the magic of egg curry

i go to college in a white town.

i stand out, as a girl who wears gold bangles like little planetary rings that circle around her wrist, whose long black hair falls down her back like a snake, whos deep, coffee-dark circles hollow out her face.

when i came to this town, i told myself i wouldnt find people like me, and that it was okay, that i could still make friends with all sorts of other people.

but i wonder, how despite the statistics, the very slim chances of finding others like me, i got so lucky.

i wonder this as i am in the car, this warm, ocean boy driving us to our friends apartment as soft, beautiful hindi music strums from his car radio.

i notice the stars as i step out of the car. i notice the dark night and the calm, late august air.

we enter through the door, and when i step into the kitchen, i see that they are making egg curry.

my heart squeezes a bit, remembering the egg curry my mom makes, how it smelt and the warmth it brought to my stomach. my heart squeezes at how my friends are making something i thought i would only get to taste when i was at home.

i go upstairs, and two of my friends are sitting together.

my first thought was to leave, to give them space, but they pull me in as if i am their own and hug me hard enough to scrub away the hurt i never talk about, the sticky mess insides of my veins.

i smile, my whole face being consumed by its presence, i smile as if i just won the lottery- and i guess in some way i did, with how i got to meet such beautiful people.

we laugh, talk loudly, and i stay on the bed.

and i swear, in that moment, i felt love.

i go downstairs, and see the boiled and unpeeled eggs in the pot. i see the way my friends easily talk to each other, the way that there is love in the way the light shines down on all of their faces, the way that all of our shoes are by the door, in no rush to be worn.

i enter the kitchen, and the boys are peeling the eggs. one of us is attending to the pot of curry, adding ginger paste and chopped onions, while two of us are using all of our arm strength, combined, to open the window and let the air in.

as im cleaning and putting away dishes, i take a moment to look at all my friends.

the most magical part of all of this is how, amidst all of our different tasks, we are laughing from the deep parts of our bellies and talking with each other after our long days.

i step outside to the patio, to feel the nights calm on my skin, to see the stars, to hear my beautiful friends.

my ocean friend steps outside, pulls his chair close to mine and we sit, talking in gentle voices as im smiling and falling in love with how perfect everything is.

im a bit cold, everyones a bit loud, i still have homework to do, i still need to call my mom, i have so much other work to do, but all of it can wait.

this, this moment, this night, is all i care about right now.

after, my friend breaks a piece of rotli, scoops up the egg curry and feeds me the first bite.

my stomach feels warm, my whole body quietly processes, in awe, how good of a cook my friend is.

we spend the rest of the night, all of us watching tv, all of us close and comfy.

someones legs are wrapped around me, im scratching someones head, someone is playing with my hair, and someone elses arms are wrapped around me.

skinny love by bon iver plays from the show we are all watching, and i sing.

my friend drops me off to home, and we talk the whole drive.

as i go to bed, the smell of spices linger on my shirt. and even as my mind drifts to sleep, i can still smell it. i smell the marinated eggs and the warm, spicy curry. i can still hear us all laughing.