Description

Akira Mishra

My father had one request—more like a condition—to allow me to leave our large, Indian joint family and move to New York to pursue my master’s degree.

To not get involved with anyone who wasn’t a Desi boy.

And I did not miss a beat before I agreed.

Because why not?

All I wanted was Freedom. To live away from my overbearing—but very sweet and supportive—family.

To study hard.

Find a job in NYC.

And make it on my own, like millions of my fellow Indian immigrants.

My plan was all set.

So, of course, it’s completely ruined when I sit beside him on the first day of my class.

.

Sam White.

Sam White, my White American classmate.

Sam, with his dark-as-sin clothes, a permanent frown etched on his face, and his perfect grades in class.

Sam, with his total ignorance about my Indian culture but his determination to understand it better.

So what if he makes me feel a little more at home in an unknown country?

So what if he looks at me like I’m the only one he sees?

I will not fall for him.

I cannot fall for him.

I absolutely cannot break my promise to my father.

So, of course, I do.

AUTHOR WORDS

THIS IS NOT MY STORY

ALL CREDIT GOES TO THE ORIGINAL OWNER/AUTHOR

I am just sharing this book so all of u can enjoy it

I have seen many authors doing this. SO WHY CAN'T I

I have read so many novels, books, stories. I want to share it.

Original author: N.M. Patel

PLEASE DONT REPORT IT

BOOK COVER

Chapter 1

Akira

Ahmedabad, India

Chaos was inevitable when my entire family decided to come. All fourteen of them.

“Should we walk you to airport security?”

“That’s not necessary, Mummy.”

Everywhere around us, clusters of people were engrossed in their farewells and welcomes. The sharp tones of worried mothers and tense fathers, children screaming and running around, the sound of flights taking off and landing—and my own family talking over each other—had my heart pounding out of my chest.

“Are you sure you want to go to New York? You still have time to change your mind.”

“Pappa, check-in is in five minutes. And yes, I’m sure I want to go to New York." And my answer to this question has remained unchanged for the last nine months, since I began my application for a master’s degree in architecture.

“Where is that brother of yours? How can he be late to see his little sister off?” Mummy looked around the crowds as she dabbed at her face with a handkerchief, pretending to wipe the humidity off her cheeks. Every now and then, she swiped away a stray tear. She thought she hid it well, and it was evident how much she was trying to keep it together. She was going to make me cry. I wrapped my arms around her shoulders and said, “Has Aakar ever been anywhere on time? Don’t worry, Mummy. He should be arriving any minute now.”

The late evening rain had cooled the harsh concrete pavement of the airport, and soft wind helped soothe the heavy emotions in the air. All of us stood near the entrance of the airport at midnight, preparing to say the final goodbyes.

Mummy’s firm grip on the arm I’d wrapped around her shoulder almost brought me to my knees. She was trying so hard not to break down in front of me. I placed a kiss on her hand and brushed away a tear that had slipped down her cheek. I stayed silent. Words would be our undoing. Was my dream of studying in New York worth leaving my family? Was it a better option than staying with my family, practicing architecture in India, and then marrying someone someday, hoping to God their family was open-minded enough to let me work? That scenario racked a shudder through my body. As much as I loved my family, I was entirely dependent on them, against my will. I wanted to live on my own—make decisions without asking for permission from my family. Cook my own dinner. Pay for my own shit. Create a life of my own. And at the end of the day, I wanted to live a life I was proud of. And I wouldn’t achieve it until I moved out.

I needed to follow my passion. So, when I got the letter of acceptance from Columbia University, I knew I had to go. I needed to do this for myself. When I’d announced my wish to my family, riddled with guilt and worry, Pappa had said, “It’s okay to follow your dreams, Akira. We’re here for you.” Since then, my departure had been a constant countdown, and the day was finally here. Emotions from all my family members surrounded me. My stomach churned. My heart sped up. I was drowning in the feelings around me and within me.

Nerves.

Excitement.

Guilt.

I was sorry for leaving, but not sorry for taking this step. As I stood near Mummy, my eyes met my younger brother, Abhi. He noticed Mummy’s strong hold on my hand and came bounding over from where he was hanging out with our cousins. “You better make some hot American lady friends,” he said, waggling

his eyebrows. “Abhi, watch your mouth,” Pappa said as he came up behind Mummy and rested his hand on her other shoulder. He was the rock of our family. I poked my tongue out at Abhi. “Even if I do, I’m never introducing them to you." He poked his tongue back at me. “I think you’re running late. You better go check in."

Pappa turned to me, his forehead etched with a worried frown. “Beta, I’m very proud of you for the courage you’ve shown. When you start living alone and get to experience that freedom, do not forget why you’ve decided

to leave us. To study. To make something out of your life. Don’t get blinded by everything. Don’t get into a bad crowd. And do not fall into this luv-shuv with some American. We don’t want anything to affect your studies.”

Luv Shuv meaning feelings like love.

I quietly listened to his concerns, for probably the fiftieth time. He’s said these exact words to me so many times, I could lip-sync with him at this point. I nodded obediently. “I know, Pappa. Trust me. I won’t let anything

affect my future.” “Aakar’s here,” one of my uncles shouted. Phew, saved by my older brother, like always.

“Aakar, how can you be late for something so important? Have we taught you nothing?” Mummy asked. Only my arm around her stopped her from going after my brother with her swinging handkerchief.

“Sorry, Mummy. I got held up at work,” Aakar said and quickly dragged me with him to stand with Abhi and Ria.

“I’m so jealous you get to leave this madness behind, Akira," my cousin Ria said with a sigh as she watched the drama unfold. I nudged her with my shoulder and laughed. She was my roommate, my support system, and my

best friend. God, who will I have midnight talks with? I had just minutes before I had to check in. With so many family members here, it was time to start saying goodbye. Mummy was on the verge of crying, and my aunts stood ready to console her. The men, my father included, still believed my bags needed to be looked over and my grandparents peppered me with advice...mostly unhelpful. My brothers and Ria busied themselves with snapping as many selfies with me as they could. I knew saying goodbye would be horrible, but I was shocked at my grief. It took leaving the country for me to realize how close I held my family to my heart.

Mummy started crying, and I held her as she cried on my shoulder. Pappa gave me the tightest hug he’d ever given me, and by the time every aunt, uncle, cousin, and grandparent had hugged me, I was exhausted. Every loving word punched through my heart, and I hated myself a little for putting my family through this pain for the sake of my ambitions. When I hugged my baby brother, I whispered in his ear, “I’ll miss you, Abhi.”

“Don’t you make me cry.” He squeezed me tight before turning away and pretending to check over my luggage—just like my father had. Aakar, who was patiently waiting for his turn, lifted me in his arms and gave me a twirl. “You better be safe, Akira. I won’t be around to have your back.” “I’ll miss you too, bhai.” I’ll miss you too, brother.

No matter how crazy my family was, they were my crazies. And I was going to miss them so much. I looked them over for a moment more, wanting the memory to be like a snapshot I could hold close to my heart. Tears blurred my vision, but only when I’d turned around and walked into the airport, did I let them fall. I didn’t know if my decision to go to the United States was the right thing to do, but time would tell. I could only hope that whatever came my way was worth leaving this love and support behind.

Sam

New York, USA

Drafting Table. Check.

Bed. Check.

Nightstand. Check.

Closet. Check.

Stationery. Check.

The loud vibration of my phone from my nightstand ruined my mental checklist. I huffed and plucked the phone off the charger.

Mom calling…

“Hey, Ma.”

“Sam, are you all set, honey?” I could hear the chattering sounds of other teachers in the staff room of the school where my mother taught history.

“Yeah, I was going through my checklist.”

“You and your checklist. How many times have you gone through it

already?” I could feel her eyes roll through the phone.

“Three times,” I said, proudly. As if making sure everything was perfect was a bad thing. I loved my mom, but she was one of the most extroverted people in our small family. I was not. I’d rather spend my time sketching and taking a walk among the beautiful architecture of the city than go to a bar with people I barely knew.

I sat on the edge of my bed, my gaze fixed on a dirty spot on the floor while my mom continued. “Sammy, you need to go out more. Meet new people. Make new friends. You’re only there for three years.”

“I am perfectly happy with my current friends, Ma. I’m not going back to school to meet new people. I’m doing it to get my master’s degree.” While my mom talked, I got the broom and scooped up the debris on the floor. I straightened the books on my study table in the corner of the room on my way to the bed. I’d kept as much open space in my bedroom as possible to fit my drafting table and to give me room to make my design models.

“Okay, Sammy. I understand.” I heard her sigh and could almost imagine the shake of her head. My mother was stubborn, and I wondered when she’d stop worrying about me. “When do your classes start?”

“In three days. I need to go to the campus and see where my orientation is gonna take place. I also need to check out the library."

“Okay, Sam. Call me when you’re back home. You know I worry.”

“Of course. How’s Dad now?"

“He’s okay. Fever’s gone. He’s taking it easy for a few days.”

“That’s good. Only a few more years, Ma,” I murmured.

“You take your time, Sammy. We aren’t going anywhere.”

“Say hi to him for me, will ya?”

My parents weren’t exactly young. They had me in their forties, and I was twenty-seven now. Since Dad ran a construction firm with his partner, he couldn’t retire like someone with a corporate job. My parents have been waiting for me to take over the family business so my dad could transition to retirement. I wanted nothing more than to give

them that, but I didn’t want to just continue running his construction company. I wanted to expand. I wanted our firm to take up architecture services. Luke, my father’s partner’s son, who was also my best friend, had been very supportive of that suggestion. In fact, he was the one who had encouraged me to apply for the graduate program in architecture at Columbia University. He’s in his second year here and couldn’t stop raving about the courses, the campus, the professors, and all the networking. So here I was, going back to school.

“Will do. Take care. And don’t forget to have a little fun.” Ah, there it was—the teacher's voice. I pressed my lips tighter to stop the laughter. She acted as if this was the first time I had left the nest. I did my undergrad at Boston Architectural College. Five years of that and five years of working in NYC had made me more comfortable alone. I don’t think I could live with my parents for more than a week or two at a time now—I’d go crazy.

“I will. Bye, Ma.”

After I hung up, I looked around my room. The gray bedsheets and comforter complemented my cherry bed frame. The dark gray curtains and carpet cooled my room in the sweltering heat of August. This was home now. At least for the next three years. I took a deep breath, taking in this new venture.

Drafting Table. Check.

Bed. Check.

Nightstand. Check.

Closet. Check.

Stationery. Check.

Akira

I was ready for orientation. I had enough time to make myself a cup of chai and have some breakfast. Megha, one of my roommates, bumped into me on my way to the kitchen. She was a computer science student, and their classes had already begun two weeks before the rest of us roommates, which put her in a pissy mood every morning. “What are you doing up so early? And why are you all dressed up?”

“Good morning to you too. And today’s my orientation. You want some chai?” I asked.

Her eyes widened, and she moaned, “Oh God, you are the best. I’ll have a cup.”

While she ran to the bathroom to freshen up, I got the chai ready. It was my one true weakness and my ultimate strength. I needed Indian tea—aka chai—to get my motor running. And so did all three of my Indian roommates.

I’d made a conscious decision to find Indian roommates. It was my first time moving out and living on my own. I didn’t need to make it more challenging by living with people of a different culture. Living with other Indian women gave me a sense of belonging and comfort. By the time I had everything prepared, Megha was ready for her classes. I handed her the cup, and I was about to sit down on the barstool at the kitchen counter when my phone rang. Mummy video calling…

“Hey, Mummy.”

“Akira, you ready for your first day?”

The loud chatter of the kids flittered in the background. It was almost dinnertime in India.

“Yeah.”

I showed her my favorite orange blouse and white jeans that we’d bought together. Mom squinted at the screen and said, “Oh, Akira, you look beautiful.” “Thanks, Mummy. So, how’s everyone? Find any girls for Aakar?”

I loved riling up my mom. Especially when it was about my brothers. Aakar was twenty-eight, and Mom had been actively looking for a girl for him to marry for a few years now. She was obsessed with getting us married off—especially Aakar. The first thing she’d said when I’d announced my wish to get my master’s was, “If you plan to study at twenty-six, when will you get married?”

I sipped my chai as Mom said, “You won’t believe it. I have tried to show your brother two perfectly good women since you left, and he refused to meet both. Again. He doesn’t even look at their photos, just outright rejects them. Do you know how many women I’ve tried to show him this past year?” I was pretty sure I’d be getting a call from Aakar within the next few hours. Thankfully, I would be in my classes then. I took a few sips of my chai as my mom called some of the family members around her to wish me luck for my first day. We talked while I had my breakfast, and I told everyone I needed to leave after a few more minutes.

“Don’t forget to have some curd and sugar, Akira. For good luck.”

I’ve no idea what good that did, but Mom had been feeding me that combination for good luck for every new beginning. It hasn’t failed me yet, so why risk it for my first day in grad school? Hopefully, the Indian good luck gods are active in America. I nodded. “Okay. I’ll have it. Now bye, Mummy. I need to leave.”

“Bye, beta. Let me know how your day goes later. God bless you.”

After eating a spoonful of curd and sugar, which tastes like sweet yogurt, I ran out the door and down the three flights of stairs to the main entrance of my building. The fresh, crisp air of New York greeted me as soon as I stepped outside. It’d been a week since I came to New York, and I was amazed by the hot weather. I don’t know why, but I imagined New York to be cold all the time. I looked around the street as I walked to the campus. Why did

people have their eyes stuck to their phones when there was so much to see? Like all the symmetrical and ornamental facades of the buildings, and the diversity among the people. In India, virtually everyone looked just like

me. Ahmedabad, my hometown, doesn’t get as many tourists as some other popular cities. But ever since I’d stepped foot in New York, I’d been surrounded by people from all around the world. American. Chinese. Japanese. African. Some I couldn’t even figure out. Since arriving in the US, I’d yet to have a conversation with anyone who wasn’t Indian. I wanted to, but it made me nervous. But no problem—I was going to orientation today with optimism and the assumption that everyone would be friendly and awesome. I was excited to make a few good friends here. Yes. And like Pappa says, Confidence is the key. And a smile. That too. I was huffing and puffing by the time I’d walked the stupid uphill and downhill streets of the city and reached the campus. By the time I’d reached my building, my calves were burning, and sweat had gathered under my arms, on my upper lips, and rolling down my forehead. Please, God, don’t let this be a disaster. As I stood outside the closed doors of the classroom, I blew out a

breath, said a silent prayer to Lord Ganesha, a god for new beginnings, and pushed the door open.

The first thought that came to my mind was it looked like a funeral. Almost everyone in the room was wearing black. Was there a dress code I didn’t know about? I was about to turn around to go back home and change when one of the professors came up to me and introduced herself. “Hi, I’m Lily Bennett. I’ll be teaching History of American Architecture.” “Hello, Professor Bennett. I’m Akira Mishra.” It was the first time a professor had walked up to me to introduce herself. In my undergrad in India, it had always been the other way around. She offered me a genuine smile and shook my hand and said, “We’re still waiting on a few people. Please have a seat. There are coffee and donuts at the back. Feel free to grab something.” I turned to where she pointed and went for the donuts and coffee.

Once I’d grabbed a donut, I walked toward the front of the class and picked an empty seat on the second row. The moment I got seated, another professor, who introduced himself as Mr. Evan Smith, handed me a big folder that contained all the course documents, maps of the building, and other requirement lists. Once he was gone and I had arranged my folder, a book, and some pens on the table, I took a bite from my donut and looked around.

More faculty members sat at the long desk, facing us at the front. Nerves fluttered in my stomach at seeing the assortment of students, some sitting quietly and going over their documents, and some talking among themselves. Would someone approach me to talk? Should I? What would I say? Would they understand my accent? Only one way to figure that out. I turned to look at the guy sitting beside me—a handsome white guy in a black shirt, black jeans, and black-framed glasses. He was among the few people who were quietly reading the contents of the folder the professor had handed out. A frown marred his forehead as he read—he even took notes. Should I disturb him?

I might’ve been staring a little too long at him, because he turned his face to me, and raised his eyebrows. His eyes, hidden behind his black-rimmed glasses, were a vivid combination of blue and gray. I had a hard time looking away. Keep your face neutral, Akira. Do not show your nerves. He’s just a good-looking guy. With beautiful eyes. No big deal. Keep your cool. Offer a handshake to him, and just introduce yourself. “Hi, I’m Akira.” I offered my hand.

The guy stared at my suspended hand for a little longer than I would’ve liked. Not awkward at all. I was about to pull back when he pushed up his glasses and took my hand.

“Sam White.”

Thankfully, I didn’t snort at his last name. “Pleased to meet you, Sam. Have you been to New York before?”

His brows scrunched up a little. Guess he wasn’t expecting any further questions. Sam cleared his throat and put his pen in the small pocket of the folder as he said, “Umm…yeah. I’ve worked in the city for five years. And I grew up in upstate New York.” “That’s so awesome.” I couldn’t imagine living near the city, and he had grown up around here. Sam’s eyes were scrunched up in confusion, probably wondering why I found his living arrangements awesome. I was about to ask for recommendations on places I should visit in the city when the professors announced that they were ready to begin. Both of us turned toward the stage, where five professors had lined up. Each took a few minutes to introduce themselves and explain a little about what they were going to teach us for the first semester. The dean of our department announced that we were a cohort of forty students. Then it was time for the students to introduce themselves. We were asked to tell everyone our name and a little about ourselves—where we were from, our undergrad experience, why we chose to pursue a higher degree, etc. Introductions began, and I couldn’t wait to hear what everyone had to say. There were about fifteen people before me, and among them, eight were from different parts of the US, five from China, one from Sri Lanka, one from Kenya, and one from Brazil. Each of them gave passionate reasons for why they wanted to pursue a master’s in architecture.

It was finally my turn.

I straightened my shoulders and said, “Hello, everyone. I’m Akira Mishra. I’m from Ahmedabad, a city in the western part of India. I did my bachelor’s in architecture. I decided to pursue my master’s because it’s my dream to work as an architect in a place where our profession is valued. I want to live in a city filled with structures designed by master architects. It wouldn’t hurt if the buildings I design in the future get to share a space with buildings like the Empire State Building, Grand Central, and One World Trade Center. I want to learn to design buildings in a manner that is more sensitive toward the environment, the people, the history, and the culture of the place. And finally, I want to be an architect in a city where I can make it on my own. The chances of that happening in India are slim. Architects aren’t, you know, paid well in India. Or at all.” Why did I have to mention Indians not getting paid enough? They didn’t want to know that. My cheeks were burning with embarrassment. The only relief was that a few people laughed at that. Professor Lily said, “Thank you, Akira. We wish you all the success in making it in New York. We hope this course helps you along in your journey.”

I felt a rush of relief as she moved on to the next student. I guess I had an answer to whether or not people could understand my accent—the question I wondered now was whether they would be interested to hear anything I had to say.