Written by Ronak Maiti
The Thames looks beautiful this evening. The Tower Bridge radiates light in the dim brown night; its silvery-black reflection looks odd in the water.
This river must be so deep. The club music and tipsy conversation all go quiet when I look down into this vast deep sink.
Turning around, I see Riya talking to a guy we don’t know with square-rimmed glasses and a goatee. His face is too narrow for his chin. That’s a mean thought.
Oh, this is Lola! She’s my roommate, from Bankside – we’d never spoken before the move-in date, but now she’s literally my best friend. Lola, this is Adi – he goes to UCL, and does Computer Science – right?
She’s smiling widely and gives me a look. She’s indicated at least ten different boys since we’d met a few weeks ago, and I’ve never understood them. Supposedly that’s good for a friendship- we’ll never fight over a boy. I quite enjoy making fun of her type, too; paradoxically, it brings us closer.
Lola, he says, drawing out the last syllable in an infuriatingly boyish way. So, what course do you do?
I’m doing Philosophy and Econ – Computer Science? I reply, cringing instantly. As if Riya would lie about his course. I don’t think it’s my night for socialising.
He smirks and affirms. Then he turns away to talk to Riya, so I slip away quietly. Something about his expression got on my nerves. It was contemptuous. I’d seen that expression here before. It is so, so interesting how everyone laughs and jokes with the boys in their kurtas, but not with me. Nobody even brings my lehenga up. It’s like I smell bad.
Did I do something wrong? Do they think I’m making fun of it? I know I look a little silly, but I thought my dress and mehndi were cute. I doubt those guys even know what kurtas and mehndi and lehengas are.
It’s probably all in my head, to be honest. Riya says I think too much. I don’t know why she thinks she knows me so well given we only met a few weeks ago. Then again, I do feel closer to her now than I do to anyone else, even my friends from home. I wonder if that’ll change when I go back for the first time.
Tonight really isn’t my night. I feel exhausted, and everything feels overwhelming. I haven’t called my parents in a week. I told them so many times that I was too busy or tired to call them, but I wasn’t really. Honestly, they just weren’t important enough for me. My own parents. I suddenly feel like crying.
I turn back to the Thames. We’re about to pass under Tower Bridge. The skyline really is awesome. I’m doing the view a disservice. I should be watching this in silence; in privacy; oblivious; as though I’m praying. Om. I see the dome of St Paul’s Cathedral in the distance. Imagine if I was teleported to the top of that spire now – watching the city, quietly. A fierce flag of red-and-gold that no-one can see but me. What I would give.
I feel like a loser. I swear I’ve made loads of friends. Why do I only have one here? Alone at this party; not in solitude, though. Everyone can look and see the stupid girl who came where she wasn’t welcome. I can’t shake their eyes. I feel a little threatened – threatened so weakly that it makes me feel silly for noticing it, but still apparent enough to keep me here, accounted for; unable to forget myself in the view. If only I stayed home.
You alright? a voice says. I turn around and I see a boy, smiling. He’s clean-shaven, has black curls, and looks unsettlingly energetic.
I’m fine, I say. Yeah – enjoying the view. The Thames looks beautiful this evening.
You looked very deep in thought. I’m sorry for interrupting you, I hadn’t noticed until I’d already walked over here. I just wanted to say your dress looks gorgeous! And the henna, too!
Thanks, it’s my friend’s, I reply. Riya – where is she? – she did the mehndi for me, as well. What’s your name, sorry?
Chris, he says. I can’t help looking surprised. He laughs. My family comes from a Christian part of India, so that’s why my name isn’t, like, ‘Arjun’ or something. Trips people up, sometimes.
I nod as understandingly as I can. I am very confused but I feel myself smiling back.
It turns out that we both stay at Bankside House. He’d noticed me at dinner. He’s clearly very extroverted, but he tells me that he’s also been getting tired with the boat party. He says he hadn’t realised it was going to be so ‘clubby’. I laugh at his re-enacted tantrum when he found out that there would be no served food. I catch Riya’s eye, and she winks shamelessly.
He asks questions about me, too. Where I’m from, what school I went to, what my hobbies are. When I tell him my family is Nigerian, he tries to remember the name of the Wole Soyinka book he read. I’ve never heard of the bloke; I’m having fun.
A group of girls and boys walk up to us – I recognise a few of them. I think I’m going to talk to them now, too.
