Friend zoned: the girl edition.

"...She never told her love,
But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud,
Feed on her damask cheek. She pined in thought,
And with a green and yellow melancholy
She sat like patience on a monument,
Smiling at grief. Was not this love indeed?"

William Shakespeare - Twelfth Night; Act II, Scene 4

You knew, the moment you saw him that you wanted him. He was everything your imagination conjures up in your bed late at night, and more. More than that, he was attentive and witty. You argued about soccer, girls, boys, make-up, the economy, politics, everything. He made you smile, made you laugh, and even made you contemplate killing him sometimes. He dragged you to nights out to keep him from drinking too much. It was a good friendship, uncomplicated and fun. You eventually told yourself that you were so grateful for this that you did not need to know what was beneath his shirt.

It was a humid Friday night when you found out that you really liked him. He called you to his room, to talk. Another stupid girl was giving him the runaround, and he needed your advice. You wondered silently if he sees what you see when he walks past the full-length mirrors in the hostel. You wondered if he too noticed that he was near perfect.You gave the advice of course, but what you really wanted to say was the truth.You wanted to fling yourself at him, while at it, like those girls in movies.You wanted to have him against the wall, panting with excitement, letting you take control. Yet you just sat there, gave advice, and headed back to your room.

Frustrated, you responded to the messages of a few admirers. You woke up the next day in a strange bed, with a strange body against yours. The way you had ended up in his bed was a blur. The name came back in a haze….Martin. You hate cuddling, so you extricated yourself from his tight embrace and took a shower.You picked up the trail of clothes in Martin’s living room, put your shorts back on without the ruined panties. He found you watching some show, asked if you were alright. You responded yes, with a smile you didn’t feel because he could not understand. Only Elijah got you, knew that you couldn’t have breakfast till about 10, and it was Elijah you wanted to be spending theSaturday morning with. Martin, or was it Mark, moved to kiss you again, but you stopped him, asking if he has a boda* guy who can take you back to hostel. He took it in stride, to his credit, or maybe it was relief that you were not one of those clingy females.

So here you were, back in hostel, back to the cluttered room that was now a second home, watching a movie that was mostly watching you doze. He always teased you about it, the fact that your attention span for movies was about 20 minutes. You thought about pulling out that red dress at the bottom of your suitcase, wearing it and seducing him.You knew what he liked from the numerous stories you had shared. At the time he told you about his weakness for girls in red, it was light banter. When you started wanting him, that information became like food for your soul.

The red dress idea was discarded though, when you remembered the bar incident. You remembered thinking that maybe if you held on to that moment, it wouldn't pass so fast. You remembered him, touching you, his intense gaze boring into your very soul. For almost a month, the moment had replayed in your mind, perfect in every way. The atmosphere was wrong: the bar reeked of smoke, alcohol, desperation, superficiality, and a hint of loneliness. The nearest thing to good looking was the pretty drink he had insisted you try; a spark of colour on the table that was filled with brown bottles and cigarettes. Like the drink, you must have stood out like a sore thumb, the only girl amongst a bunch of guys. Worse still, you had chosen a bright red dress that clung and accentuated the curves because he claimed you made him look good. Like he needed any help. You remembered getting in a quip about not being paid enough for this, and yet you wore the dress.

You remembered feeling silly,wearing a dress that short and worse, pairing it with high heels he had bought you on a whim. You also remembered feeling a little light headed with excitement,somehow aware that this night would be different.

The moment had been perfect,despite the circumstances. He had pulled you close, surprisingly gently for a person of his size and strength. It was the closest you had ever been, apart from the times you lingered in the hugs. You remembered him looking into your eyes and saying, almost reverently,

"God, you are gorgeous!"

You remembered, like it was happening now, moving forward in response to kiss those lips. The contact was like you had dreamed, his lips softer than you thought possible. And then, he had said

“Honey, you’re drunk. Let’s go back to hostel.”

The embarrassment flooded you again, like it had then. You could almost picture what you must have looked like, flushed from the alcohol, a little sweaty from dancing, but mostly desperate. You must have been the very picture of desperation, and it must have been obvious to just about everyone. In retrospect, you realised it was possible that perhaps the look in his eyes had been cheeky and not intense, and he had been holding you like that because you were drunk and had almost fallen.

“Let me guess. You’re asleep.”

His deep voice jarred you from your little flashback.

“Useless. Your movies are just boring.”

P.S: This was inspired by someone in that abhorred place called the friend zone. So for all those living there, be strong - you'll find someone. Or be brave and say something, damn it!