THE REALEST

Ambling into his dimly lit room, Maruf hastily shuts the door closed, cutting off abbu mid-lecture about whatever nonsense he was yammering about. Attitude problems, perhaps, or maybe him exceeding his 'curfew', some mundane rubbish Maruf stopped paying attention to a long time ago. Coming home to a ticked off father after an all too long night wasn't a treat. Frustration dawned upon him like a heavy boulder. Like every other night, being just Maruf seemed miserable.

Fiddling out his phone, Maruf's gaze lingers on the applications displayed before him. Options drowned him deep. The indecisive twenty-year-old taps the Facebook icon, 'Good evening Abrar Shahriar!' it greets. Instantly he opens messages to find Girl Number 2, an average height schoolgirl. She's a footballer, broad cheeks, cropped hair, likes to wear skirts and lenient about sending pictures of herself in those skirts. For a change, she demands his pictures this time. The only one she could view from his profile is a picture of a random guy from Instagram, which is pretty vague with the visibility of his face obscured by the angle. Everybody reaches this point where they want to see more of him, the stage, he calls it with adding a theatric element. Like every other time someone reaches the stage, for a split second Maruf contemplates whether he should send a real picture of himself this time in, might work out. Like every other time, he shoots his own idea down ridiculing himself scornfully, yeah right. He picks out another one of the same guy's selfies and wastes no time hitting 'send'. 

Instagram used to be his favorite place a week ago, he got to be Mick Chandler, a drummer from New Jersey, the only foreign character he played. Quite a few friends he made with this account, courtesy of the face of some randomly googled guy. He befriended a chap named Jacob Murphy, they conversed about their mutual admiration for Miguel Cabrera. Maruf didn't even like baseball. That's irrelevant, because Mick did. He also had Girl Number 4 on his beck and call. Caroline, a blond twenty-two-year-old university student. One of Caroline's friends figured out the scam and Maruf's guise expired. He felt badly about it, Jacob was probably closer to him for a time than his only friend Tahmid. 

Blue in reminiscence, Maruf resorts to Skype. Girl Number 3 awaits, Sera, who he converses with daily, both of them with their videos off. He likes her, she's sweet and believes she is talking to one Zaber Hossain, architecture student. This girl genuinely eases him down. A new message greets him. 

"I want to see you, lets video chat plsss," it reads. 

Maruf sighs, this again. He almost wants to give in, this girl genuinely sparks his interest, and she even added the additional s's. 

"Video chat is lame, let's just talk like usual," he types out.

"I want to put a face on you," her tenacity tests his restraints.

"I can't," he types. 

"Then I can't continue this" she writes.

This drags on a while longer, before Maruf realizes he won't succeed. Defeated, he deactivates Zaber Hossain's account. 

A ting draws his attention to his laptop. It originates from the opened Facebook account, Maruf Fahad's real account. Apathetic about whatever Tahmid has to say, Maruf rests his drained body on his bed. 

The clock strikes 2:48. His thoughts lingers back to Sera from skype, too bad that had to end. She was a nice girl. Bummer.