Born Wrong

08. a girl who wants to disappear

Kala Roshan

My goal is to keep a low profile.

I don't feel the best, meaning I don't feel like I am the person I always try to be. I don't want to interact with anyone, be noticed by anyone, and see anyone. I can't avoid the last one, but everything else could be obtained with enough dedication.

Unfortunately, the universe doesn't want me to succeed.

"Kala, I love your top." Riya compliments after I enter Thompson's classroom, nearing my desk that sits in front of hers. I slow my steps, as if I'm approaching a trap. "It looks so pretty on you."

Normally, I can brush past any comments made by her, but today is different. Since Rihaan and I got into that argument, my mood is astronomically-low and I barely have the effort to give anything other than the bare minimum. This always happens whenever we're at odds because I feel the direct consequences of our conflict weighing on my conscience. It doesn't matter if I felt justified in the moment, I shouldn't have caused a problem in the first place.

This is my fault, I know. I was in the wrong to ask him to try to save Bright and I was in the wrong for starting something I didn't know much about. But, I was so upset at how Rihaan framed the sentiment and I know it wasn't fair.

It doesn't matter.

I study Riya as she looks up to me from her seat and plasters a sweet smile—too wide, too forced, too friendly to be authentic. Something was wrong, because on top of the nicety, the two popular boys sitting behind her are watching us with an eager gaze as if we were the entertainment of the century.

On the other hand, Husna sits next to them, her legs stretched across an unoccupied seat and is completely oblivious to her surroundings, with earbuds in.

I open my mouth to say something: to thank her, to tell her off, but nothing comes out. So, instead of allowing the moment to stretch further, I turn and slip into my chair, focusing my attention ahead. It didn't take long before the subtle snickers resonated behind me—no doubt from the conspiring trio themselves.

I feel shitty. I glance down at my shirt, a simple tank top with racing cars printed in a retro-vintage style, and suddenly, I feel stupid about my choice of wardrobe. I want to sink into my seat and disappear.

Thankfully, my prayers were semi-answered and the lights flick off the moment the second bell rings, signaling the end of the transition period. Thompson announces to the class that we will be watching Hamlet on the projector, in conclusion to our in-class reading, and setting us up for our final project.

I didn't catch the rest of his instructions as I was preoccupied with lowering myself into the chair, trying to make myself blend into the furniture, and counting down the seconds before I could leave.

—

A second before the bell rings to signal the end of class, I sprinted out of the room and into the hallway, towards the direction of the library.

It was in a quick recession. I didn't want to be in class more than I had to be. With Riya's little compliment sticking in the back of my head longer than I would like to admit, I barely paid attention to the characters reciting their soliloquy in Elizabethan English. All I could think about was how self-conscious I was, how I was dressed, how I looked. Usually, I wouldn't feel this way but Riya rubs me the wrong way.

She reminds me, a little bit, of my mother.

I didn't get to leave easily, because apparently, nothing is. Since other classes let their students out early, I was stuck in the flow of the traffic, trying to navigate around the corner. When I was about to do so, I heard a familiar voice shouting for a Knight.