Aaradhya

As per the earlier communication, Nalini didn't attend the office today. It left me with no choice but to handle her workload in addition to my own. After two extra hours of staying back late yesterday, grinding through her work, and now everything was ready to be submitted. I reviewed my team's work and sent it over to my superior, awaiting his feedback. He replied, telling me he would check everything and suggest a few changes if necessary. And as usual, I relayed the changes to my team.

It was lunchtime now. Everyone left the office to grab their meals in the canteen. But I stayed behind, opting to eat my lunch in my cabin. I didn't mind the solitude – at least I could eat in peace. But deep down, it wasn't that I disliked the presence of people around me. It was more that I felt invisible, like a ghost that walked the halls without being seen. Everyone was busy with their own little lives, and I was just... there. The subtle feeling of being unnoticed began to gnaw at me.

I wanted to be the one others sought, the one they needed to talk to, to share a laugh with. But it never happened. I had learned to endure that silence and that absence. It stung less over time, but it never truly went away. It became a habit to tell myself that I was the one choosing solitude, the one deciding to keep my distance. That way, it didn't hurt as much.

I was scrolling through my phone, trying to escape my thoughts when I saw a call from Swathi, one of my school friends. A small smile tugged at my lips. Finally, a call that might feel... real. A conversation that might make me feel like I matter to someone. I quickly answered.

"Hey!" I said, trying to sound excited and even eager.

"Hi, Aaradhya! How are you?" Swathi's voice was surprisingly sweet, almost too sweet. She had never been this warm when we'd met at random gatherings or bumped into each other in the past.

"I'm good. How are you? How's everything at home?" I asked, trying to steer the conversation in a familiar direction. After all, it had been a while since we last spoke.

"They're good," she replied. "Actually, I wanted to ask you for a favor..." There it was, that hollow feeling creeping back into my chest. Of course, she wasn't calling to chat. Of course, she needed something. It never failed. People remembered me when they needed help, not just to catch up, not just to ask how I was doing.

"A favor?" I repeated, a hint of wariness in my voice. It wasn't that I didn't want to help. I just... wished someone would ever think of me first for a change, for once in my life.

"You know my sister, right? She's looking for a job, and I was wondering if you could recommend her at your office?"

I froze. A pit formed in my stomach. A recommendation? Without knowing her qualifications or anything about her? It was absurd to think I could just push someone into a job.

"Send me her resume," I said, forcing a neutral tone. "I'll see what I can do. But I'm not going to make any promises. There are proper procedures, and she'll need to face the interview process like anyone else."

I heard her exhale on the other end of the line.

"Okay, sure. Thanks. And... Aaradhya, you're the only one who could have helped me with this. I appreciate it."

I didn't reply immediately. My thoughts were tangled. Was that what people thought of me? The only one they could count on when they needed something, the last option who could "fix" things for them?

Before I could even process it, I heard her sister's voice in the background. "No wonder nobody likes her. She's always so full of attitude. Not even willing to help out properly."

I blinked, staring at the phone in my hand. Attitude? Just because I wouldn't manipulate the system to favor someone who wasn't even qualified? I wasn't the one in the wrong, but somehow, it felt like I always was. This had been the case with friends, acquaintances, and even family. I was the one who was "difficult" or "stubborn" when, in truth, I just refused to be pushed around.

"Okay, thank you, Aaradhya." And just like that, the call ended. The abruptness of it stung more than I cared to admit. The silence that followed felt heavier, almost suffocating.

I didn't want to cry, didn't want to let the sadness overwhelm me. So, I did what I always did. I buried my feelings beneath a mask of indifference.

But inside, it hurt. It always hurts. Why was I always the one who reached out, who kept trying, who wanted to matter to others? And in return, I received nothing but distance. How long would it take for me to stop craving attention, to stop hoping for someone, anyone, to notice me for who I was?

I turned my attention back to my work. It was the only thing that seemed to make sense anymore. It was the only thing I had control over, the only thing that didn't ignore me in return.

As the day passed, I got ready to head home. I reached the nearby metro station and, as usual, the platform was crowded. People were in a hurry, brushing past one another, lost in their own worlds.

I fumbled for my metro card, but before I could scan it, I noticed an elderly couple standing at the counter, struggling to scan their tickets. Everyone around them was too busy, too caught up in their own rush to notice. And as usual, I stepped out of line.

"Can I help you?" I asked softly.

They looked at me with surprise and gratitude, and I scanned their tickets for them. A simple gesture, but it made me feel better. For a fleeting moment, it felt like I mattered.

The train arrived, and I tried to find a seat for the elderly couple, but there was no luck. The thought of asking someone to give them a seat crossed my mind but it felt wrong. Everyone is fighting their own battles and it felt wrong to ask them to give away their comfort. What if they were working all day for their families and just found some time to relax? I shook the thought away. Yet, just as I was about to give up, a few college students stood up and offered their seats, making room for the elderly passengers.

I smiled at them, silently thankful. It was moments like this that made me feel like there was still kindness in the world, a small flicker of hope in the overwhelming darkness of my loneliness.

After a few more stations, I reached my stop. I got off the train and headed home. The evening went by quietly, as I took a shower, made dinner, and spent some time talking to my parents and brother. Rahul, my brother, made a few jokes, and for the first time in a while, I felt my spirits lift. His laughter was contagious, and I was grateful for the little bit of joy he brought into my life.

Later, as I sat on the balcony with my book, the cool breeze brushed against my face, scattering my hair across my forehead. I let it. I didn't care. The night sky, the twinkling stars, and the soft music playing in my headphones were all I needed. I could lose myself in the beauty of it all, pretending for a little while that everything was okay.

The pages of my book fluttered as I read, and with each line, I felt the familiar flutter in my chest—the kind that came when the lead character said something sweet to his wife, when he spoke with tenderness and love. I sighed, imagining myself as the female protagonist. But then, a thought lingered: Why couldn't that be my story? Why couldn't I be seen, truly seen by someone?

I stared at the moon, letting its glow wash over me. It was a thought I couldn't shake. Maybe that was why I felt so drawn to those moments in the stories I read. They felt like the only place where I mattered, where someone noticed me without needing anything in return. But here, in the real world, I was always invisible.

I opened my phone to check the time, and a message notification popped up from my manager. He informed me that I needed to be ready to travel to Udaipur in two days for a presentation.

Wasn't that typical? A text at midnight. Why couldn't he have told me this earlier in the day? But then again, I wasn't expecting him to be considerate.

And then, there it was again, his next message. "Did you sleep?"

I groaned inwardly. It wasn't a normal question. I am aware of his intentions. This wasn't the first time he'd tried to flirt with me, but I never directly bashed him. Instead, I chose to be polite, and professional, drawing a line everytime he tried a move. 

"No sir. I'll get the presentation ready. Good night, sir," I replied curtly, making sure my tone was clear. I didn't need him to mistake my professionalism for anything else.

"Take rest, Aaradhya. I'll see you tomorrow," he replied.

I didn't answer him, throwing my phone onto the bed with a soft thud. The last thing I needed was another person pushing their unwanted attention onto me.

I washed my face, tied my hair into a ponytail, and climbed into bed, the weight of the day pressing down on me. My thoughts swirled, and soon, I was drifting into a restless sleep, wondering how long it would take for me to truly be seen, for someone to care about me beyond what I could do for them.