Getting Over Him

Vultures

Pran's P.O.V: 

It was just as extravagant as I remembered. The ceiling was an ornate masterpiece, high and arched, covered in intricate carvings that told stories of gods and battles long past. Crystal chandeliers hung from above, each one a small galaxy of shimmering light. The walls were lined with dark wood paneling, polished to a mirror finish, and heavy drapes hung in the large windows, their deep burgundy color adding to the room's suffocating atmosphere.

Rows of long tables were laid out in the center of the room, each covered in a pristine white tablecloth. The plates and cutlery were arranged with military precision, the silverware glinting under the chandelier's light. Each place setting had its own crystal glass, filled with either water or wine, and the centerpiece of every table was an extravagant floral arrangement, too large and too ornate, like something you'd see in a royal court rather than a family banquet. The flowers were exotic, the kind that you knew cost a small fortune, their heavy scent mingling with the smell of rich food and old wood.

My family was already there, of course. They were like vultures circling their prey, scattered across the room, talking in hushed tones that only they understood. Each conversation was a minefield, a battle of wits where words were weapons and every sentence held a double meaning. I saw my aunt, a tall, thin woman with a sharp face, whispering to my cousin. Their eyes flicked over to another relative, and I could almost hear the barbed words they were exchanging. My family had a talent for talking around the truth, for wrapping their insults in silk so they could pretend they were being polite. They were snakes, every one of them, always ready to strike but doing so with a smile on their face.

I made my way further into the room, keeping my head down, trying to avoid drawing any attention. But I knew it wouldn't last long. There was no escaping the fact that I was here, and soon enough, someone would come over to talk, or rather, to gossip. I could already feel the eyes on me, sizing me up, measuring me against whatever ridiculous standard they had in their heads.

As I passed by a group of my relatives, I overheard my father's voice. He was talking to my uncle, his tone low but clear enough for me to catch every word.

"He could do better, you know," my father was saying. "He's smart, but he lacks ambition. He needs to push himself more, aim higher. This... phase he's in, it's just holding him back. He'll soon realize that this thing he's pursuing is just child's play. All he does is glue sticks, and draw like a little kid. " 

They all laugh...

My heart sank as I realized he was talking about me. I stopped in my tracks, my face growing hot with a mix of anger and embarrassment. I knew my father wasn't happy with me, but hearing him talk about me like that, in that condescending tone, it hurt more than I'd expected. I was expecting that he was content as long as I had the best grades in my major...

I turned away, not wanting to hear any more, but the words echoed in my head. He could do better. He needs to push himself more. A phase. Was that what he thought of my life? That it was just a phase, something I would grow out of? I clenched my fists, trying to keep my emotions in check, but it was no use. All I could think about was Pat, who was probably back at our dorm right now, relaxing, maybe reading a book or watching a movie. I missed him. I missed the way he made me feel like I was enough, just as I was. He never talked down to me or made me feel like I had to prove myself. With him, I didn't have to pretend.

The noise of the banquet hall grew louder around me as more guests arrived. The chatter became a constant hum, a background noise that only added to my sense of isolation. I looked around, feeling trapped, like I was in a cage surrounded by predators. Everyone here was playing a part, putting on a show, and I was expected to do the same. But I didn't want to. I didn't want to smile and nod and pretend that I cared about the things they cared about. I didn't want to be here at all.