My story started on an evening in April of 2021 when I was walking along the block outside my dorm to the dining hall for what seemed like the hundredth time. We were already a year into the COVID-19 pandemic lockdowns, but I was still required to take all my college classes online and physically distance myself from everyone every time I went outside. I was only a shy freshman who had an extremely difficult time socializing with people through Zoom meetings, and could not bring myself to talk to anyone in my dorm, so, needless to say, I did not have any friends. I was in a couple of extracurricular activities, like being on the parliamentary debate team, and writing for a school newspaper, but those activities were stressing me out and I would skip club meetings a lot. I had no place where I felt that I belonged on that campus, but I also knew that I probably wasn’t the only one who felt that badly.
I had walked only a minute away from my dorm when I saw a small, diverse group of about 7 young people crossing the street towards me. The girl in front, a short and fair girl with heavy makeup and a high ponytail, noticed me and said “Hey, I really like your outfit!”
I looked down at the oversized green sweatshirt and jeans that I was wearing. “Thanks,” I said.
The girl stopped me and continued to talk. “Hey, do you have any plans for this evening? And do you go to church and study the Bible? Because we’re about to go to our Bible night and it would be really cool if you could come with us.”
Being a schedule freak, I did not want to say yes to such a spontaneous plan. I had already made a reservation to show up at the dining hall in 5 minutes and I also needed to eat at some point that night. But I was actually a God-believing Protestant Christian who had not gone to church in a while since I left home, and had not yet bothered to join any religious groups on campus.
“Yeah, I actually do go to a Protestant church. I don’t think I can come to the meeting right now,” I told her, “but I can maybe come to the next one.”
“Oh, that’s fine,” she said. “Maybe you can give me your number and I can text you about having a Bible study with you.”
“Okay, sure,” I said, and she handed me her phone.
“I’m Hannah, and this is Patricia,” she said, gesturing to her short, smiling Asian friend, as I typed my name and number into Hannah’s contacts.
“I’m Lyla,” I told her.
“That’s a pretty name.” I tried my best to give a nice look towards her through my opaque face mask. She laughed and asked, “Do you play guitar?”
“Yeah! I actually do,” I said.
“I can tell because of your nails.” I looked at Hannah’s hands and she had similarly cut nails to mine. Long on the right hand for fingerpicking and short on the left for fretting.
I gave her back her phone. “Okay, I have to go, but, um, I guess I’ll talk to you later,” I said, continuing my walk. I ruminated over the interaction as I made my way to the dining hall. I later texted my group chat about the funny occurrence of someone noticing that I play guitar through the length of my nails. No one else had noticed that before.
