ME:Adam! Can you stop being like this? I thought we were friends????
ADAM:So that’s it then. We’re friends?
ME:What are you getting at?
ADAM:Nothing. That’s all I needed to know.
ME:Adam! Wtf are you on about?
I watch my phone as he starts and stops typing about ten times. And then he gets up, grabs his jacket, and walks out of the office.
I check my phone like a teenager for the rest of the day and long after I get home.
‘All this obsession with your phones is terribly unsociable, not to mention rude,’ Mum huffs later that night as my sisters and I all sit there in the living room staring at our individual screens while Abbu and Nani watch the news on Bangla TV, and Mum does the same whilst getting on with some mending.
‘Khali bokh bokh khoro .?.?.’ Nani mumbles something about Mum constantly nagging and I smile gratefully at her before continuing my stalking of all Adam’s social media, rotating between Facebook, Instagram and Snapchat. But still, deadly silence.
‘You know they’re using your phones to control you, don’t you? All those biscuits storing your information, tracking your every move online .?.?.’ Mum continues with one of her usual conspiracy theories. We continue to ignore her. After a while, she tries again.
‘Did you hear about Samia? Your uncle called me earlier. They’re fixing her wedding.’ That gets our attention and we look up and stare at Mum in surprise.
‘Are you serious?’ Amina asks. ‘She didn’t mention a thing to me!’
‘Nor me,’ Yasmin chimes in. They both turn to look at me as I’m supposedly closest to her. I shake my head.
‘I can’t believe she never told me,’ I say quietly. ‘Why the hell would she keep it a secret?’ I don’t add the fact that she literally texted me last night saying she had no news. It’s too embarrassing.
‘You know how she loves her secrets.’ Yasmin shrugs, squeezing my arm reassuringly. ‘Don’t take it personally.’
‘I’d take it personally if I were you,’ Amina counter argues darkly. ‘She obviously thinks you’re going to be jealous and give her nazar.’
‘I’d never do that!’ I exclaim indignantly. ‘I’d be happy for her!’
‘Are you, though?’ Mum chimes in. ‘You don’t sound very happy right now.’
‘That’s because she hid it from me! If she had told me herself I would have been!’
‘Well, maybe she didn’t want you to be upset,’ Mum reasons, continuing with her mending as if we’re having the most blasé conversation in the world.
‘Why would I be upset?’ I demand, gritting my teeth and very obviously upset.
‘You know, because it was that boy who said no to you.’ I stare at Mum’s needle weaving in and out of the fabric and get the sudden urge to grab it and stab it through my head.
‘What boy?’ I ask quietly.
‘That one from Tower Hamlets. The one who thought you were too old. Well, Samia is only twenty-five so I suppose it’s more suitable given that he’s thirty.’
‘Great,’ I manage to choke out. My sisters exchange worried glances, so I excuse myself and head up to my room.
Dangerously close to tears, I get into bed and resume scrolling through social media because if I don’t, I’ll end up phoning Samia and saying something I’ll regret. I don’t know what hurts me the most; the fact that she’s getting married to someone who rejected me and therefore thinks she’s a better option than I am, or that she’s hidden it from me. All of it. She obviously met him and got to know him over the past few months, and didn’t breathe a word, all the while pretending that she wasn’t looking, and that she wanted me to get married first.
As I continue to scroll, I see that Francesca has updated her stories: a bunch of them out drinking, a mirror selfie of her outfit, and then a selfie of her and Adam with their arms around each other and him planting a slobbery kiss on her cheek.
They’re friends, I remind myself, chucking my phone to the side and closing my eyes.
At five the following morning, I give up trying to sleep and turn to my phone instead to find that social-media-obsessed Fran has updated her stories once again. This time there’s no mistaking what happened as she stares sleepily into the camera, her golden hair illuminated by the morning sun and a sheet loosely wrapped around her. The man still asleep in the background is blurry and out of focus, but I would recognise those arms anywhere.