The clock struck midnight, jolting Tara from her endless doomscrolling through Instagram reels. As if by reflex, she refreshed her feed. Within a split second, the latest post from her “friend” appeared. It was Miya, standing beneath a tree blooming with soft pink flowers, in a vast field of lush green grass, somewhere in a faraway land. She wore a baby pink strapless dress paired with white high-heeled boots. The photo was undeniably aesthetic, undeniably gram-worthy. It radiated the aura of a life filled with excitement and charm.
Tara felt as though Miya were taunting her, subtly declaring that her life was more vibrant, more adventurous. Miya was out there, exploring new places, meeting new people, experiencing the world. And she, Tara, was stuck here, in the same old town, surrounded by the same old people.
She loathed her life. The monotony of it. Waking up every afternoon, eating, scrolling through her phone, scrolling again, and again, until sleep crept in, unnoticed. Occasionally, like a stray beam of sunlight, something would happen, like today. She had visited an old friend. Not to reconnect. Not to rekindle any bond. But simply to click a picture, post it as a story, and convince God-knows-who that she was living her best life.
But the void in her heart and her mind could not be filled with this borrowed joy, this façade of happiness she tried so hard to maintain.
After a long, silent drift through her thoughts, Tara tapped the red heart beneath Miya’s picture, and continued scrolling.
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“Ding!”
The notification startled Miya. She was in the middle of her part-time job—the one she had painstakingly managed to secure in this distant land. With the rising influx of migrants, finding work had become almost impossible. Especially the kind of job she had once dreamed of. Now, with a quietly anxious heart, she found herself doing the same kind of work she had once despised back home.
The sound came from her phone. Someone had liked the photo she’d posted during her break. It was Tara.
Almost instinctively, she opened Instagram and tapped on Tara’s profile. A glowing ring encircled her display picture, seems like Tara had posted a story. Miya opened it eagerly.
It was a photo of Tara with their old friend, laughing, carefree, back in their hometown. The image radiated warmth, closeness, the comfort of familiarity. Miya ached for that. For people like that. For that kind of joy. The people she had met in this foreign land felt superficial, uncertain and unreliable. She didn’t know who to trust anymore. Those she had trusted had already broken her heart. She longed desperately to return home.
Her reverie was abruptly cut short as her manager called out her name. She had been caught using her phone during work hours. Sighing, Miya double-tapped Tara’s story, placed the phone aside, and quietly returned to her task.
By,
– Asniyah V Abubacker,
Alumna, Department of English (2022-2024)
LIT SCROLLS 