Title: FriendWord Count: 1000MI Number: MI-RUH-102

He is my best friend, my soulmate. I’m not the only one who thinks so. Wherever we go, friends and strangers whisper about how absorbed we are in one another, how suited we are to each other’s moods. And we are.

I love it. I love hearing the sound of his voice, whether it’s the first thing I hear in the morning or the last thing I hear at night. We study together and I’m swept up in the concepts --and in his eyes, dark and understanding. We may not always see each other, but we’re always in touch. He’s only a click away on Facebook, only a phone call away when it’s too early in the morning and the thoughts in my head are crying out to me, preventing me from sleeping.

When he calls, I’m always willing to listen. When he cries, I always have a shoulder to offer him. I understand him, he tells me. When the world seems against him, I’m still on his side. I let his anger wash over me sometimes, when everything hurts and he lashes out the only way he knows how. And I know that it’s me he trusts like this. It’s me he comes to, me he’s relied on in the worst times. It’s me. It’s not her.

But it’s her in the most important ways; it’s her when it’s her birthday and he goes off for a weekend jaunt to please her. It’s her when I run out of reasons to keep him with me and he says, See you later, because he’ll be out with her as long as she needs him. I need him too. I need him almost always, but I can’t get the words out. Stay with me. Don’t go.

“You’re no fun these days,” he says ruefully, after yet another fight.“Maybe we shouldn’t be friends then,” I say, echoing what he’s said jokingly a

million times today.“Maybe,” he says.I can’t speak. The line drops as I flick my phone shut.It vibrates in my hand. The teardrops that fall on it ripple with the motion.He’s calling, the phone insists. Pick up now, now, now!I toss it away. It seems like a fitting punishment for the medium that has failed

me for over two years now.Two years of being friends, of getting closer and closer, liking then loving. Not

once did I have the courage to just say it, over the phone or in any other way.

He calls again, later the same night.“I can’t handle any more drama in my life right now,” he pleads. “She’s already

so mad at me--“I sigh. “What happened?” I ask.He tells me.

“She said what?”“-that we’re too close. She’s just-““-jealous. She’s jealous.”Incredulous giggles break out of me, although I try to contain them. Here she

is, with the guy I’d love to have, and she thinks he spends too much time with me.“It’s not just her.” His tone is softer now, skittering around as if on marbles.“What's not-?”“She isn’t the only one,” he clarifies, not helping.“...who thinks we’re...”“Oh.” I say it slow, then faster. “Oh,” I laugh, “but that’s ridiculous. Right?”His laugh is what I need to know he’s okay. It’s also the one thing I don’t want

to hear right now.

My world is desolate. We are taking a ‘break’, as suggested by me with dread in the pit of my stomach, and I can no longer see right side up.

It’s hard to get around. Harder still to catch glimpses of him with her near the hostel, content. Without me.

I would jump at the chance of going home, of forgetting everything in the warmth of a maternal embrace, but I can’t. Life goes on externally, as I wander the sad wastes of my inner self.

My phone rings and I jump.How long has it been? A month? Two?The call log laughs at me. Two months? More like two weeks, and I’m going

insane. When will the hurt stop? Will it ever?

“Do you want to study with us?”“Yeah, come on.”The invitations are given laughingly, almost jokingly. I’ve never really been a

part of this study group. We’ve always studied together, just the two of us. But I’m desperate for some sort of relief; and so I accept.

Initially, it’s horribly awkward. I keep my headphones on with no music playing, pretending I can’t hear them playing around, having fun. I get almost nothing done; torn between wondering what he’s doing right now and what I need to do for the people around me to accept me into their happy little world.

Something changes.My study companions remain constant. There is a pair of mocking brown eyes

and a Shah Rukh Khan haircut, complete with trademark hair ruffle. There are arms into which I can comfortably settle, ending in hands which deftly braid my hair-“-so you can be just like me!” There’s a blindingly wide smile and all sorts of biscuits brought generously out of a bag every day.

The pain begins to fade. Other feelings jostle for space inside my mind. Gladness. Belonging.

“You always looked so sad, you know.”“Yeah, like you wanted to be left alone.”I shrug. I thought I had all I needed, with him. But these people, my study

group- my friends. I need them, too.“Hey,” I call. There’s a lull in the constant, comforting banter, as I take a

breath.“Thanks a lot,” I say, and I mean it.“Idiot,” says the wide smile, already evident. “Don’t you know you always have

us?”“Yeah. Why do you have to think that you’re alone?”I think of him. Of the hole in my heart that will never be gone. But maybe, just

maybe, the shape will change. Into a friend-shape, without pain bleeding into the edges.

I don’t think I’m alone, I realize. Not anymore.