UNO Cards

S A R A

You are now reading: UNO Cards

As the days slip by, the first traces of autumn that dotted the tranquil Detroit air begin to materialize into a more prominent season, and a low, smoky chill appears in the atmosphere, subtle enough that some days, you can barely feel it, yet bold enough that you always know it's just there.

The season isn't the only thing that begins to bloom. Day by day, as I stare at Vivaan from afar, I feel the growth of butterflies in my stomach, and before I know it, I'm doing nothing to stop them. I'm aware, so aware of how dangerous these feelings are, how my hidden sentiments have the effect of flames, large and raging and ready to burn, prone to destroying every little thread woven into the bond I've built with Vivaan over the years.

But how can I bring myself to stop? I know that my emotions will always be suppressed, and I know they will never be returned, no matter what--it's simply the consequence of falling for one who you know can't reciprocate. Yet no matter whether or not Vivaan will ever like me back, I feel, somewhere deep inside of me, that I'm entitled to that small luxury of viewing him as more than just a friend, of being able to admire his persona, his words, his rare laughter and few smiles, of being able to think of myself as a lover, even though I will never be seen as his lover, or as anything more than just the Sara who plays UNO cards with him.

I'm setting myself up for heartbreak, but I would much rather my first heartbreak come from Vivaan Rathore than from anyone else.

As I sit in the cafeteria one afternoon, surrounded by several members of the yearbook committee, who are currently chatting about everything but the yearbook, my eyes wander around, searching for Vivaan. He and I used to sit together during lunch, along with Rohan and Ally. He never spoke much, but it was still nice to have his quiet presence lingering nearby, a silent affirmation of our close friendship.

In sophomore year, though, Rohan became a lot closer with the basketball team and moved to sit over with their table, and Vivaan went with him. To be honest, I can't blame Vivaan for wanting to sit with Rohan and the other boys rather than two girls, even if those girls are Ally and I. In fact, I've always hoped that sitting with his team would bring him new friends, even though he's much too introverted to go searching for new friendships. Still, though, there are many times when I miss sitting together at lunch, and today is one of them.

A tap on my arm makes me turn back around in my seat, and I find Ally grinning at me. One of the yearbook drafts is open on the laptop in front of her, but it's been long since neglected, and I can feel myself soaking in her full attention.

Ally and I have been best friends since eighth grade. Initially, what began our camaraderie was our shared passion for photography and our partnership during the middle school yearbook committee, but I've always admired everything about her: her beauty, her confidence, and most of all, her seemingly never-ending kindness. She's mixed, which is rather rare in Detroit, but she always seems to carry that fact with pride rather than being insecure or ashamed of it, happily answering questions about why her name is Ally Singh or what chicken curry empanadas are. Her laughter, ever-present, is like a soothing song to my ears, a melody that fills my heart with reassurance and serenity, even during my toughest times.

Even now, when I've been lost in thoughts of my one-sided pining, one sight of her gaze, filled with adoration and care and proof of the friendship that has bound us for the past four years makes a smile appear on my face.

"Who are you looking for?" she asks me softly, her eyes crinkling around the corners as a result of the teasing grin that plays on her lips.

"Nobody," I say, and her grin widens knowingly, but she doesn't push. That's another thing I love about Ally--she's not a quiet girl, but she knows when to be quiet.

I give her a teasing nudge, grinning back. "Well, why are you asking me? Shouldn't you be looking for your boyfriend?"

"Nope," Ally says, turning around and dusting her clean hands. "Rohan and I are in the midst of a heated debate."

I laugh at her dramatic expressions. "Really? You're arguing with Rohan?"

"Rohan's arguing with me. He claims the Lakers are better than the Mavs," Ally says, sniffling in exaggeration.

"Wow, that's breakup-worthy, considering he's the one who got you into watching basketball," I joke.

Jokes aside, Rohan and Ally are one of the sweetest couples I've seen. Ally's absolutely gorgeous, inside and out--she got the best genes from her Mexican mother and her Indian father--so she's always caught the attention of many guys, but Rohan's the first guy she ever dated. They've been together since freshman year, but they still care for each other so much that it literally reflects in their eyes.

Honestly, if I was ever in a relationship, I would want mine to be as wholesome as Rohan and Ally's. But again, given the only person I can imagine myself being in a relationship with is Vivaan, I know that's not going to be happening for me.

Ally gathers her golden-streaked brown hair off of her tan skin and throws it onto her back, then focuses back on me, smiling.

"Forget Rohan. You were looking for someone," she says, and I feel my cheeks heating up.

"No, I wasn't," I insist.

"Sara," Ally whines, and then leans forward. "I'm your best friend. You can tell me things, you know. I'm never going to judge you, Sara, ever."

I smile at her, suddenly overwhelmed with the guilt of not being honest with her. I tell Ally almost everything, but my feelings towards Vivaan are one thing I've always been very reluctant to disclose to anyone. It feels like if I speak about them aloud, confirming what my friends suspect of me, I'll suddenly be much more vulnerable than I was before, when my emotions were just a deep secret of mine.

I open up my mouth to tell her things she already knows--how much I trust her and value her friendship, how I know she would never judge me--but when I look up at her, her eyebrows are furrowed together in tension, and her eyes are narrowly locked onto something far behind me. I spin around to follow her gaze, and that's when I see exactly what she's looking at.

There, at the far corner of the cafeteria, stands Vivaan, my closest, oldest friend, Vivaan, the paragon of my broken desires, Vivaan, the reflection of all that I want but will never have, and his hand is interlocked with another girl's.