Aaradhya

"Arrey, Sharma ji, when did you return?" Not again!

"Yesterday night, Bhabi ji!" Sharma uncle yelled back making me groan.

Their shouts echoed from outside, and I groaned, pulling my pillow over my head. Why do people insist on turning every conversation into a neighborhood announcement? I just wanted a few more minutes of peace, wrapped in my blankets, away from the world.

Giving up, I sat up and stretched, taking in the familiar sight of my small bedroom. My fingers lingered over my hand as I blinked sleepily, trying to shake off the last traces of slumber. Another day. Another day of routine. But for today, at least, it's a holiday.

After brushing my teeth and doing my Suryanamaskar, I took a long, warm shower, letting the water wash away any lingering sleepiness. I grabbed my jeans and a top—no work, no formals—and headed to the kitchen for a lazy breakfast. Toast would do just fine; I couldn't muster the energy to make anything elaborate.

I called my father, putting the phone on speaker as I reached for a jar of chocolate spread. The familiar sound of his voice was like a warm hug through the phone.

"Good morning, Aaru!" he greeted, his tone full of the usual love.

"Good morning, Nanna!" I replied, a smile creeping onto my face as I took a bite. Moments like these made me feel grounded, and connected, even though we were miles apart. We talked about nothing much—just his breakfast, the pending bills, my plans for the day, and a few quick laughs before he passed the phone to Mom. She peppered me with the same questions she always did, but I didn't mind. I wanted to hear her voice, too. I think I called just to remind myself that I wasn't truly alone, that someone was on the other side, listening.

After hanging up, I packed my bag and decided to spend the day in my favorite place—the library. A whole day with a good book felt like a mini vacation. I threw on my shoes, locked the door, and headed down the street.

The library smelled like old paper and coffee—a perfect combination. I greeted the staff, a smile warming my face as I wandered down the aisles of novels. Just being around books was soothing; they didn't ask for explanations and didn't expect me to perform or impress. They were simply there, waiting to be read, offering me worlds I could escape into.

Finding a cozy corner, I nestled in with a random romance novel. As I read, the hours passed in a blur, with just me and the characters. I could almost imagine myself as the heroine, swept off her feet by someone who truly saw her. My heart thudded as I read each line of tender confessions and secret glances, each moment of unspoken understanding.

I wondered if I'd ever feel like that in real life. Someone who made me feel like the heroine of my own story. Someone who wouldn't mind my silence, my quirks—the way I could lose myself in a book for hours, only to forget the world around me. The way I always said exactly what was on my mind, without caring about the consequences. Maybe I was just too much for people to handle. The overthinking, the quiet loneliness that sometimes engulfed me despite the noise around me.

I sighed and shook my head, forcing myself back into the story.

I had to stop thinking about what might never be, and just immerse myself in the world I had found on those pages. But in the back of my mind, the question lingered. Would I ever meet someone who would look at me like those perfect heroes looked at their heroines? Would anyone ever love the quiet, the messy, the broken parts of me? Or was I just destined to watch from the sidelines, wrapped in stories, but never living my own?

As I turned the page, I realized how much I was aching to feel truly seen, to be someone's someone. But for now, I had to let these words on the pages take me to a world where love was uncomplicated, where someone would love every little thing about the heroine—flaws, silence, quirks, and all.

It was late afternoon when I finally closed the book, halfway through but feeling the beginnings of hunger pangs. As I sat in my chair with a half-eaten sandwich, my mind wandered to my family again. They were my constant, my anchor. I called them three times a day as if those calls could fill the emptiness in my apartment, the silence that settled like a shadow around me.

After eating, I let my mind drift, scrolling through my social media feed without much interest. I clicked on a friend's story, one showing a gathering I hadn't been invited to. My stomach twisted a little, that old familiar pang of not belonging. They probably hadn't meant to exclude me; maybe I'd just slipped their mind. It happened so often that it hurt less these days, though the sting was always there, like a dull ache.

Friends and acquaintances seemed to move on so effortlessly, leaving me behind, as if I was invisible. I couldn't help but wonder if I had done something wrong or if I simply wasn't interesting enough. 

I wanted some reassurance. I grabbed my phone to call someone and rant out. My finger hovered over her phone, tempted to call someone and vent, but then I stopped.  I had learned over time that not everyone wanted to listen.

I put my phone down and rubbed my forehead. Why did I feel like this? I reminded myself that I wasn't alone. I had my family, I had myself, and I had my dreams. But sometimes, it just wasn't enough to chase the loneliness away.

Back home, after a quiet dinner, I lay on my bed, trying to read but finding myself too distracted by my thoughts. I knew I should be grateful. I had a job, a family that cared about me, and a place to call my own. But I couldn't shake this feeling of wanting more—more connection, more warmth, more of that indescribable something that seemed to elude me. I wanted love. I want to be someone's love, not care or responsibility but love. 

With a sigh, I turned off the light and pulled the blanket over me, hoping for a peaceful sleep.

The next morning started like any other, my alarm jolting me awake from a sleep that hadn't been as restful as I'd hoped. I went through my routine, got ready for work, and packed my lunch. At least work provided a distraction. I drove to the office, slipping into my role as "Team Lead Aaradhya," the one with all the answers, the one who could manage her team with ease.

Stepping into my office, I took a breath, nodding at my reflection in the glass window. I looked...tired. There was no escaping it. But I pushed those thoughts aside, forcing a smile as I walked to my cabin, determined to be the best version of myself today.

During the lunch break, Nalini stopped by my cabin with a request to take leave. As I listened to her, I realized how often I covered for others, and how much I gave without getting anything in return, not even a simple acknowledgment. It was just...my way, I supposed. But there was a small part of me that wondered if anyone would ever step in for me, if anyone would see how much I gave and want to give something back. With a sigh, I told Nalini I'd manage, watching her leave with a bright smile. Maybe that was enough, I thought to myself, watching the door close.

As the day finally drew to a close, I drove back to my apartment later than my usual time, exhaustion sinking into my bones. After a simple dinner, I lay down on my bed, staring at the ceiling. For a long time, I just lay there, lost in thought, wondering if this was all there was to life.

My phone vibrated with a message, and I checked it—a goodnight text from Rahul, my brother, with a reminder to take care of myself. Smiling, I replied, saying goodnight and that I'd talk to him tomorrow. He doesn't text me regularly because of his busy schedule but when he does, it always makes my heart warm. I hugged my pillow, imagining it was a hug from someone who understood, someone who cared. And for a moment, just a moment, the loneliness faded away.

As I closed my eyes, sleep slowly pulled me under, carrying me off to dreams where maybe, just maybe, I'd find the belonging I craved.