~ The Misfit ~
Naaz tu muzeer main
Zid pe ab lakeer hai
Be-hadh hai faasle
Main shaamat ka nishaan
Tujhpe unko hai guman
Duniya mujhko sahe
Main mohtaaj tu dhadak hai
Farq hai.. farq hai.. farq hai..
"Car Wrecker."
As soon as the words leave my mouth, everyone's attention shifts to me. I’m staring at the car wrecker, aka Rudraksh, who is looking back at me with a mix of amusement and annoyance.
We lock eyes, neither of us backing down.
“Oh my God! The dent in your car is because of him?” my sister exclaims. I finally break eye contact.
“Yes.”
"No.”
We reply at the same time. God, what is wrong with me today?
I glare at him, and he just gives me a lazy smile, clearly enjoying this. Ignoring him, I turn to my sister. “My car was parked in a narrow lane, too tight for two cars. But Mr. Show-Off here decided to test his driving skills and squeezed in. Naturally, he got stuck and dented my baby in the process.”
The table falls silent, all eyes on him.
“Wow,” he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “You really know how to spin a tale. So, you’re saying you had no part in this accident?”
“Uh, I—" but before I can finish, he interjects, “Let me do the honours.”
He turns slightly to face my sister. “Her car was parked in a no-parking zone, and I didn’t see it when I entered the lane. Since it was one-way, I couldn’t turn back. So, the person at fault here is you, not me,” he concludes matter-of-factly.
I really want to run him over with my car.
What a shame such a pretty face would meet such a brutal end. Pretty face? Why am I thinking about his face? Ugh, I need a drink.
“What were you doing in the afternoon? Your car is the second most important thing in your life; you’d never park it in no-parking,” Sara says, joining the dots in her head.
I don’t know if I should tell them why I was out in the afternoon or not.
“Well, Sherlock,” I say sarcastically, “Some things are more important than parking rules.”
"Which are?" her twin questions.
"Picking up the ring from the jeweller," I say, pointing towards Ayush Bhai's hand. Everyone falls silent for a moment before bursting into laughter.
"And you couldn't park properly before going to the store?" Agastya asks.
"I panicked, OK? I forgot something so important, and I bragged to Mom that I finished my tasks on time. I needed to get the ring before anyone found out."
Rudraksh looks at me with amusement. He opens his mouth to say something, but before he can, we hear Ayush bhai’s moms voice, “Come on, kids, we are leaving.”
Everyone exchanges goodbyes and heads out. My friends and Di's friends leave after Ayush Bhai's family.
After changing into my night suit and doing my skincare routine, I check my phone. I have a text from the insurance company asking me to drop my car off in 2-3 days. It will be fixed. Thank God.
At least the engagement happened without any hiccups. My car will be fixed, so no worries. But I'll never forgive that jerk Rudraksh for today. He enjoyed seeing me embarrassed.
Ugh, Why am I thinking about him?
I need to sleep. I have to wake up early tomorrow to leave for Delhi.
•Next Day•
It's around 10 PM when I return home. My feet automatically lead me toward the familiar sounds of voices echoing from the living room. It's like they have a mind of their own, drawn to the laughter and joy emanating from that space, even though I know better.
As I stand at the entrance, watching them laugh and play charades, it’s as if I’m on the outside looking in. They’re all huddled together, their laughter echoing through the room, filling the space with warmth and familiarity. And yet, despite physically being here, I feel completely disconnected, like a ghost drifting through a home that isn’t mine anymore.
The reality is, I don’t really belong. I’m not sure I ever have. I was always the child they hadn’t planned for, hadn’t prepared for, hadn’t wanted. When my mom got pregnant again, she hoped for a boy a perfect little family, one boy and one girl, like in those fairytale storybooks. But instead, she got me.
It’s not that they didn’t love me, per se, but I always felt like I was an afterthought. They never treated me poorly; it’s more like they forgot I existed half the time. When Daksh came along, it was like I became a background character in their perfect story.
I watch my dad laughing at some ridiculous face he’s made, and for a moment, I remember a time when I would have been the one he made silly faces for. I remember sitting on his lap while he read me bedtime stories, his voice soothing and deep. But those days are long gone.
I was twelve when I figured out that I couldn’t rely on them for much. My mom was busy with my brother, he needed her more, apparently and my dad, well, he was always either at work or with my sister, praising her latest achievements. Me? I took care of myself. I had no other choice.
I glance back into the living room. They’re still laughing, completely unaware of my presence. They’re in their world, and I’ve somehow slipped through the cracks. I force myself to look away, telling myself that it doesn’t matter, that I’m stronger now because of it. But that small part of me, the part I hate admitting still exists, aches. I’ve carried this weight of being invisible for so long that it’s become second nature, and yet, every now and then, the hurt slips through, catching me off guard.
When I was younger, I would have done anything for their attention. I used to work so hard trying to be the best at everything just to get them to notice me. When I was top of my class, I thought that would finally make them proud, that maybe they’d see me. But even then, they didn’t show up for my graduation. No one did. And I think that’s when I stopped trying.
In my teens, I rebelled, not because I was particularly wild or reckless, but because I needed to feel something. I needed to know that I wasn’t just some shadow in the background of their perfect lives. I did stupid things, things I regret but nothing too crazy, thanks to my friends who kept me grounded. They were more like family than my own parents.
There was one thing I did that crossed a line, though. It’s something I can never take back. And just like every other time, when I needed my parents the most, they sent me away. I was shipped off to London when I was eighteen. Five years alone in a city where I didn’t know a soul. Five years where my father visited London multiple times for business but never once thought to visit me. It wasn’t just about the distance; it was about being completely cut off, emotionally and physically, from the only people I was supposed to belong to.
And now, here I am, back in this house for the wedding. But nothing’s changed. They still don’t see me. It’s like I’m a stranger in my own family. I wasn’t home all day, and no one even noticed. No texts, no missed calls, nothing. I didn’t tell them where I was, but honestly, would they even care? It’s as though my absence goes unnoticed, just like my presence does.
I turn away from the living room and quietly head toward my bedroom. I tell myself it’s better this way less disappointment, less pain. I’ll stay here until the wedding, then I’ll go back to my own place, where the walls might be cold, but at least they don’t pretend to offer anything they can’t deliver.
Once inside my room, I close the door gently behind me, as if trying not to disturb the invisible boundaries I’ve created between them and myself. I lean against the door for a moment, my heart heavy with the weight of old wounds that never really healed. Why do I still care? Why does it still hurt?
I push off the door and slip into my nightclothes, going through the motions of my skincare routine something that always used to soothe me. But tonight, even that feels empty, like I’m just trying to fill the silence with anything that will keep the memories at bay.
I sit on the edge of the bed and grab my phone, scrolling aimlessly, trying to distract myself from the loneliness creeping in. A text from the insurance company catches my eye, reminding me to drop my car off in a few days. At least that’s one less thing to worry about. But the relief is fleeting, replaced quickly by the same gnawing ache that’s been following me since I walked through the door.
I put on my headphones and play some music, hoping it will drown out the noise in my head. The melancholy tune matches my mood, but it’s not enough to erase the memories that have resurfaced. Memories of being ignored, of being invisible, of trying so hard and never being seen. I close my eyes, feeling the familiar sting behind my eyelids but refusing to cry. I haven’t cried in years, and I’m not about to start now.
Eventually, the music soothes me enough that my mind begins to quiet, but I know sleep won’t come easily. It never does when I’m here, surrounded by reminders of everything I never had. I pull the blankets up around me, trying to create a cocoon of warmth and safety. Maybe tomorrow will be better. Maybe I’ll feel less like an outsider and more like someone who belongs.
But deep down, I know the truth. Nothing changes here. It never has, and it never will.
It really takes a lot of hardwork to put your thoughts in words and show it to the world.
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