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A white, undyed sheet. 2 metres in length, and 0.6 metres in height. A cheap and lightweight cotton fabric. But what value it provided. It was more than a curtain. It was my guardian, my angel. Providing me cover and protection as I reposed in my bunk, sheltering me from the other 7 beds in the room. I was unsure what time it was. The sky light shone and bathed my forehead through the cracks of the curtain rail. I was a shell of a man. A shell is hyperbolic. A shell is sturdy and has withstood evolution for hundreds of years. I in fact, demonstrated the fragility of a wafer. Ready to snap, crackle and pop at the first exposure to rain, wind or sun. But the curtain you see, this was my saviour. The one thing protecting me. The others, they did not know what was behind that curtain. But I did. I lay there delicately in the fetus position, knees tucked in and pressed against my chest. In nothing but my under garments. Lying on top of the duvet. They must not ever know. Too tired to venture to the bathrooms to pee, but too desperate to pee to sleep. I lay still like a vigilant owl in the night. 

The sky light brightened and blindly reflected of something in my bed. I picked up said object. Oh, what a surprise. I exalted myself as I pressed the Kit Kat to my lips. No eating in the dorm rooms? Illicit and not-permitted? I’m sure one day my sins would condemn me. Divine justice and all. But time would the judge of that. I awkwardly attempted to unravel the wrapper of the chocolate bar, and due to my impatient avarice, the Kit Kat rolled out my hand, pirouetted across the mattress before performing a backwards dive from my top bunk down to the bedroom floor. NO. My inner voice roared. The noise. It left me vulnerable. They might know. They might know I was awake. NO. I peered through the gaps of the curtain. I could see it. Laying there, all alone, all frightened. Come back. I whispered. The bedroom door rattled open. I swung back and lay horizontally in my bed. I held my breath and did not move a muscle. THEY MUST NOT KNOW. The footsteps roamed the room. A bag repeatedly zipped and unzipped. This provided sufficient sound cover for me to roll over. And then a silence. I peeked through the blinds once more, and this time my heart shattered. I dithered and the man locked eyes with me. He had seen me. Pssst. I pointed at the floor. At the chocolate bar. 

“You want me to pass your bag up to you?”

The noice decibels of his comment. My ears bled. You’ll wake them up. You’ll draw attention to me. Shut up. Shut up, shut up, shut up.

I shook my head, pointing once more at the chocolate bar.

“Oh, is this your chocolate bar, do you want it?”

Shut up. Shut the fuck up. Shut the fuck up.

I nodded impatiently signalling severe distress. He passed me the bar and I ripped it from his hands, hissed, and slammed the curtains shut. 

And suddenly I returned to a halcyon time. Everything was calm and it was peaceful. I amorously consumed the chocolate bar like Golum eating at the Forbidden Pool. The milky cocoa and digestive biscuit rendered soft in my mouth. The colours of the morning light resumed their duty of showcasing their tender tones through the gauzy windows. I cherished the moment and relaxed in a torpid manner and planned my day by deciding which shrines I would not see. 

I overhear a conversation. 

“Good morning, did you sleep well?”

“I did, thank you. And you?”

Of course you didn’t. Fucking liar. The former’s snooze alarm belled for an hour this morning. And don’t get me started on the roaring snorer. You are all liars.

I wait another hour. The room is filled with silence. My moment to formally awake. I draw the curtains and let out a forced and loud yawn. That would signal to them I had just woken up. They can’t know. They can’t know I was lying there for hours. Fuck. I saw him. A boy on the lower bunk opposite. I had been sloppy. I had been complacent. I had miscalculated. There was a person and he was awake. He was looking right at me. Don’t do it. Don’t say anything.

“My name, Ravi”. That’s not even fucking coherent English. 

He replied. He was Dutch. 

Don’t say anything else. Do not exacerbate this situation. 

“Maybe see you later.”

He responds with a perfunctory nod. I felt impugned. 

Fuck you.

I must get out of here. I must escape. I get changed and pull on my maroon Uniqlo socks. They had shrunk in the wash. My left foot encounters a battle to fit within. I pull the sock with force and it rips. The sound, reverberating around the room. I look down. My entire heel is hanging out. I look at him. Why does he not say something. Address the elephant in the room with humour or empathy. Or must I? But I was not prepared to say something among the lines of ‘Gosh darnit, there goes another foot warmer!’ and spend another suffocating minute putting on a new sock with a stranger aside me. No, I shall not.

The situation was final and the executive decision was made. I left the room, heel kissing the smooth surface of the numbing stone floor. As the lift descended I thought of what he thought of me. Would he tell people? Would he tell people I left for a day with no heel protection? I gasped. But it was okay. I would never encounter him again. Because I was under protection. I would be under the protection by my sacred, white cloth curtain. The unsung hero. My only friend. The only one who cared.