UNO Cards

S A R A

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If I ever had to make a list of how to distract myself from my heartbreak, or, more specifically, everything Vivaan-related, here's how it would go:

Step 1: Avoid reminders of Vivaan.

The first step, yet probably the hardest step, because Vivaan has been my friend for fourteen years and lives, well, right next to me. In addition to that, we recently had an encounter on my front lawn that left me reeling with confusion, remainders of my own hurt--and yes, butterflies--at Vivaan's sudden show of care and persistence. I hate that it made me like him more, so I keep my window shut, pile stacks of UNO Cards behind the closed doors of my cupboard, and try my best not to think about him, which ties directly in with the second step...

Step 2: Immerse myself in something entirely different.

That's kind of the whole point of, well, distracting myself, and the distraction comes in the form of planning Ally's eighteenth birthday party for her birthday on Saturday, right before a refreshing week of Thanksgiving break. For nearly an hour everyday, I video call Ally--and sometimes Rohan, who really is no help but somewhat tolerable to have around--and try to manifest her dream party, a more practical and affordable version of the saved inspiration she has on Pinterest. I've always found party planning rather stressful, but stress can be distracting, so I'll take it.

Step 3: Think about the other types of love in my life.

To be honest, this step sounds so cheesy that a part of me is embarrassed to even think about it--I can be cringe-worthy, but since when did I get this cringeworthy? Yet this step is probably the most vital part of the process, a reminder of how many different shapes and forms love comes in--again, love, what a big word!

Love isn't limited to the romantic relationships that I have--or don't have, at that. Love is Ally and I; all her Instagram posts tagging me in the captions; all my old Polaroids of us when we were freshmen. Love is my parents; Mama calling me beta and jaan as she piles hot parathas onto my plate; Baba interrupting the Bollywood movies we watch on the weekends when he's off to tell me about how things were when he was a child; the three of us going to the masjid once in a while for the Jummah prayer. Love is my camera, slightly old yet still gorgeous in all its clunky glory; the satisfying snap sound after I capture a moment into the haven of memories I will always have access to; the fingerprints that smudge its lens once in a while, when the yearbook committee gets too excited.

And these different types of love do help, they truly do. It's much harder to hurt over the love you don't get when you're basking in the love you do get.

Step 4--The Final Step: Enjoy Ally's birthday party wholeheartedly so that you can have a good kickstart to your Thanksgiving break and go back to school refreshed.

Enjoying the fruits of my hard work, basically, and celebrating my best friend, the girl who isn't my sister yet basically is. If Ally and I stand side by side in a mirror, there are a thousand noticeable differences between us--her highlighted golden-brown tresses contrasting to my midnight-dark hair, her fading honey tan against my dusky skin, her peachy-shimmer covered eyelids versus my inky black kohl--and there are differences on our insides, too, like the way she says exactly what's on her mind and reaches high, high, higher to swing a bright white volleyball, while I think a hundred times before saying anything and dig my fingers into my camera. Yet despite all the differences, I could still look into that mirror and say that we are alike, and I know she would say the same.

The evening of Ally's birthday party, I stand in my bedroom, getting ready, already mildly tired from a morning's work of hanging up decorations in Ally's backyard and helping her parents make the living room presentable (spoiler alert: it already was). I smooth down the knee-length black dress and nearly let out a childish giggle at the mild pleats in the skirt as I adjust the slightly off-shoulder short sleeves. I don't wear black often, but when I found this dress hanging at ZARA, it was an elegant version of my childhood princess dreams, and now it looks even better against my dark brown skin.