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‘OK, but remember –’
‘Be safe, don’t talk to strangers and always buy the carton of milk right at the back of the shelf because it has a longer expiry date,’ I finish for her.
‘I love you, Paari.’
My throat swells again at the sound of the all-too-familiar affection in her tone. ‘I love you too.’
I drop my phone to my bed once she hangs up, my body a swirl of too many emotions. I feel like I’m going to burst, like my skin and bones are not enough to hold me together any more.
For one flighty moment, I consider telling Amal and Maha everything, if for nothing more than to relieve the pressure building inside me. But I can’t bring myself to open the door and call for them.
I log on to Twitter instead, switching to the public account that I use under a pseudonym – the one I keep hidden from all my friends and family because it’s nice to tweet out into the void knowing that there’s no one reading it who knows the real me, no one I need to face the next day. I draft the tweet quickly, not thinking about the words, running on the fumes of my fraying emotions.
@ConstantlyVictimizedBySociety: Just had the worst audition of my life. I’m not even sure what I’m supposed to do with the LSDCATS feedback!!
It’s not a mini poem, but it sums up how awful today was. I post it without a second thought and lie in bed a little longer, before deciding it’s better to sleep instead of staying up. Everything will feel a little less harsh in the morning.
I’m in the middle of nurturing my internal melancholy by listening to Lewis Capaldi while doing my night-time skincare routine (even if the world is crashing around me, I’ll never go to sleep without doing this) when my phone buzzes. I lean over to look at the message, expecting it to be one of my flatmates, or maybe my mother sending me an article about the rise in London crime rates so she can really hammer in that advice about being safe.
But it’s not Amal or Maha or my mother. It’s a Twitter notification.
Anushka Menon has added you to a private group.
I abandon my routine to slide my thumb over the notification and open the app. There’s only one message in the group.
Everyone!! I found another one!!
Anushka Menon
My eyebrows lift, and I’m already typing out my questions about who this is and why I’ve been added to the group.
I’m about to hit ‘send’ when another message chimes in.
I wish I could say it’s a pleasure to meet you this way, but it really isn’t. Anyway, I’m sure you have questions.
David Song
But before you send them, let me just say, no matter what happens, no matter where you’re from and what you face, you’re always welcome in THE TRAGEDIES.
Anushka Menon
CHAPTER THREE
I’m sorry, who are you guys?
@ConstantlyVictimizedBySociety
I instantly regret starting with an apology. I’ve been trying hard to stop doing that – unnecessarily apologizing for things when I haven’t done anything wrong. But I can’t unsend the message now.
The Tragedies.
That does sound a little cult-like. I quickly check to see how many members are in the chat.
Five.
OK, an exclusive cult.
Right, so, we’re The Tragedies.
