Twelve Weeks of You

Week Two

Week Two

Mridula knew how to separate people that spelled annoying. It was easy and the best part was, the campus did it for her. Every day after classes, the campus was filled with athletes that lingered on the fields and the court, howling and throwing a ball around. She just had to make sure she kept clear off them.

According to her, athletes were these testosterone-driven, estrogen hungry humans who found peace in sweating endlessly and infinitely. They swore at their friends, broke their bones in the name of love, and were so active that she feared nothing could stop them from blowing up any second. And most of them hadn't even touched a book in years.

Especially the athletes in her university, the tales she had heard. From them boasting and the victims wailing about it. She had found her classmate sobbing her eyes out in her hostel the other day. She was lured in by this senior who invited her to his party, had sex with her, and then never looked at her again. 'Full of condoms' she muttered before weeping.

And the saddest part was, the girl was sobbing not because the guy was a jackass but because she missed the feel of his hand on her skin. And her peers who surrounded her, not one of them told her that this senior was a classic example of what the books called 'fuck boy' but instead couldn't stop drooling over him. Mridula had quietly shaken her head and left. She knew better than to teach fangirls not to swoon.

So naturally, when her roommate was invited to a similar party, she was more than worried. She sat on her favorite bench under the amaltas tree with her laptop on her lap, writing all the points she would present her to convince her not to go. She waited for her, knowing she would come by anytime from the court. The sun had already set, leaving a darkness around that Mridula adored more than cloudy skies.

So far, she had on her list was:

1. I can't sleep alone

2. FUCK BOY FUCK BOY FUCK BOY

3. I really can't sleep alone

The list was by far the most unimpressive thing she as a writer had ever written and the first and third points were a lie but the second one overpowered above all.

She swayed to Hozier's voice that mixed with her thoughts, thinking hard as the curly mess of hair fell over her face like those niqaab Muslim women wore. She took off her glasses, the light sweat of September was fogging them. But more so, it gave her a perfect excuse to not see people around, if someone accused her of ignoring them she simply replied, 'I am sorry, I wasn't wearing my specs.' The sorry part of it was a lie but this was the most evil she was capable of.

It was not like she didn't like people, she just didn't like the person she became infront of everyone. Flustered, a little out of sorts and mostly mumbling words to herself.

A sudden shadow fell over her as she looked up to see her bestfriend smiling down at her. It was amazing how even after two hours of playing on the court, Samira had managed to look as flawless as she had left, her wavy hair intact in her ponytail, her eyes twinkling with fresh blood as sweat glistened off her fair face while Mridula sitting on a bench alone had let her hair go rogue, sweat pooling in places it just shouldn't.

But that was just Samira, a certain flawlessness followed her at every step. In the past one year together, Mridula had learned to accept her as a reincarnation of a certain Goddess and at the same time a fragile human full of feelings. She could smile at uncountable strangers and at the same time find ways to be alone with Mridula. 

She remembered watching her argue with the warden on her first day here, demanding hot water. Mridula had been bathing with cold water for the past three days and even though she was the one with the strong opinions on what is right and wrong, it was always Samira fighting her battles.