The Timing Between Us

The Reunion I had been staring at the same c***k on my ceiling for almost forty minutes. Maybe longer. Time moves weirdly when you spend most of your days rotting in bed. My room smelled faintly like cold air-conditioning, unfinished laundry, and the vanilla candle I lit three nights ago to convince myself I still had my life together. Clothes were piled on the chair beside my desk. My laptop sat untouched for days. The planner I bought at the beginning of the year—because apparently organized people magically became successful people—was buried somewhere under a hoodie and old receipts. I pulled my blanket higher over my face. My phone buzzed again. And again. And again. I groaned without even checking who it was. Because I already knew. “Please go.” Another vibration. “Just this once.” Another. “We already paid for your slot.” I finally grabbed my phone from beside my pillow and squinted at the brightness. Group chat: Day Ones Mika: If you don’t come tonight, I swear I’ll drag you myself. Pat: Girl, it’s been YEARS 😭 Leah: Everyone’s going!!! I stared at the messages with the same dread people probably felt before public executions. Elementary reunion. Who even invented those? Probably people who enjoyed watching others compare achievements over overpriced drinks. I threw my phone into my chest and covered my face with both hands. “No,” I muttered to myself. “Absolutely not.” Because what exactly was I supposed to say when people asked me what I’d been doing? Oh, nothing much. Just spiraling quietly while everyone else became functioning members of society. At twenty-two, most people I knew already had jobs, degrees, internships, plans, ambitions. Meanwhile, I still felt stuck in the middle of a road with no idea where I was supposed to go. The worst part? People used to expect something from me. Back then, I was that student. Consistent honor student. Always prepared. Always serious. The girl teachers loved because she submitted projects early and color-coded her notes like her life depended on it. “Most likely to succeed,” one teacher told my mother before. Funny. Because now I couldn’t even decide what I wanted to do with my life. I shifted onto my side and stared blankly at the wall. The reunion was exactly the kind of thing I avoid now. Too many questions. Too many successful people. Too many reminders that somewhere along the way, everyone kept moving while I stayed exactly where I was. My phone rang suddenly. Mika. I declined it immediately. A second later, she called again. I answered with a tired groan. “What.” “Get dressed.” “No.” “You’re going.” “I’d rather pass away peacefully in my bed.” “You’ve been in that bed for three days.” “Four.” “That’s not better!” I closed my eyes. “Mika, I don’t want to go.” Her voice softened slightly. “Why?” I laughed once. Why? Because I was embarrassed. Because somewhere between graduating from high school and becoming an adult, I lost whatever certainty everyone else seemed to have. Because every time someone asked what I was doing now, I felt like a failure trying to answer politely. “I just don’t feel like socializing,” I said quietly. “You never feel like socializing.” “Exactly.” “You need human interaction.” “I have you guys.” “You only reply to us once every seven business days.” “That’s still communication.” Mika sighed dramatically. “Listen to me carefully. You are showering, putting on something pretty, and coming tonight.” “I don’t even know what to wear.” “That red dress.” My eyes narrowed. “How do you remember my clothes better than I do?” “Because unlike you, I pay attention.” I sat up slightly. “No.” “Yes.” “It’s too much.” “It’s literally knee-length.” “It’s fitted.” “You have a body. Congratulations.” I dropped backward onto the mattress again with a groan. “Mika—” “No excuses. We’re picking you up at seven.” Then she hung up. I stared at my ceiling again. I really hated my friends.