I married my best friend’s wealthy grandfather for financial security—and on our wedding night, he looked at me and said, “Now that you’re my wife… I can finally tell you the truth.” I was never the pretty one. Not at school. Not anywhere. The kind of girl people look at unless they’re laughing. An awkward smile, uncomfortable posture, always slightly out of place—too quiet or too much at the wrong moment. By high school, I had accepted it—no one was ever going to fall in lo …

I, on the other hand, was invisible. I was the background noise in other people’s lives.

But she didn’t see a ghost; she saw Layla.

“You’re just not aware how special you are, Layla. You see the world differently, and no one else can make me laugh like you can.”

Because of some reason, Violet didn’t leave. I couldn’t quite understand why she would choose to stick around through the embarrassment of high school, the struggles of college, and everything in between. For five years straight, I believed that someday, Violet would get up in the morning and finally decide that she could not be friends with me anymore since it was such a hassle.

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It is easy to summarize our most fundamental difference – she had a home while I only had my phone.

To this day, I cannot forget the time when I received a text from my brother telling me not to come home during Christmas. In all simplicity, it said that I should not return because there would be no place, there would be no money, and there wouldn’t be any point in inviting me either.

Anyway, I moved into the city with her right after college. No, not because of some sort of fixation; well, it probably seemed like that to others. It was simply a question of self-preservation—I had to stay close to the only person who actually recognized my existence. The first place I ever called my own was a small shoebox of a place perched over a 24/7 laundromat. It was loud, smelt like commercial cleaning products, and the heating never worked unless it decided to be generous—but it was home.