Lutfanessa Jana has never belonged. Or at least that's what she tells herself.
Brooding, snarky and obsessive to a fault; sometimes, Lutfanessa knows nothing better than to see everything with a very critical eye. A characteristic feature which she...
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APPARENTLY, SPACING OUT and staring widely at your sister when she says the name of her crush isn't an appropriate response.
"Mishti?" She says, frowning and snapping her fingers in front of my face. "You good? Ki holo tor?" What happened to me indeed. What was the meaning of the slight unease that was tugging at the back of my mind? What is happening?
"Oh, um," I say, fumbling for words. Should I tell her that I probably do already know Beckett? There can't be a lot of boys named Beckett Valentine in such a small coastal town now, could there be? But despite myself and despite the slight concern swirling in the treacherous eyes of my sister, I lie. "I just thought of something. What if Baba passes by our rooms tonight? Who is gonna cover?"
There is a pause. Then, Lola breaks into a fit of giggles.
"Oh you don't need to worry," She says, a knowing smile curling at her lips. "We live on different floors now, do we not? No more living on the same floor and living in fear of being caught. I have thought this out, and tested it out for this past week, don't worry."
I manage to offer a smile. "Well then, Mishti is at your service, Lola." The grin she flashes me digs up another chasm in the depths of my heart. I inhale sharply.
My sister enthusiastically chooses a small, flowery dress for herself - a dress primarily white, but with flowers as crimson as fever. She applies mascara so softly, one would think that it's black snow settling atop her lashes. I suppose in an alternative universe, she will be quite a princess - words as soft as a feather's brush against the sole of a newborn's foot, a smile so captivating that the stars would stop and stare. I suppose I would be her shadow in that universe - the one whose words are crooked, whose mascara is always spidering down her cheeks, whose smile is always a bit hesitant, uncertain, unsure.
My sister offers me one of her cheery summer dresses, but I decline. Dresses are beautiful, polished, and charming - and it reflects everything I am not. So instead, I settle for an off-white translucent shirt and a pair of denim shorts, something as simple and sturdy as myself. I make a mental note to ask Maa to buy a couple of flowery and soft, pastel colored and nautical themed shirts for me, just so I can fit in with the aesthetic of this town.
Sneaking out proves to be fairly easy, all thanks to my mum who had sent me to rock climbing classes when I was six to make me get rid of my fear of heights. And thanks to those lessons, I have a rock climbing cord that proves more than helpful when it comes to escaping. And that's how I find myself standing under my balcony in the middle of the night, the crisp blades of grass crushing under my sandals, and my sister clinging onto the rope for her life.
"Just jump, you little shit," I whisper-yell. "We don't have all the time in the world!"
"Oh no, oh no," She says, sucking in a sharp breath and I wonder if she is close to hyperventilating. "This was a bad idea."
