Monday, 8November
I still cant shake the feeling of being caught in a ridiculous drama, the sort that would make a Saturday night episode of *EastEnders* look tame. It all began in the university café, where Maxour cheeky thirdyear economics studentstrolled in, grinning like he owned the place. He was greeted by a hasty hug from his girlfriend, then ushered through the door by a friend who insisted we shouldnt be standing out in the cold. As I watched him take his seat, I saw four other girls already waiting at the nearest table, each with a fresh, handmade bracelet gleaming on their wrists.
Come on, Casanova, tell us how you managed to get yourself into such a mess, Dashiell sneered, her eyes flicking over the jewellery.
The real question, Tara added, twirling a kitchen knife like a nervous habit, is how you plan to marry all of us when the law only allows one wife. Are you really that irresistible that we should all line up for your harem?
Max tried to keep his composure, his voice cracking a little as he replied, Im only after the one who gives me an heir. Its the most important thing for a manto have a son to carry on the family name.
That line set off a chorus of snorts and remarks that felt partplay, partrevenge.
Talia, you think well be racing to be the one who bears your child like some Turkish soap? Tara mocked, though I could see her eyes flicker to the modest sofa and the halffinished flat her mother still ownedher own version of a prize that Max could never truly afford.
Lena, never one to miss a beat, chimed in, So youre basically promising us a cracked sofa and a halfsize council flat, right? She laughed, already picturing the viral video shed post later that night, plastered across the student unions Facebook group and her own Instagram feed.
Maxs cheeks flushed. You cant stop me, he hissed. Public filming is allowed, and Ill make sure everyone knows who I amno matter how you feel about it.
Marina, usually the quiet one, finally spoke, her voice low and clinical. You sound like a future solicitor. As a psychologist, Id suggest you sort out your personal issues before trying to date any of us. She gave him a look that said, Get your act together or keep looking for a son youll never have.
In the chaos, Tara accidentally knocked a steaming cup of coffee onto Maxs lap. The splash seemed to seal the momentan unspoken pact of petty vengeance fulfilled.
Later that day, four more girls from different courses and faculties approached me, each clutching a similar bracelet. It was as if Max had deliberately scattered his gifts so that the owners would never cross paths and discover each others presence. The plan, however, backfired spectacularly. By Friday, the whole firstyear cohort knew about the bracelets, and whispers swirled through the halls like a winter wind.
We decided, almost unanimously, that the only fitting punishment was to expose Max publicly. Marina, the toughest of us, took the lead, organising a surprise meeting for all of us on the day she was due to meet him. The café became the stage for our little showdown.
When Max arrived, the four chosen ones sat waiting, bracelets glinting under the fluorescent lights. Dashiell leaned back, smirking, Welcome, hero. Tell us how you managed to become the citys love story. Tara tapped her knife against the table, Did you really think wed all line up for you like some sort of modern harem?
I watched Maxs face drain of colour as he tried to argue that he only intended to marry the one who would give him a son. He spoke of inheritanceof a cramped sofa and a share of his mothers modest flatas if those were the treasures he was offering. Lena shouted, Well post the video tonight, Max. Everyone will see the real you.
Max tried to protest, You have no right but I cut him off, We do. Public places are fair game. Your face will be on every screen, and your name will be known.
Marina, ever the psychologist, added dryly, You sound like a future barrister. Maybe sort out your own mess before you try to fix anyone elses.
The meeting ended with Tara spilling coffee over Maxs lap, a perfect, albeit clumsy, act of revenge. News of the incident spread quickly through our town of fifty thousand, and Maxs reputation crumbled faster than a house of cards. Hes now rumored to be looking for a new job in another city, far from our university.
As for the rest of usTara, Marina, Angelica, Lena, and Dashiellweve become a solid group of friends. Weve each found better boys than the selfstyled sultan, and the whole affair feels like a lesson learned. Its oddly comforting that a set of cheap, handmade bracelets could bring so much chaos, yet also help us see the truth.
Sometimes I wonder how different things would have been if Max had simply been honest, or if Id never let the gossip get to my ears. But then I remember the look on his face when the coffee hit, and I smile. Some things are better left as stories we recount over a cuppa, rather than living them again.
Emily.
