he had a significant crush on her. For a period, Abdul, Eshmaal, and I formed a trio, and for once, I was not the third wheel. However, Vani continued to feel insecure about her friendship with Eshmaal and occasionally tried to keep her away from us. As a result, Abdul and I once again distanced ourselves from Eshmaal. By distancing, I do not mean that we stopped talking entirely; rather, we interacted less, avoided sharing desks, and did not spend time together in the corridors during free periods.

During Sports Day, Abdul, Riza, and I decided to volunteer. Our responsibility was to supervise primary school students. Abdul and Riza were assigned to the auditorium, where they looked after two classes, while I was tasked with managing the children in their classroom. For nearly five hours, it was just me and the kids.

Volunteering was a mix of emotions for me. It was enjoyable when the children listened and followed instructions, but it became nerve-wracking when they ran around the classroom and misbehaved. During this time, Abdul and Riza seemed to bond well while volunteering together. Eventually, Abdul, Riza, and Anvi formed a trio, and I found myself becoming the fourth wheel at times.

This was the period when Aafia and I began interacting more regularly. To my surprise, we shared several common interests, such as Marvel movies and similar music tastes. Aditi, on the other hand, was quite introverted and spoke very little, but her presence was comforting and enjoyable. I started sitting with Aafia and Aditi and genuinely looked forward to my school hours.

Aafia was nothing like the stereotypical “class topper.” She was intelligent, bright, and lively, and undeniably beautiful—so much so that more than five boys had a crush on her. By this time, masks were no longer required, and everyone was finally able to see one another clearly.