The Wrong Indian Flag | LGBTQ+[ON HOLD]

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Oh god, I cannot do this. She looks too much like... no, I will not think of her.

I left California for what exactly? To meet someone who looks eerily similar to her? But Shilpa is more angular than her, with no hips to speak of and has very very sharp features. Sharp eyes and lips. Not curvy. Just cutting. Like broken glass.

Fuck, I think I have the hots for her and I don't even know her. I have never felt like this before --like wildfire was skittering through every cell in my body raging on even when she was not there.

I also cannot believe I just told her I was bisexual in the first conversation. I didn't mean to. While my parents were cool with my sexuality, some of my other family members weren't and once I came out a few years back, I had a lot of "friends" renounce our relationship as well. I faced homophobia from some of my peers too. But as I had a lot of LGBTQ+ friends in Cali, I suppose it had become a force of habit to not hide that part of who I was. Yet, I should have known my limits here. India and California have very different principles and I don't need a repeat of the incident like the summer of 2015.

I am such an idiot to babble my business to the first Indian girl I meet just because she seems nice and not to mention fucking stunning.

Idiot. Idiot. Idiot Alisha.

Thank God she is cool with it-or at least she pretends to be. For all I know, she could be running to a teacher at this very moment trying to get me kicked out. Thankfully, no adults approach me at this very moment, so I appear to be in the clear.

I hit my head against the grey locker, growling under my breath. Surprisingly, the locker was easy to find. It is at the end of the same hall as Shilpa's. Locker 69.

I have to snigger at the irony of the perversion of that number.

The locker is unlocked and I quickly open it. My timetable is wedged between my chemistry and physics books that are each the size of a humpback whale. I'm in Class 12C and my fifth period is chemistry.

The bell rings a shrill sound that makes me wince. The students gradually shepherd to their classes after finishing their test. As they move, everyone's eyes rove over me, taking in my jeans and tight top that cuts a v that ends miles up from where my breasts start. But anything that doesn't strangle a person in terms of the neckline is too 'deep'. I scoff. Indian mentality never fails to surprise me. Even in the USA, I have had these older Indian aunties and some of their children judging me for wearing crop tops. When I visited India every year to visit my cousins, my aunt would charade me on being a bad influence on them by wearing off-shoulder tops.

Nonetheless, I unconsciously tug at the upper hem of the shirt, my fingers fiddling with the thin fabric. This is my usual fashion style, but not for school. I prefer looser jeans and flimsy free clothing which don't hug all my curves unless I want them too. Especially in this environment.