Hey, guys! This story is...it's different from anything I've ever written. It's about something that has happened to me, and I usually don't write about things that happen to me. I've got this thing that my life's bad enough for me to escape into writing, so why would I want to drag it into my writing? I don't know. But I just felt like writing this from, like, the past two days, and today, I was angsty enough to write this. It's a rather pointless story, but hey-at this moment, my life's pointless, so...it's just something I wrote. Enjoy.

A special thanks for ella34...thank you sooo much for your awesome review! Please make an account soon-I'd love to send you PMs! 3

Just for now

I looked around as I folded my top. What I saw made my throat swell inward and my eyes burn. Before the tears could fall, I looked at the top. It was green in colour, a kurta top with a sequenced neckline. I studied the neckline, willing the tears to stop being formed. It hurt even more—my stomach clenched from inside, I felt like I was choking, and my eyes just burned a hell lot more. I sniffed softly—there were people everywhere, and I hated having attention on me. I just wanted them all to go so that I could turn to the ceiling and howl.

But it really didn't matter if they were there or not. I was completely, truly alone.

I quickly stuffed the top into the plastic cover, where the stage jewellery was already there. I pulled on the black shirt I'd carried with me, feeling the swelling in my throat reduce. I dared to look up again.

My eyes fell on my best friend. Her mother was there, helping her along, folding her clothes, while her sister teased her about the makeup they had applied on our faces. She laughed, and quickly complied with what her mother was saying. I must've been staring too hard, because her mother looked at me suddenly. She smiled kindly and said, "Do you need any help, dear?" Embarrassed at being caught, I shook my head and busied myself by removing all the pins the hair-lady had jabbed into my head. But the answer to her question kept playing in my mind:

Be my mother, just for now.

I had parents who loved me. I had a brother who teased me mercilessly. I had a mother who gave me a lot of freedom, and a father who loved cracking PJs. But they just weren't here right now, when I needed to hear them tell me what other parents were telling their children. I wanted to hear somebody tell me that I'd danced well, that I had been looking extremely pretty in my dress, that they had looked only at me throughout the show, that I looked awful with that gunk on my face called makeup. But nobody was here. I didn't know why. And it hurt unbearably.

I removed the pins, put them in the box. I looked at myself. I was already dressed, so why was I still waiting here, prolonging the pain when I could just get up and leave? I chuckled to myself, but it wasn't a joyous sound. I couldn't leave, not until my parents came.

Be my mother, just for now.

The more it hurt, the angrier I became. How could they? Just how could they? It didn't matter. I didn't care anymore. I picked up the bag, handed it to the teacher. "Beta, where are your parents?" she asked me. If I didn't love her as much as I did or if that question wasn't made out of genuine concern, I would've punched her. Instead, I put on a plastic smile and said, "They're waiting for me downstairs." She looked a little perturbed about letting me go on my own, but she nodded slowly. "Okay, beta, once you see them, call me, okay?" I nodded, wished her a good night, or one at least better than mine. Without another word or another glance at anyone else, I walked away.

I pulled out my mobile phone and my headset from my bag; I pulled it over my ears when a call came. It was my best friend. I couldn't talk to her now; it hurt too much. I cut the call, made a call to the teacher and told her I was leaving with my parents. I wish she could be my mother. But she wasn't.

I connected the headset to my phone, and pressed play. At once, some metal punk began blaring into my ears. I didn't care. I looked around—there were nearly five hundred people there at the foodstalls, all who were taking a break from the programmes of the day—some with their families, some with their spouses, some with their kids. Some idiot jostled me, laughing with his wife. I was surrounded as I made my way to the exit.

But, at that moment, I couldn't have been more alone.