It's not like all of Ryan's desperate little plans to get me to come over to his place failed or anything—because spoiler alert, I did end up meeting him—but before I even dare get into that flaming pile of drama, I need to give you a proper introduction to another clown who has twirled through the circus that is my life: Rhea. Now Rhea, where do I begin? Calling her a villager might sound harsh to the sensitive ears of the world, but honestly, I'm just stating facts based on her habits, her overall vibe, and the sheer inability she had to function like a normal person in a city. When I first saw her in college, I swear on overpriced Starbucks lattes, I knew right then and there—this girl was straight out of some dusty, blink-and-you-miss-it town and had absolutely no clue how to blend in.
The way she talked? Painfully awkward. The way she carried herself? As if she had been dropped into the middle of a fashion-forward metropolis by accident. I actually doubted whether she'd even manage to make a single friend, so being the charitable, morally-uplifting icon that I am, I made her my friend. Out of goodwill. Pure. Unfiltered. Goodwill. But oh honey, the joke was on me—because much later I realized she had been using me this entire time, with her inflated little ego that didn't even make sense because, let's be real, if you're going to act like you're all that, you should at least be good at one thing.
She wasn't even pretty-pretty, just decent if we're being generous. She sucked at academics, couldn't make a PowerPoint without giving it PTSD, spoke like she was auditioning for a dull soap opera, had a fashion sense so tragic it made my soul cringe, and was constantly starstruck by things as basic as escalators and subway tokens because surprise, she'd never lived in a real city before. Oh—and she was a compulsive liar. Especially to her family. She would tell them all kinds of nonsense just to squeeze out money for shopping sprees she absolutely didn't deserve. This girl, and I kid you not, would walk out of the washroom without washing her hands. Like full-on flush and exit. But no soap, no water, no guilt. And when I finally mustered the courage to call her out on it—because sorry but ew—she had the audacity to act offended. Not embarrassed, not apologetic, offended. She flared up and started ranting that "no one is as hygienic as me," as if the germs were just scared of her and ran away on their own. I was like, girl, just shut up.
And despite all that—I was still stupid enough to be her friend. Fast forward to our fresher's welcome party, which had a cute little retro theme, and guess what? Miss Rhea says she doesn't want to go dressed up alone because apparently she'd feel "awkward." And again, like the fool I sometimes regret being, I said fine, I'll come to your place, we'll get ready together, we'll walk in together, and all that sweet-sounding supportive bestie crap. She said yes. I packed all my stuff, dragged myself to her place in heels—which by the way, were already killing me—and because I'd never been there before, I had to keep calling her, and at first she picked up, but then she just... stopped. Like ghosted me mid-way.
And when she did answer, it sounded like she had a mouth full of something and wasn't even trying to hide it. You'd think she was having breakfast or something remotely normal, but no—she had this repulsive habit of chewing on nuts or God knows what like a greedy squirrel at any time of day, anywhere, without shame. The way she was munching and talking to me like I was inconveniencing her—girl, please. She told me she was walking down the road to help me find her place, and as I'm desperately scanning balconies in the blinding sun, there she is—smirking at me from her balcony like it's all a joke, like she's just watching the entertainment unfold. And I still told myself, "You know what, maybe it's just the village thing. Maybe she doesn't know any better."
But nope. Plot twist: she was mad at me for God knows what, and later that week when our class celebrated her birthday, she gave cake to literally every single person in the room except me. I was standing right there, mind you, one of her so-called closest friends, the same girl who had helped her with everything from her assignments to fixing her god-awful outfits. And the funny thing is? I wouldn't have even cared if she hated me out loud—at least I would've known. But no, this chick decided to hate me secretly while still asking me to do her homework. The excuse? She'd never used a laptop. Like babe, you're in a metro city pursuing a degree, why are you here if you're allergic to Technology?
After that fresher's party, I had some stuff at her place and had to go pick it up before heading home—mind you, home was a whole hour away. She lived on the first floor, I was exhausted, I asked her to just bring my bag down because I physically could not climb one more stair in those heels, and she straight-up ignored me, went inside, vanished. I waited, called her, called out for her, nothing. I had to drag myself up and there she was—in the shower. Didn't even care. No goodbye. No thanks. Nothing. Just a dripping "I don't care if you live or die" energy.
And that, sweetie, was just one incident in a never-ending horror series of her being shady and mean and constantly using me for things she didn't want to learn or do herself. She would even throw shade at me in front of boys, trying to make me look stupid just so she could get picked. And during lockdown, when we had to scan and upload PDFs of our answer sheets, guess what? She shamelessly sent me her pages to turn into PDFs because "she didn't know how" and didn't even want to learn. One time I ignored her and she had the audacity to call my mother, saying it was urgent, and my mom actually scolded me like I was the villain here.
Now, my college girl group was basically a trio—me, Rhea, and Aaliya. She was pretty, a little bit egotistic in a bearable way, kind of a pick-me but knew how to treat people, unlike some. I had introduced them, and by fourth semester, they ended up living together in the same apartment and growing close, which would've been fine if Rhea hadn't gone full snake-mode, trying to wedge herself between me and the other girl, manipulating both of us, spinning her little stories, playing all sides like she was auditioning for the role of "toxic friend of the year."
I've met a lot of girls in my life—but none with the level of passive-aggressive nastiness, manipulation skills, and villager energy that Rhea had. And I'm only telling you all this now because, oh yes, she will appear again in this story. Because like all unresolved chapters in your life, Rhea was never truly gone.