My school had taken us to the State Bank Museum as part of its educational field trip programme. I was on cloud nine, as I had a keen interest in finance and how the commerce and banking system operate. My friends had brought snacks for the trip and we enjoyed them along with constant giggles and commotion. The view was mesmerising as we passed the beach, watching the waves seamlessly crash into the sand.

As we reached our destination, my eyes immediately locked onto the massive building. It was a fine piece of stone and brick, with the marble shimmering in the distance. I noticed the lead used for the windows and the concrete shaping the entrance. According to the guide, the materials used in designing and building this colossal structure had been imported from England and Italy decades ago and had been well preserved ever since.

The air conditioner’s cool air greeted us as we entered the museum’s premises. The guide showed us a presentation about money and how it had evolved over the decades. After that, we were escorted to a room with large paintings.

They resembled Roman mosaics and contained a great deal of colour and detail. I learnt that the paintings explained how commerce worked in ancient times through barter trading and then gold. Agriculture was also visible in the paintings, highlighting its significance, and then modern-day banknotes and vaults were also depicted. We looked at a few other paintings, but quickly began to feel listless, as did the others; only a true artist could comprehend and appreciate the effort put into them, which we were not.

Moving on, we entered a room filled with glass cases. They contained numerous coins of various colours and sizes. Different figures were engraved on them and they looked fascinating. Alongside them were ancient forms of money, such as seashells, miniature clay tablets and so on.

“These are ancient relics spanning from the kingdoms in India, such as the Guptas and Dravidians, to the Muslim and Mongol empires,” explained the guide.

I scanned the cases, pondering how each ruler was so eager to have their face minted on the coins of their kingdoms. I came across old banknotes as well, dating back to the time the British ruled India. The banknotes had pictures of King George of England on them and I felt as if I had teleported back in time, especially since the interior of the museum also resembled a British building from the post–World War II era.

The guide then led us to a hall decorated with stamps and posters collected over the past century. Looking at posters and stamps doesn’t really float my boat, so I slipped out of the crowd.

Suddenly, something peculiar caught my attention. Bizarre sounds were echoing from a room and curiosity gripped me. I made my way towards it. A person was inside, their face obscured by a veil. I was puzzled as to whether the figure was male or female, but I was determined to uncover their identity. Just then, I couldn’t control myself and sneezed.

The figure spun around and noticed me. I held my composure, keeping my eyes locked on the mysterious person, and spotted a rope within my reach. My heart began racing, yet I steadied myself and flung the rope at the individual’s feet, causing them to trip. The veil came off and, dumbfounded, I scratched my head briefly.

It was Elvis Presley standing there, staring at me!

“That man died decades ago… so how could he be right before my eyes?” I wondered.

Immediately, I smelt rubber and understood what had transpired. Without thinking twice, I yanked at his face. He resisted, but due to my dogged persistence, he had nowhere to run.

After relentless effort, I managed to pull the mask off and before me stood the manager of the bank. My jaw dropped.

My school teachers and students, along with the security, had gathered as I had caused quite a commotion. The manager was arrested on the spot and after a few inquiries, the police informed our school that he had been after the ancient relics. He had calculated their approximate worth ever since he assumed office. The value ran into the billions, and he was planning to steal it all under the guise of being manager.

The security forces and museum staff thanked me, and my school was notified that the executive board, as well as I, had been invited to the capital for a state dinner celebrating this remarkable achievement. I was to be awarded a medal and recognised as a national hero.

Published in Dawn, Young World, December 6th, 2025

“Guys, wait for me!” I called to my friends as I was packing my bag.

They didn’t seem to want to wait and just kept walking. I caught up with them, but they looked pretty miffed about me buzzing around them. They finally heaved a sigh of relief when I headed towards another door, as we went through different gates, me to the van area and they to the car parking.

We were a group of five, that perfect gang that was fit to be on a drama cast. We had the innocent Mishal, the sassy Bismah, the fashionista Rumaissa, the quiet Aliza and, of course, the high scorer (I’m only admitting this for a good intro), me. We had been together since day one of this year. But now, they were ignoring me.

Okay, so a little fact about me: I’ve always been ready to please people, ready to adjust. I make friends with everyone, though I kind of prefer if they are a bit like me.

Being totally unaware of why I was being ignored, I started guessing the reason. Obviously, I thought it was because I always wore desi clothes while hoodies and T-shirts made up most of their wardrobe. I assumed it was because I was a bit behind on trends. So, determined to change things back to normal, I decided to show that I was hurt.

I started getting quieter in class, more distant. I don’t know how I actually looked, but I might have done a great job; my classmates were asking what was wrong. But my friends weren’t. They were too busy in their own lives. All except Bismah, though. She always made me feel like I mattered.

It was just an ordinary science class when the teacher asked us to divide into groups of four for a project. The marks would be added to the final exams, so, for once, our class was taking it seriously.

“Hey, let’s do it together,” Bismah whispered. I nodded fervently. “Though we need two more members…” she trailed off.

“You can ask Mishal and Aliza,” I offered. I seriously thought that would do the trick. And it did.

We worked hard for a week, our WhatsApp chats flooded with ideas and documents. We actually got a pretty good grade, and I thought everything was back to normal, that we were travelling back to Friendshipville.

But the second we walked out of the classroom, they forgot I was there. Only Bismah stayed by my side. It was tempting to wave my arms and say, “Hello? You guys know I exist or was I only real for doing hard work so you could get a good grade?!”

But I didn’t say anything. I never do. I was officially replaced in my gang by Zunaira, Amira and Hannah. I just went into a loop of endless confusion and sprained trust.

It was just luck that one day, when our teacher shuffled our seats, I got a seat next to Zara, Maryam and Friha.

Zara was the cricket expert, like seriously, The Cricket Expert. She could hit ten sixes in a row and won us every match against other classes. Maryam was the music fan, the one who is a bit annoying and sarcastic, but a very good friend. Friha was the class buddy, always checking in with everyone and providing emotional support.

They had always supported me. Once, I was hesitant about talking about a particular thing because I thought people would think I was weird or cringe. Maryam and Friha had towered above me (even though I’m taller than both of them).

“Seriously, Fatimah, stop worrying who will think what,” Maryam said.

“Life’s too short to worry. What has to happen, has to happen,” Friha added, grinning.

Zara, as usual, was ready to distract my mind with a cricket bat in her hand.

They always stayed by me, never letting me feel alone in a crowd. They always made sure they had an endless supply of humour and comebacks for me. I was very hesitant about playing sports, but one day after a random game of throwball with them, I got so much encouragement.

“You should play a whole lot more, maybe even consider entering school matches,” Zara had said.

“Maybe… I don’t know. I just like playing with you guys. Thanks, though,” I had replied, grinning.

I always felt scared about setting boundaries with other people. But my new friends had already asked to set some rules. They made sure I wasn’t hiding anything that was bothering me.

I tried my best to be there for them as well. I remember that during the class party, Maryam had been freaking out because a girl in another class had worn the exact same dress as her.

“Please, relax,” I had hissed while she muttered about being accused of copying. “She has a different print on hers. No one has time to notice.”

I still talked to my old group, smiled at them and stayed friendly, especially with Bismah, who I still text, because I hadn’t really left them. I had just let them be more complete without me, more perfect without me. And honestly, I agree. They seem better off without me.

Sometimes there are places where you fit, but there are places where you fit even better. Sometimes it’s hard to let go, but sometimes, you have to.

I did, and now, when I see Mishal, Rumaissa, Bismah, Aliza, Zunaira, Amira and Hannah goofing around, I realise I not only found new friends, but I also let them be themselves more freely without me there, accidentally ruining their vibe.

I get it, it’s hard. But once you do it, chances are you’ll cherish your decision.

Stop running after people, stop depending on them.

See the people who trust you, who make you feel you have a place in their hearts.

Because they, I must say, might be the ones who are truly yours.

Published in Dawn, Young World, December 6th, 2025