I’ve always been a master of strategic early arrivals. Throughout school and right up until university, I made sure to get there early—just so I could sit quietly in a corner and avoid talking to anyone beyond the obligatory “hello.” My desk was my sanctuary, and my textbook was the perfect shield. The only problem? My focus is non-existent in crowded spaces. No matter how hard I tried to dive into the pages of my book, I’d end up staring at the chaos around me, mentally counting the seconds until I could escape into my own world.

If there’s one thing I’ve mastered, it’s the art of pretending to be busy in a room full of people. I’m the person who can get into an elevator, make eye contact with exactly zero people, and still somehow make it look like I’m deep in thought (read: thinking about what I’ll have for lunch in 6 hours).

When an introvert says they’re “busy,” it’s usually a code word for “I’m hiding in a corner, silently judging your small talk from a distance.” I don’t need to go out to a bar to experience human interaction; I can have all the awkward conversations I need just by ordering a cutting chai at a local tapri. I’ll exchange a few awkward nods with the chaiwala, but that’s as far as my social skills go. If the conversation goes past “Kitna hua?” (How much is it?), I might just start sweating profusely—because now we’re venturing into alien territory.

At the end of the day, my idea of a perfect evening isn’t being surrounded by friends—it’s being surrounded by the silence of my own thoughts, a book, and a large cup of tea. Because while the world is out there, doing things, I’m happily curled up on my couch, participating in my solo reality show. Don’t worry though—no one watches, and that’s exactly how I like it.