45: Pariahs

The morning sun streamed through the thin dorm curtains. It was a brand new day - a new chapter in the girls’ lives.

Zara stood before the mirror in nothing but a towel, lips pursed as she painted on her red lipstick with surgical precision. She smiled at her reflection, soft and sly. “Girl, you look like a queen today. But that’s not news, is it?”

On the bed, Ayesha sprawled lazily, hair wrapped in a silk scarf, toenails glistening wet from fresh polish. She stretched like a cat and grinned. “Correction. We look like queens today.”

The room was littered with chaos - last night’s blankets tangled like a battlefield, notebooks open and forgotten, perfume still lingering in the air. But for once, none of it mattered. They were calm and centered after their long talk about Bharath and his circle.

“Today’s the first day of the rest of our lives,” Ayesha declared dramatically, rolling onto her stomach.

“Damn right it is.” Zara adjusted her hoop earrings with a flourish. “No more fake smiles. No more petty games. From now on, we move with purpose.”

Ayesha giggled, eyes sparkling. “Temple dancers,” she whispered, savoring the words. “Not clowns.”

Zara turned, towel falling open just enough to reveal smooth, deliberate skin. “And when they see us walk in today, they’ll know. We don’t need a crowd to impress. We chose us. The fact that we’re his is just ... the truth we won’t apologize for. Not that they need to know about that.”

She snapped her lipstick tube closed and leaned closer to the mirror, eyes blazing. “We’re going to be obvious about it too. No sneaking back to that table, no fake hellos. We’ll walk right past them, straight to our own space.”

“Good,” Ayesha said, sitting up, her polish catching the light. “Let them see we don’t need their shallow worship anymore. No more laughing at jokes we don’t find funny. No more pretending their approval matters. I am so done with all that crap.”

Zara smirked. “They’ll panic. The moment they realize we’ve cut ourselves off, they’ll scramble. They’ll whisper, they’ll sneer, but it won’t touch us. Because we’ll be glowing, and they’ll know it.”

Ayesha clasped her hands together like she was praying. “I want them to choke on it. To see us radiant and untouchable, while their little kingdom crumbles without us propping it up.”

Then her grin softened, thoughtful. “And maybe ... if the right people are watching, they’ll see we’re not the shallow versions of ourselves anymore. That we’re trying to be better. The kind of women good people - people like Bharath and his friends - could actually take seriously.”

For a second, Zara’s gaze softened in the mirror. “Exactly. No more being the ringmasters of their circus. From now on, we’re going to be good girls. If Bharath or his girls see us now, they’ll see change not out of desperation, but because we want to.”

Ayesha nodded. “The kind of change he respects. The kind he might even ... notice.”

Zara laughed, throwing her towel aside as she reached for her clothes. “So let’s make damn sure they notice.”

Ayesha’s grin widened, though her eyes gleamed with steel. “And we’ll make it obvious, babe. Everyone will have to watch us, and they’ll know we chose this. We’re not banished. We just walked away.”

“Even better,” Zara said, pulling on her fitted black dress. “We leveled up.”

“Now who’s the nerd?”

“Shut up, Aish.”

For a moment, the silence was heavy as they visualized how Bharath would notice them give up their shallow lives to be better. They weren’t just pretty girls anymore. They weren’t hustling for claps and shallow crowns. They were choosing their own thrones, setting fire to the stage they’d once ruled and daring anyone to follow.

“Hey Bhagwan (god), I can’t stop imagining him.”

“Stop it Aish ... I just got dressed.”

Ayesha tilted her chin, voice steady with conviction. “We’re done being background noise in their gossip. From today on, they’ll remember us as the girls who burned their old world down and didn’t look back.”

Zara slipped her heels on, the click sharp against the tile. “And when they see us walk in, they’ll know - we don’t belong to them.” She smiled, slow and sure. “He will notice us and we will belong to him.”

And together, they believed.

The glass doors of the dining hall swung open and, as always, the world seemed to shift. Zara walked in first - tall, lashes thick, lips painted in a sharp red that dared anyone to challenge her. Beside her, Ayesha moved like liquid fire, every step calculated, her hair a glossy wave that made heads turn before she even reached the line.

They seemed to be extra beautiful today. Their makeup flawless, outfits immaculate, perfume just loud enough to announce: the queens had arrived.

The ‘It’ crowd reacted on cue. Squeals and waves from girls leaning forward with glossy smiles that didn’t quite reach their eyes. Boys elbowed each other, straightening their posture, hoping to get noticed by the beauteous duo.

“Zara! I love your boots,” cooed one of the girls.

“And Ayesha,” another added, “you look like a literal goddess today. No wonder you’re late - it must’ve taken forever to get that eyeliner perfect.”

It was the same chorus they’d heard all semester: admiration pitched high enough to mask envy. Once, Ayesha and Zara would’ve eaten it up. They would’ve glided straight to the center, let the sycophants fuss and flatter, basked in the glow of being wanted. But today, they only glanced at each other.

Zara’s smirk was razor-edged as she kept walking. Ayesha followed with her chin lifted, gaze sweeping the room like she was surveying peasants. However, instead of walking to their usual table, they walked toward the big window. For a moment Ayesha’s eyes flicked toward the far corner. Empty. There was no one at Table 7 today. It was as if no one dared to sit there if Bharath and his gang were not around. Her chest pinched. They’d rehearsed this break all night - the moment where they’d show, not tell, who they were now. And the one group they most wanted to see wasn’t even here.

She forced her face still as they sat. If they came in late, fine. If not ... then she and Zara would have to live with the idea that their first act of defiance had been wasted on people too shallow to notice.

Their acolytes blinked. There were a few confused giggles and a few shrugs. It wasn’t the first time Zara and Ayesha had done something dramatic. Maybe they were making a point.

“They must be planning something. They’ll come back soon,” a boy muttered, shoving a fry into his mouth.

However, when the minutes passed and the girls didn’t even glance at them, the crowd got antsy. Zara crossed her legs like she was holding court. Ayesha unwrapped her napkin and dabbed her lips though she hadn’t touched her food. Their posture screamed deliberate.

The crowd shifted uneasily. Whispers floated. What are they doing? Why are they sitting alone?

Finally, one of the girls leaned back in her chair and called across the room. “So what’s the deal? You two mad at us or something?”

Heads turned. The dining hall went quieter.

Zara looked up, her smile cool. “Mad? No. Just ... done.”

“Done with what?”

Ayesha chimed in, tone light, almost cheerful. “With the circus. The parties, the games, the shots lined up on sticky counters. You know ... the usual.”

A murmur rippled. Confusion edged into defensiveness.

“What are you talking about? You girls are the queens of parties!” one of the boys pointed out.

Zara flicked her hair. “Yeah. And last week I thought keg stands were impressive. Turns out they’re just dumb guys upside-down with beer coming out their nose.”

There was nervous laughter but the mood soured. Someone muttered, “What’s her problem?”

Ayesha smiled brightly, trying to smooth it over. “No problem! We’re just going to be different now. We realized that we don’t need to black out to be cool.”

The words landed heavier than she meant. A few girls exchanged looks. One raised an eyebrow.

“So ... are you ... calling us drunks?” she asked, her voice sugary but sharp.

“No, no,” Ayesha said quickly, waving her hand. “I’m just saying we don’t want to live like that anymore. Not - “ She faltered, realizing too late how it sounded. “Not like ... girls who end up wrecked at every frat party. Like we were.”

The silence was instant. The word hung midair, a lit match in a dry room.

“What did you just call us?” one of the girls snapped.

Ayesha’s eyes went wide. “No! I didn’t mean you! I meant - ugh, not you, I meant in general -”

But it was too late. The word hung in the air like smoke.

Zara leaned in, trying to recover with a laugh. “She’s not calling anyone names. She’s saying we were like that. Own it, right? But we don’t want that anymore.” She winked, but the room stayed cold.

“That’s funny!” one of the boys drawled, “Considering you two used to love being the life of the party. You used to make fun of people that didn’t want to get sloshed, calling them losers.”

“Yeah,” another girl shot back. “Don’t act like you’re above it now.”

Ayesha stiffened. “We’re not above anyone. We’re just ... not interested anymore.”

“Why?” another boy demanded.

Zara gave him a long, disdainful look. “Because some of those nights got ugly, okay? Watching perverts slobber over girls like they’re at a buffet table? Enough’s enough.”

A hush fell again. The boy’s face darkened. “So now we’re perverts? I’ve never touched a girl that didn’t give me consent.”

“I didn’t mean you specifically - “ Zara began.

But the damage was done.

“You called us drunks.”

“You called me a pervert.”

“If it doesn’t apply to you, why are you so defensive?” asked Zara, still not wanting to back down. She had never had to tone down her speech before. Everyone loved her bluntness. She couldn’t understand what was happening.

“You used to be right there with us! Who the hell do you think you are?”

Voices overlapped, sharp and angry now.

Zara sat back, shrinking when she saw the hostile looks on everyone’s face. “Ok guys ... peace. Please! We are not trying to say that any of you are drunks or pigs or perverts. What we are saying is that we were pathetic and terrible. Now we don’t want to be that anymore. That’s the difference.”

The hypocrisy stung worse than the insults. Zara sounded smug and preachy. It was one thing to grow out of the crowd. It was another to spit on the very chaos you once helped build.

“Oh my God,” one of the girls said loudly. “They think they’re saints now. Last week they were getting smashed out of their minds and bitching about everyone and now they’re acting like no one will remember.”