She was an odd girl. Pretty, slightly lanky with deep seated eyes. Some would say she was borderline creepy. But most would say she was odd. There was something so off about her. She would walk amongst the others in the college corridors as if she were a ghost. She literally would float through the crowd. Most people didn’t even notice her, whether she was in class or not, whether she was sitting next to them or not. It was almost like she didn’t exist for them. And for her too, it seemed like she was in her own world, where no one else existed. She came just as quietly as she went.
Hardly anyone has heard her talk. And those who did, didn’t have anything special to say about her. She was just about average in her studies. She sat in the corner of the classroom. Even the teachers didn’t pay much attention to her. She would answer when she was talked to and for the rest of the time she would look into space like she was staring at the specs of dust floating in the air.
Her eyes looked like they were dead, like there was no one home. There was seldom any expression on her face. No frown, no smile, no trace of emotion. You wouldn’t even call it a poker face. It was just like she wasn’t even there.
Every day she walked from her home to her college and back. People would see her on the road and they would sometimes show signs of recognition but she wouldn’t ever respond.
“Does she ever talk?”
“Doesn’t she have any friends?”
“Is she part of a cult?”
“She looks kind of scary”
“You think she’s retarded?”
“Maybe she’s a troubled child.”
“She’s just odd”
“I would be friends with her if she wasn’t so weird”
“She stares at everyone like we’re all her enemies.”
“How can we even be nice to her when she doesn’t even respond like a human?”
“She’s just not normal”
The gossip was always buzzing around her. People had all sorts of theories about her. After all, she had to pay the price of being different.
She’d go back home every day and pour her heart into a diary. By now she had about 8 volumes of her personal diary. And it was all about the people she saw every day. Their daily lives were well documented only with one small addition. Herself.
Her diary showed everything, the daily college life. Only in her diary she made herself a part of their world. Where she had friends, where she was heard, where she was seen, where her presence was felt. Her diary was the life she wanted, the life she tried searching for every day, the life that eluded her. She got in words what she couldn’t get in life.
Fiction was always better than reality. Fiction was where she lived. Reality was where she was alone, but alive.