We were 3 friends. One was getting married. She didn’t invite me.
I didn’t understand why. Then I moved to another city. Years later, I came back and found out the reason—it turned out way deeper than I ever imagined.
Back in college, it was always the three of us—Naira, Priyanka, and me. We did everything together. Midnight chai runs, crying over exams, laughing till our stomachs hurt during hostel power cuts.
We were each other’s safety nets, through heartbreaks, bad grades, and family drama. Naira was the calm one, always journaling or doodling in the margins of her notebooks. Priyanka was the loud, energetic glue—she brought the party, literally and emotionally.
And me? I guess I was somewhere in between. Observant, loyal, always showing up.
Or at least I thought I did. We swore nothing would ever come between us. Until it did.
After college, we all went our separate ways, like people do. I moved to Pune for a job in publishing. Naira stayed in Bangalore with her high school sweetheart, Anand.
And Priyanka floated between cities freelancing and dating people who always seemed too chaotic for her. We stayed in touch—group calls, birthdays, even those nostalgic forwarded memes. Then one day, Naira dropped the news: she was getting married.
To Anand, of course. We’d seen that coming for years. I congratulated her with so much excitement my coworkers stared at me mid-office.
But no invite came. At first, I thought maybe the card was delayed or she’d sent it to my old address. So I messaged her.
No reply. Then I tried calling. Straight to voicemail.
Priyanka said she was going. She sounded unsure, dodgy. “I’m just attending the mehendi, not staying long,” she mumbled.
I laughed it off. Told myself maybe it was a small wedding, family-only. But the pictures later told a different story—big venue, wide guest list, even college juniors I barely remembered.
But not me. I was gutted. It wasn’t about missing a party.
It was about being erased. I spent weeks overthinking every memory with her, replaying it like an old cassette tape. What did I do wrong?
Did I say something? Not show up when she needed me? Eventually, I gave up trying to solve it.
I tucked the whole situation into that mental drawer labeled “Unanswered Questions” and focused on building a new life. Years passed. I built a quiet, decent career in Pune.
Met good people. Let time harden the wound into something that only hurt when I scratched at it. Then last year, my father’s health began declining.
Mom needed help running things at home in Mangalore. So I moved back. Driving past old haunts, I’d feel a ghost of that old friendship.
Every coffee shop. Every bookstore. Every corner near college felt haunted.
One afternoon, after picking up meds for Dad, I ran into Priyanka. She looked different. Softer, somehow.
Still loud in spirit, but grounded. She hugged me like no time had passed. We sat at a roadside stall sipping buttermilk and catching up.
She told me she was back in Mangalore too—helping her brother’s new café. We laughed about old professors and random hostel drama. Then, suddenly, she looked serious.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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