My eyes flew between the road and the stark white clock on my phone as I impatiently tapped my foot. The bus still hadn't arrived at 8:00. I sighed to myself and turned to sulk under the tree I was waiting under, but my foot slid on the cold grass and I almost fell to the ground. If the tree that was blocking my path hadn't been there, I would have as well. I backed away from the location and gingerly walked across the slick ground.
My daily waiting tree was little, but it provided just enough room for me to rest my elbows on the trunk's twisted bark. Since it was Winter, it was bare, but in the Spring, it would have been covered in leaves, with little white flowers scattered here and there. It was great for climbing up in the summer and always had the best leaf pile in the autumn. It would be the ideal spot for me to take a seat and read a book or write in my journal.
I saw students approaching me and all the other children chatting with their friends. I let out a sigh of relief and came close to yelling as I almost fell over AGAIN, but I restrained myself and 'gracefully' made my way to the bus stop, making careful to let some youngsters get in queue before me.
I had discovered that it was always preferable to stand in the middle of the queue. Everyone on the bus will initially notice you if you are in the front. People stare at you for taking too long if you're at the rear. Nobody cares about who you are if you're in the middle, which was exactly how I liked it.
In all honesty, I had no pals. Whatever you want to name it: nothing, zero, naught, or nil. I was the nerdy obese dork who sat in the corner and read love stories on her phone while using the private browser.
I don't like getting up in the mornings on weekdays because nobody likes going to school, but on weekends and holidays, I wake up at approximately 6:30 am to binge-read my favourite books, write something random, or just gaze at a blank wall and think about my life. That's the warped mindset I tend to have, which further strengthens my belief that my own brain is trying to make my life as miserable as possible.
I pressed as close to the bus seat as I could without allowing any of my exposed flesh or hair touch it. I gently opened the window despite the chill to enjoy the early sunlight that fell on my face. I grinned as I absorbed all the sun rays, which made me feel as vibrant as a morning flower.
Instead of gazing at the back of the seat in front of me, I decided to check my arithmetic assignment to make sure everything was correct. My perfectionist nature still winced at the minute errors in my handwriting as I carefully read through my calculations, feeling proud of myself that it was so well-done despite my hasty completion of it yesterday after learning that it was due today.
I utilized mental math's solving the questions since I was too lazy to use a calculator or even a scrap of paper. One of the few things I could boast about was how good my mental math's was, but despite my trust in it, I had undoubtedly made a mistake at some point. As a result, I created a grey mental sticky note that I put to the inner walls of my head and read, "Check calculations of project before Math," the color symbolizing seriousness.
The bus suddenly lurched ahead, and I almost dropped my assignment. I had been too preoccupied with my thoughts to notice the eerie silence that had descended upon me when the bus driver ceased speaking and began to move the vehicle. But the solitude gradually gave way to conversation.
As I looked outside, a branch that had a few dried leaves still attached to it almost touched the window. One of these days, I wanted the bus would just stop a bit closer to the sidewalk so I could see the leaves come in, swirling in the wind, torn from their home, and fly all over the place before landing inside the musty bus and dying. I pondered it over and scowled at the notion.
I detested witnessing anything die, no matter what persona I tried to adopt. I wouldn't even kill an ant or pluck flowers; instead, I would make paper flowers and lure the ant outside. I failed to understand the rationale behind further reducing their already brief lifespans. I witnessed my mother's painful, gradual demise. Although the treatment was excruciatingly painful, she never sobbed in front of us; instead, her expression spoke volumes. Her death completely removed happiness from our lives.
I read the final book in my most recent collection, The Fault in Our Stars, for the entire fifteen minutes while the bus was in motion. The love between the pair was undeniably genuine and unconditional. I was sobbing as I watched the movie. I'm an absolute romantic. Although I don't look like it, I really am. I'm all for prince charming riding in on his horse and saving the helpless damsel.
I occasionally have dreams while I'm sitting in my room where I hope to find a sensible man to spend the rest of my life with after I finish my education and find a job. I'm not particularly appealing physically, and I don't expect him to be a handsome man. I want a man who will accept me despite all of my flaws. Although it's uncommon I secretly yearn for that type of love.
I arrived at my campus, a sizable, historically significant school that dates back to over 150 years. When I was admitted, my father gave out sweets to the entire community. I grinned and went in the gate. I looked around and discovered my sister Riya standing next to a few wealthy individuals. They all exuded wealth because of their high-society attire. Riya looked at one among them.
I grinned when her eyes met mine, but she ignored me. I interpreted it as a sign that she doesn't want to acknowledge me and began to leave.
"Riya, notice how Behenji (A woman who favors traditional Indian clothing, music) is glancing your way. Are you aware of her? " She was asked by one of her friends.
"No way. She is such an LSG (Low Society Girl)," she exclaimed while laughing loudly as she looked at me from top to bottom. I looked down in embarrassment and then headed into the classroom. I took the usual seat next to the window. I put the bag aside and peered out the window. This location offers a lovely view of the outdoor garden.
My sister has inherited my mother's natural beauty, which poets often speak of in their poetry. My mother was a really attractive woman. Everyone was shocked when Mom made the decision to wed my father, who was an ordinary guy, but in her opinion was the most devoted and kind person she had ever met. She was raised in a home where her parents frequently quarreled and occasionally abused the kids. Therefore, when my father exhibited his unwavering love for her, she fell hopelessly in love with him.
Whereas I inherited both my father's appearance and disposition. I don't have an awful appearance, but my mother and sister look better than me. They're naturally attractive.
"Hello, good morning," remarked my best friend Neha as she sat next to me after grabbing her bag.
I grinned and said, "Hey, Hi," to her.
She hugged me sideways and said, "Finally college started. I was longing to meet my pal."
"Me too."
"Bestie, I just spotted Riya outside, by the way." She questioned me, "Has she finally enrolled at this college?" I swung my head away.
"Yes, don't indicate that you are familiar with me." I remarked, "She doesn't want her friends to know I'm her sister."
"Sorry, even if she's your sister, such a bitch. You waited in the queue for her entry for almost four hours, and she now looks embarrassed by you. What a sister she is," she said, obviously upset with my sister.
"Leave it; she's too young. She'll realize her error when she's old enough," I added.
"She is not a child. All you want to do is cover up her wrongdoing."
She said, "Harshu, I'm warming you up. She'll do something eventually that you won't be able to control."
But she's right—over the past few months, I've seen certain changes in her behavior. She spends the entire day with her friends and only arrives at night. Dad yells at her when she gets home every night, but she neither seems to be the least bit scared.
After some time, the lecturer entered the room and began by introducing themselves as well as the new subjects for the current semester. Since this is our final year and we have numerous projects to do, we spent the entire day attending lectures and talking about our future plans. It was five o'clock in the evening when we finished.
I've always wanted to help underprivileged kids. I frequently give lessons to young children at an area orphanage. Because the majority of the children there are prostitute's children, not many people go there. At first, my father was reluctant to send me, but after I persuaded him, he agreed. It gives me the opportunity to work with students who genuinely want to educate themselves and leave a hellish environment. I have a selection of a few schools that genuinely want the children to study.Those schools have less money, but I can make do.
Because I was so exhausted, all I wanted to do was take a warm bath before lying in bed. I made the decision to walk home because I wanted to lose the weight that was getting worse. I tried a few other diets, but they were all ineffective because the next day I would eat like I had been starved for a week, and the weight would still be there. My sister Riya is thin, elegant, and gorgeous, while I am the fat, ugly, ordinary sister. Relatives frequently compare the two of us, which makes me feel horrible about myself but never makes me feel jealous of my younger sister.
When my mother placed Riya in my arms for the first time, I couldn't stop admiring her adorable nose, red lips, and chubby hands. The entire day, I would play with her and watch over her when my mother was in the kitchen. My mother used to refer to me as her second mother, but a few years ago, that all changed. She despises me for an unknown reason.