Every group has them.
Not the loud ones. Not the leaders.
The ones in the background.
The quiet souls who smile a little too easily and speak a little too softly.
They’re always around. Not quite in, not quite out.
They laugh at jokes they didn’t hear properly, tag along on plans they weren’t part of making,
and hold on to people who never quite held them back.
Remember that guy from college?
He helped with assignments, remembered your deadlines,
always said, “No worries!” even when it hurt.
Then one weekend, the whole gang went on a trip.
No message. No call. Just photos all over Instagram.
He saw them. Liked a few.
Then sent a message:
"Wasn’t I part of the plan?"
And someone replied with a laughing emoji.
"Didn’t think you'd be interested, bro."
There’s that girl who remembered everyone’s birthday.
She wrote little notes, left chocolates, cheered the loudest.
When her birthday came, no one remembered.
No plans. No messages.
She cut a cake alone after work in the soft hum of the fridge light.
Her mom clapped. She smiled.
But somewhere behind that smile was a silence that didn’t want to be heard.
There’s always that guy in the WhatsApp group.
He sees every message but never replies.
Not because he doesn’t care.
But because no one ever asks, “How are you?”
He waits quietly, thinking, “Would anyone notice if I disappeared for a day?”
On playgrounds too, they exist.
The twelfth man.
The one who holds the extra bat, fetches the lost ball, brings the water.
Always there, never picked.
Watching the game he desperately wants to be part of,
but pretending it doesn’t matter.
“Maybe tomorrow,” he thinks.
But tomorrow never comes.
These people don’t ask for much.
Just a space. A voice. A hand that says, “Hey, you're one of us.”
But they don’t know how to demand attention.
So they become invisible. Background noise in their own lives.
Friendships form circles.
And sometimes, some people end up just outside that circle.
Not quite strangers, not quite family.
Like shadows cast by the clock. Present, but outside time.
These people don’t break.
They solidify.
Like stones beneath your feet. Steady, silent, stepped on.
They don’t cry anymore.
They just gather dust inside their silence.
And when they fade, they don’t leave a hole.
Just a little more space no one notices was once filled.
They’re the stars that still shine.
But the city lights make sure no one sees them.
And all they want to whisper is:
“I exist. Even if you don’t see me.”
Not the loud ones. Not the leaders.
The ones in the background.
The quiet souls who smile a little too easily and speak a little too softly.
They’re always around. Not quite in, not quite out.
They laugh at jokes they didn’t hear properly, tag along on plans they weren’t part of making,
and hold on to people who never quite held them back.
Remember that guy from college?
He helped with assignments, remembered your deadlines,
always said, “No worries!” even when it hurt.
Then one weekend, the whole gang went on a trip.
No message. No call. Just photos all over Instagram.
He saw them. Liked a few.
Then sent a message:
"Wasn’t I part of the plan?"
And someone replied with a laughing emoji.
"Didn’t think you'd be interested, bro."
There’s that girl who remembered everyone’s birthday.
She wrote little notes, left chocolates, cheered the loudest.
When her birthday came, no one remembered.
No plans. No messages.
She cut a cake alone after work in the soft hum of the fridge light.
Her mom clapped. She smiled.
But somewhere behind that smile was a silence that didn’t want to be heard.
There’s always that guy in the WhatsApp group.
He sees every message but never replies.
Not because he doesn’t care.
But because no one ever asks, “How are you?”
He waits quietly, thinking, “Would anyone notice if I disappeared for a day?”
On playgrounds too, they exist.
The twelfth man.
The one who holds the extra bat, fetches the lost ball, brings the water.
Always there, never picked.
Watching the game he desperately wants to be part of,
but pretending it doesn’t matter.
“Maybe tomorrow,” he thinks.
But tomorrow never comes.
These people don’t ask for much.
Just a space. A voice. A hand that says, “Hey, you're one of us.”
But they don’t know how to demand attention.
So they become invisible. Background noise in their own lives.
Friendships form circles.
And sometimes, some people end up just outside that circle.
Not quite strangers, not quite family.
Like shadows cast by the clock. Present, but outside time.
These people don’t break.
They solidify.
Like stones beneath your feet. Steady, silent, stepped on.
They don’t cry anymore.
They just gather dust inside their silence.
And when they fade, they don’t leave a hole.
Just a little more space no one notices was once filled.
They’re the stars that still shine.
But the city lights make sure no one sees them.
And all they want to whisper is:
“I exist. Even if you don’t see me.”
