The invitation sat on Maya’s kitchen counter, a bright pink rectangle amidst the usual bills and takeout menus. Sarah's party. At the fancy new rooftop bar, with a live DJ and open bar. Maya crumpled the paper absently. Her own birthday was on the same day. She'd planned a quiet dinner at her apartment, with homemade lasagna and board games.
A wave of heat flushed her face. She imagined Sarah, laughing, surrounded by flattering lights and admiring glances. Maya, on the other hand, would be…well, she would be serving her slightly lumpy lasagna to five guests. She shoved the invitation into a drawer, slamming it shut with more force than necessary.
The next day, Maya found herself scrolling through Sarah’s Instagram. Photos of Sarah’s dress shopping. Sarah’s hair appointment. Sarah, Sarah, Sarah. Each post brought a tightening in Maya’s chest, a knot that seemed to grow with every perfectly curated image. Her own feed, a humble collection of cat pictures, suddenly felt inadequate.
That night, Maya cancelled the lasagna. She texted her friends, citing a last-minute family commitment. She spent her birthday evening alone, watching a movie she didn’t enjoy, the quiet in her apartment a deafening sound.