I didn’t need friends in my 20s. So why am I searching for my girl squad in my 40s?

It’s almost half past six in the evening when I coax myself out of the gate. I zigzag my way around dogs and dog walkers, do the customary nods and hand-waves at acquaintances. I finish two rounds and stare at the empty road ahead. It’s now past seven and still pitch dark. Everyone else seems to have retreated. There are blind spots where street lamps are obstructed by tree branches, the rest is lit by an ominous yellow light. Unnerved, I turn back in the direction of home.

Moments later, three young girls come into view. They are dressed in tees and track pants, walking shoulder-to-shoulder as they fan out on the road. They seem unaware of the dark or its potential menace. A sliver of a smile returns to my lips upon realising that I am not alone. I turn around and march ahead. The girls have my back, I tell myself. Their chatter and footsteps offer me comfort and protection.

This is a game that I have played many times in public spaces: pretend to be part of a group that I am not a part of. It is both an act of self-preservation and wishful thinking. The girls are huddled together like an amorphous lump of human intimacy. I can’t help but feel envy at their cosy, sticky, young-girl inseparability.

I don’t have a school gang that I am still in touch with, no circle of friends with whom I meet and socialise regularly. At any given point in my life, I have only one or two deep friendships. In principle and in most movie plots (looking at you Dil Chahta Hai, Three Idiots, Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara and Bride Wars), this is considered enough. But people are busy; they have jobs, kids, ageing parents. If you have only one or two people to rely on, you must wait for your turn.

There have been a few exceptions. Early in my career, I joined a large multinational corporation as a content analyst. A bunch of us new hires clung to each other, overwhelmed by corporate processes and peculiarities. Multiple time trackers. Incomprehensible acronyms like KPIs, SOPs and SLAs. During lunch, we pushed tables together, sharing our food and discomfort. A few months later, I was assigned to a different team and transferred to a different floor. Now, lunch breaks had to be coordinated via chat. Soon, the timing of the break, the relevant gossip, the target of our ire—everything diverged. I fell away from the centre of the group to its periphery. Before long I made an unnoticed, unfussy exit.