"Some people enter your life like sunlight. Others like smoke. You can't tell which is which until you can't breathe."
————————————————————
Aira Yusof (20 years old) is a quiet, observant university student who struggles with social anxiety and self-doubt. On the outside, she's the "listener" in her friend group. But inside, she's crumbling—unsure if the people around her really care or just tolerate her.
It was 4:13 p.m. when Aira realized she wasn't in the group photo.
Not forgotten like a jacket on a chair. Not excluded because she was late. Just… not there. Everyone else had gathered in front of the campus library, arms thrown around shoulders, wide grins flashing on screens. And she'd been in the library the whole time. Upstairs. In the same building.
She stared at the photo on Hana's Instagram for a full minute before locking her phone. Her hands were trembling again. She blamed the caffeine.
Her friends would say it was a "misunderstanding," if she ever dared to bring it up. That she was "too sensitive," "too quiet," or worse— " too dramatic."
She had grown used to swallowing her questions like bitter pills. The kind that stick to your throat no matter how much water you drink.
So instead, she texted a polite thumbs-up emoji on the group chat.
And stared at her reflection in the library's tinted window.
Did anyone else feel like this? Like they were present, but not visible? Aira existed in the background of her own life, like a blurry extra in someone else's movie.
Classes had ended two hours ago, but Aira had no reason to go back to her dorm yet. The quiet hurt less than the pretending. Her roommate would ask too many questions anyway.
She sat by the corner window and watched people outside. Laughing. Living.
It was like a whole world she could see but not touch.
Someone once told her she was "easy to be around." But what they meant was she didn't make them uncomfortable. She didn't talk too much.
Didn't take up space.
Didn't complain when things hurt.
Aira was starting to realize that being "easy to be around" just meant people could forget she was there.
In her notebook, she wrote:
What is a friend?
A person you trust.
A person you love.
A person you fear losing.
A person who makes you feel like losing yourself is easier than losing them.
The first time she felt alone in a group was with Mira.
Mira, with her dazzling voice and burning confidence, used to be her best friend. Or so Aira thought. Mira loved her, but only when Aira was quiet. When she needed something. When Aira could be her shadow.
"You're so lucky I keep you around," Mira once joked.
And Aira had laughed.
Because it felt safer to laugh than to ask:
Am I?
That day, Someone sat across from her.
Aira looked up, startled. It was Ray —
The boy from her psychology class who always sat in the back, hoodie up, headphones on, eyes avoiding everyone. She didn't even know they were in the same building.
"Hi," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry. This seat okay?"
She nodded.
He didn't talk more. Just pulled out a book and started reading. Something old and battered. His silence felt…different. Not like ignoring. More like existing beside.
For once, she didn't feel like she had to smile.
Ten minutes passed.
"You write?" Ray asked, nodding at her notebook.
Aira hesitated. "Just…thoughts. Nothing good."
"Still writing," he said.
She blinked. "Do you?"
He nodded. "Journals. Helps me sort stuff out."
"What kind of stuff?"
He shrugged. "Just…things in my head. Anxiety. Thoughts that lie."
That made her heart pause.
Thoughts that lie.
No one had ever described it like that before. But that was exactly it.
The thoughts that told her she wasn't wanted.
That if she disappeared, nobody would notice.
That she was a burden people carried out of politeness.
Aira gave him a small, real smile.
"Yeah," she said. "Me too."
That night, back in her dorm, she scrolled through her friends' chat again. They were planning another dinner.
She hadn't been invited.
She typed, "Can I join?"
Then deleted it.
Instead, she opened her notebook and wrote:
"Some people make you feel like you matter when they talk to you.
Others make you feel like you only matter when they need something.
I think I'm starting to know the difference."