Dancing For Me

Zian I

I have not one fucking clue how my idiot friend convinced me to come to this Gujrati dancing night thing. I hate dancing, I don't dance. I'm not even Guju. Screw this shit.

"The entire point of me bringing you here is to make your shit mood better."

"It's only getting shittier so why don't you just drop me at home or the nearest McDonald's and I'll find my way home myself."

"Like at least pretend for the sake of me putting in the effort to bring you."

"No."

I sit at a table the entire night watching people dance... and dance... and dance. What is even the point, it's not like the moves are different each time either. It's same stupid thing over and over and over again. Great. My phone is dead too. Fucking uni is literally draining the life out of me and I'm expected to sit here and pretend I'm happy. Fuck no. Why did I take engineering? Everyone I ever talked to told me it would kick my ass all the way to hell but did I listen? No.

I watch a group of girls walk past, all smiling and happy. It's two in the morning, why are you like this. You know what, I don't want to know. As a brown person, I know that brown girls are a whole other species. Not saying that they are not the species I prefer but all the same, it's wild man.

This one girl in a blue lehenga or ghagra choli or whatever they are called, I don't care, is laughing so loud. Literally why. The rest of her group looks pretty tired but she still looks so energetic.

"Let's go back to the garba." She says and her posse agrees.

For some reason I keep watching her. Probably because blue is my favorite color. Please, my explanation sounds stupid to even myself. I watch because I want to, I like watching her dance. She knows what she is doing and clearly is enjoying it too. She's smiling the whole time and laughing with her friends and all the other people in the dance line. She looks...nice.