#kit writings

            It was well past midnight and Nisha still hadn’t made it back to her grandmother’s house. The streets were quiet, the air cooler and her attention had been so wrapped up in Andres, she’d completely spaced on the time. They walked the busy evening streets when the sun had finished setting, picking up food from street vendors as they passed. Andres would stop mid step and sentence to take his camera out, shooting whatever had caught his eye while Nisha watched amused, occasionally peaking over his shoulder to see what had his attention. She had also learned a lot about him, but revealed little of herself and while she felt a little bad about holding back, he didn’t seem to mind. He claimed it added to her ‘mystique’ and she could only roll her eyes in response. He told her about where he was from, what school he was finishing his master’s degree at and why he had chosen to come to India.

            “Honestly, it came down to India, Germany or Brazil. One thing I love is old architecture and so I picked the top places I wanted to see and then just closed my eyes and pointed.”

            “And you want to stay here for another month? Are you sure?”

Andres laughed and Nisha wished she had a camera of her own. It was the most fun she had really had even before the Hunter incident. Andres made her feel at ease and that was all she had wanted lately.

            “So you really don’t like it here?” He asked her.

Nisha shrugged, “I wasn’t raised here and my dad only brought us out here a few times when I was little. So suddenly being stuck here just doesn’t feel right, you know? I can’t really find any enjoyment.”

            “But there’s so much to see! Have you been around Mumbai yet? Or Kolkata?”

She shook her head, “Just this little town outside Delhi, that’s it. My grandmother almost didn’t even let me out of the house when I first got here!”

When she paused, it finally dawned on her. Her eyes widened in horror.

            “Oh no, oh no! It’s so late! I told Dadi I’d be home by dinner and now its past midnight!” Nisha said frantically.

Dadi had enough reasons to yell at her, she didn’t need to give her anymore. And she knew ‘getting caught up talking to a strange guy for the entire day without supervision’ was on the list of things to be yelled about. She hit her forehead with the palm of her hand.

            “Shit, this is just going to give her one more reason to lock me inside!”

A gentle hand took hold of hers and she looked up at Andres, confused.

            “Seeing as how this is probably my fault let me escort you back home. Quickly.”

            “I couldn’t possibly ask that of you, Andres. My grandmother’s home is so out of the way from where the hotels are.”

Not to mention Nisha wasn’t sure how to explain him if Dadi caught him. She worried her lip. But, at the same time, she had been told not to wander around at night alone, lest she be abducted or worse. Letting Andres walk her back would be following that rule. Though that was still a stretch. She looked down at his hand clasped in hers.

            “I suppose you could take me at least part of the way,” she said shyly.

He grinned, “I think that’s fair.”

He squeezed her hand lightly and everything in that moment felt right. Why couldn’t she have met him back in New York? She bet he wouldn’t feed her some bullshit story about needing her as a nude model for a project or whatever.

            “Lead the way,” he said.

Hand in hand they walked down the dark path to her grandmother’s house. Conversation was easy with Andres, way easier than it was with Dinesh for sure. It was funny because she really didn’t share many interests with Andres; they liked different music, watched completely opposite shows and movies, they even liked the food the other disliked, but none of that seemed to matter for them. She was still able to laugh with him (and at him) even when they disagreed.

            “So your parents were ok with you choosing photography?”

            “Dad wasn’t happy, he thought architecture would have been more lucrative but mom told me to just go with what I wanted. So I did. And it’s worked out brilliantly so far,” he said, his fingers toying with the strap of his camera bag.

            “I wish I could go back to school and finish,” Nisha said sadly, looking down at the ground as they walked, “I think it’ll be my one regret.”

            “So why not go?”

A bitter laugh escaped her lips and she shook her head, “It’s not that easy, I’m afraid.”

He didn’t push her for further answers, just squeezed her hand reassuringly. They fell into a comfortable silence and Nisha took the chance to look over at him, admiring his profile. He was tall, not like Dinesh, but taller than she was. His hair was grown out, just over his ears and the back of his neck but still kept neat. But what really caught her attention was the way his blue-grey eyes shined in the night, his expression was relaxed but those eyes were intense, making her want to stare into them longer to see how they lit up when he talked about his passion, to see the kindness in them when he spoke to her. It had only been a day but it had felt like forever when she was next to him. Her heart sped up when he glanced over, catching her gaze. He said nothing, just gave her a small smile and looked ahead.

She had to stop. She had to stop these feelings creeping inside her. This always happened, after all. A cute guy sweeps her off her feet, says a few pretty things and she’s completely smitten. And that’s what got her into trouble. It had only been a day; she had to remind herself this. Anyone could seem perfect for a day.

And there was also the fact she was betrothed as well.

Why must life be so complicated?

            “Is that the place up there?” Andres asked, bringing her out of her head.

A little bit ahead was her indeed her grandmother’s home, surprisingly dark for the evening. Maybe her grandmother wasn’t concerned. Or didn’t care. That would be a first.

            “Yup, that’s it.”

He gave a low whistle, “Now that is a nice looking building. Do you know anything about when it was built?”

She gave him a look that clearly conveyed how ridiculous his question had been.

They stood there for a few moments, not looking at each other with their hands still clasped. Nisha didn’t want to lose the warmth of his hand in hers. She wanted to turn around and walk back with him so they could see the sunrise together and spend another day enjoy each other’s company. And that was why she let go.

            “Thank you,” she said, not specifying what because there was so much about today that she wanted to thank him for.

            “Can I see you again?”

She had feared that question, or some variation of it. Because the answer had to be no, it should be no and it needed to be no. Life was already complicated enough, adding in Andres and feelings would only make it a bigger mess.

            “Yes,” the answer spilled out of her mouth.

Of course she screwed that up. She mentally berated herself but even then, she couldn’t bring herself to change her answer. Because she wanted him to see her again, she wanted to spend another day lost with this ridiculously laid back photographer and his beautiful photos and his habit of taking her picture when she wasn’t looking. It was stupid, irrational and would probably get her in trouble. But when he leaned forward and kissed her cheek with the lips she had been watching smile all day, the worry dissipated.

            “Good night, Nisha,” he said simply before turning and walking away.

Her cheeks were warm and she stood there, hand covering the spot his lips had touched.

Yeah, she was definitely in trouble.

            As predicted, Dadi was not happy with Nisha the next morning. But Nisha was prepared to deal with the lectures that were lashed out, her mind still back on the road with Andres the night before. Her mood wasn’t even dampened when she was surprised with a visit from Dinesh.

            “Good morning, Nisha,” the tall man said as he took her hand and placed a quick kiss.

            “This is quite a surprise, Dinesh,” Nisha said, taking her hand back, “is there something you need?”

            “Yes, if you can spare a moment?” he asked; always so polite.

She led him to the parlor where they sat to speak. Tea was brought out along with snacks despite having just finished breakfast. Dinesh was impeccably dressed, as usual, and more than likely on his way to work. His expression was serious though she swore he softened up when he spoke to her. They fixed their tea and Nisha placed hers aside, waiting for whatever it was he had to say. He cleared his throat and tugged at the silk blue tie that was around his neck. Was he nervous about something?

            “My parents would like to host an engagement party this weekend. For the two of us, of course.”

No question about whether or not she wanted it, just that it was happening no matter what. She frowned and looked down, not wanting him to see the look of displeasure. Her engagement party and she didn’t even have a ring. Or a groom she loved.

            “I suppose we should do that, shouldn’t we?” she said finally, trying to hide the displeasure she felt.

He cleared his throat again and Nisha swore he was fidgeting. What was with him today?

            “Yes, so, I thought,” he stood up, moving towards her with his hand in his coat pocket, “this is a formality but I thought you would appreciate it.”

Her eyebrow rose up, confusion clearly etched on his face, “What do you mean?”

His response was a simple black box. But it was a very familiar box because it was a ring box.

            “Oh,” she managed to say.

Looking up at Dinesh she realized he was flustered, embarrassed even. Nisha was still confused. A proposal? This didn’t seem customary, at least not for their arrangement. He opened the box, revealing the ring.

It was a pretty thing with a three stone setting, the middle being much larger than the two beside it and all set in white gold (or was that platinum?!) with a vintage style for the band.

            “Wow,” she said, speechless from the entire situation.

            “You like it?” he asked, genuinely uncertain.

            “I, well, yes. It’s lovely, Dinesh. Thank you,” she looked up, managing a smile.

He looked relieved, managing to straighten his posture back up before placing the ring on her finger.

            “Well, then, I should go. Mother will send all the details for the party.”

For a moment, he hesitated and then bent down, kissing her cheek, before leaving.

            Stunned was not an accurate enough assessment of Nisha’s emotions at that moment. She stared down at the ring now sitting on her left ring finger both mesmerized and completely flummoxed.

            “Such a sweet boy!”

Nisha jumped at her grandmother’s voice; mostly because she wasn’t used to hearing it sound so pleased.

            “You should be grateful,” she continued, finger pointed at Nisha, “he has more of his mother in him than his father.”

She couldn’t help herself, she couldn’t hold back the snark or stop her eyes from rolling.

            “Yes, I should be so grateful that the man not of my choosing has an awkward soft spot for me. Quick, I better tell everyone that that’s what true love is.”

Dadi’s hands gripped her face so hard, Nisha thought the old woman was going to break her jaw. She hissed in pain before the old woman laid into her.

            “You watch your mouth, bavvā! If  it had been my choice, I would have chosen a more appropriate husband to deal with your attitude.”

Nisha wrenched her face from the tight grip, sure that it would feel tender for the rest of the day. She narrowed her eyes at the woman.

            “Funny how neither of us can make choices on our own, hm?”

She stalked out of the room before the elderly croon could do or say anything else. To think Nisha had been in such a good mood that morning. She slammed the door to her room and immediately took the ring off, placing it on the dresser. How could she handle looking at that thing, let alone wear it?

            “Stupid Dinesh,” she grumbled before lying down on the bed.

It had been sweet thought. Why did it have to be so sweet? She knew her dadi was right; she was lucky. She’d heard the horror stories of bad arranged marriages and she was fortunate that Dinesh was kind. Maybe not very fun or as exuberant as someone like, say, Andres, but he seemed to have some respect for her.

            “I suppose a marriage built on respect without love isn’t horrible,” she whispered, “but it’s not what I want.”

She closed her eyes and enjoyed the bit of peace before she heard her grandmother come up.

            “Get out of there you lazy girl, we’re going to find a proper outfit for your party!”

At least shopping was always a nice distraction. She rolled off the bed and stopped at the dresser, staring at the ring. If she didn’t wear it, she’d never hear the end of it from dadi so on it went. Nisha swore it weighed double what it had before.

            Dadi had many faults but one of them was not her fashion taste. Nisha was impressed at how amazing her choices in color and pattern could be. She knew the exact shade of green that would make Nisha’s eyes pop, or what pattern would flatter her chest and make her seem taller. Yes, she did tend to over-cover Nisha but that was because the older woman was still convinced she was some sort of harlot.  They were in the fifth shop for that morning, currently unsuccessful in finding just the right color and Nisha was losing patience. She had seen many fabrics and styles she liked and Dadi shot each one right down, with barely a glance.

            “Ah yes, yes this is nice. Nisha stand up here!”

Groaning, Nisha pushed herself up, walking to the middle and standing on the circular step. A small, stout woman came over to quickly measure her bust and hips before ordering her to strip down.

            “In the middle of the store?” Nisha asked, uncertain.

            “I would think you were used to flaunting your body around,” was Dadi’s sharp reply.

It hurt, it hurt worse than the grip the woman had had on her jaw earlier that morning. Even so, she couldn’t bring herself to reply and with her head down, she pulled off the light pink outfit she currently wore. Lucky for her, the shop woman was fast, wrapping the chosen fabric around her in the fashioned style.

            “Oh, wow,” Nisha whispered when she saw herself in the mirror.

The Saree was positively elegant, wrapped tight enough to accentuate her curves in an almost mermaid skirt style. The deep blue color reminded her of the tie Dinesh had one that morning but it was made all the more stunning with gold accented flowers and gold sequined filigree around the edges. She could barely pay attention to Dadi and the shop woman chattering in Hindi behind her, though she did catch some positive words. She turned around, watching herself in the mirror. As vain as it may have been to think it, she looked stunning. Something hit her, a feeling similar to that of butterflies in her stomach. If this was just her engagement Saree, she could only imagine how gorgeous her wedding one would be. If she had nothing else left to look forward to when it came to her wedding, she could at least remember how beautiful she’ll feel. She smiled; for the first time something with this arrangement made her smile. It was completely superficial, but it was something.

            “This is it Dadi,” she said, looking down at the old woman.

For once, the woman smiled at her before turning her attention to the shop woman, more than likely bargaining down the price. Nisha spun around in the outfit when something caught her attention in the window. The familiar face of a camera, the lens zooming back and forth, with a blonde mess of hair peaking around it.

            “Andres,” she said in a hushed, surprised tone.

He looked up from behind the camera and smiled at her. He mouthed something and she was fairly certain he called her ‘beautiful’ again. Her heart raced and she could only turn away, hands covering her face. Just when she was ready to accept her fate, he shows up. She stepped down, interrupting her grandmother and the shop keep.

            “I uh, I need a drink, can I change and head out?”

The familiar, displeased expression was back on the old woman’s face but she gave a curt nod. The shop woman helped Nisha unwrap herself and re-dress.

            “If you are not home by dinner time tonight, I will send out a search party, young lady.”

            “Right, ok.” Nisha called back as she walked through the door.

She looked around the area in front of the shop, but there was no sign of Andres.

            “Ok, I know I’m not crazy,” she said to herself, frowning.

Suddenly she felt fingers grasp her wrist, pulling her in to the alley between shops. She yelped, panicked but was greeted with Andres’ smiling face.

            “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” he said.

            “Well it’s hard not to freak out when you’re suddenly dragged into an alleyway,” she remarked.

Try as she might to frown at him, she couldn’t. She broke out into a smile and hit him playfully on the shoulder.

            “I thought you were going to Agra today?”

            “I was supposed to but my tour guide/ride canceled last minute,” he was still holding her wrist as they spoke, “wanna take his place?”

Nisha knew she should take her hand back, especially when she felt him move his hand down a little, slowly inching to hold her hand instead, but she didn’t.

            “Yeah, ask the woman who has never been to be your tour guide. That wouldn’t go horribly wrong. And forget the fact I only met you yesterday.”

            “We could wander around and get lost together. It’ll be fun.”

Nisha paused; was he really serious? He wanted her to go with him? Sure it was just to Agra, not that far outside of Delhi, but they were still strangers. Weren’t they? He was holding her hand now, fingers laced together. She was sure she stopped breathing when he seemed to move closer.

            “Y-You’re crazy,” she said breathlessly.

            “I prefer to think of it as ‘extra fun’,” he said.

No, he was definitely moving closer. He was so bold, but Hunter had been the same. Warning bells went off in her head and she pulled away, panic rising instead.

            “I-I’m sorry, I-” she couldn’t speak, her chest felt tight, her throat constricted.

She leaned against the wall, ignoring the damp feeling that seeped through her clothes. Her head was reeling, she felt so dizzy. Was this a panic attack? Was this something that would always happen she thought of Hunter and the incident? Everything was fine yesterday when he kissed her and held her hand. Why was it happening now? It was becoming harder to breathe. She felt the tremors run through her body, fear was bubbling inside of her. Terrible thoughts filled her head.

Was Andres like Hunter? Was this some elaborate plot? Get close and make her do something stupid again? She gripped at her head, her hands covering her ears as though she could block everything out.

            “Nisha? Nisha!” Andres called out to her, unsure of what was happening.

Her vision blurred and she began sliding down the brick wall at her back. Andres leaned forward and caught her, pulling her back up gently. She started coughing, unable to catch her breath for a few moments. Spots filled her vision with each violent spasm from the coughs. Oh she wanted this to stop, everything to just come to a halt.

            “Nisha, are you ok?” he asked, trying to remain calm.

For a long time Nisha didn’t say anything, she just tried to focus on catching her breath. Her head was throbbing and she still felt dizzy. She was still shaking when she did finally catch her breath. She counted to ten, hoping to bring everything back down to normal.

            “Nisha,” Andres said; his voice sounded so far away, “do you need anything? Do you want to lie down somewhere?”

She managed a nod. Lying down sounded nice, it sounded simple and safe.

            “Ok, I’m going to help you up and we’ll go to my hotel. I’m only going to touch you to help you, I swear.”

Had he done this before? He sounded so calm and reassuring. She nodded again and felt his hand rest on the small of her back. With a gentle push, he helped her start moving.

            “We’re close so don’t worry, ok? Just keep breathing.”

And she did. She finally managed to breathe normally by the time they made it up to his hotel room. True to his word, he guided her to the bed and once she was lying down, he stepped back, sitting in a chair near the window. He didn’t say a word; he simply waited as she took time to herself. Occasionally she could hear the beeps from his camera and when he would shift in his chair.

After what must have been an hour or so, she slowly sat up, rubbing her head. She felt embarrassed and ashamed of what had happened. She had never experienced such an episode and it frightened her.  She couldn’t look Andres in the eye. They’d known each other for two days and she had already fainted and had some bizarre freak out. She wouldn’t be surprised if this was the last time he wanted to see her.

            “Hey,” he said softly, placing his camera down, “how are you feeling?”

            “Slightly mortified, but otherwise ok.”

            “Why are you mortified?” he asked, trying to get her to look at him.

She ran her hand through the front of her hair, huffing.

            “Because you probably think I’m damaged or something.”

            “No, no. I wouldn't think that. You had a panic attack, it happens."

But not to me! She wanted to exclaim, still not feeling comfortable. He knelt in front of her.

            "Hey, seriously. It isn't something to be ashamed about. I used to get them as a sophomore when I was afraid of telling my parents about switching my major."

This calmed her down. Andres didn't seem like the type of person who would stress or freak out, he was so melodious about everything.

            "Really?"

            "Mmhmm," he nodded, "once it happened during a math test. I thought the chick sitting next to me was going to cry because she thought I was dying."

She managed to smile. All those fears and distrust she'd felt towards Andres seemed silly now. For someone she'd known barely 48 hours, he seemed more trusting than even her best friends.

            "I'm sorry if I triggered you, though. I probably got a little bold in the alleyway," he rubbed the back of his head a light blush on his cheeks, "This isn't an excuse but, well, you were pretty captivating in that window and dress."

            "Oh," Nisha said, her stomach fluttering, "Thank you. And thank you for bringing here and looking out for me. I don't know what would have happened if that had happened somewhere else."

            "Is this the first time you've experienced one?"

            "No, I don't think so. But it was definitely the worst, I was afraid I'd stop breathing."

He gave her a sympathetic look, "Do you mind if I ask what happened?"

Nisha bit her lip and looked away, "I-I'm not really ready to talk about it, yet."

Andres nodded, not saying anything but his face was unreadable. Nisha was going to ask what was wrong when he spoke up.

The plane was scheduled to take off at 10:45 but it was quickly approaching 11:15 and they were still on the ground. Normally this would be frustrating; normally this would drive her insane but not today. Today she wished for nothing more than the flight to be canceled, allowing her one more day to postpone the 16 hour flight to India. A place that was never her home despite the blood that tied her there. Her head rested against the oval window that was warm from the burning sun. She wasn’t ready to face them, not after the shame she had caused. The phone calls had been torture enough, the disappointment dripped from every word when her father spoke to her, when he told her what she must do now. She screwed her green eyes shut when the familiar sting hit her; she was not going to cry in front of these people, no. She was done with the tears; she had to hold her head high even when the weight of her world was trying so hard to crush her down. But it was so hard to accept that she was leaving everything behind all because of one mistake; her friends, her professors and most of all, her dreams.

            “Buck up, Nisha, it’s all you can do,” she muttered to herself, voice shaking.

It had happened only three days ago, though at this point it felt a lifetime away. She had been dating him for a few weeks, the man that would send her life into a spiraling hell, getting into trouble here in there but nothing major. Hunter had been his name and he had the most amazing blue eyes, eyes that had sought her out and looked at her as though she were a fine piece of art. Of course, Hunter was an artist and she was entranced by the spontaneity and freedom he possessed. No fear of what others thought of him, eagerness to try anything new. It was everything she had wanted for herself and was sure he’d lead her down a path of excitement. Unfortunately, he had found out exactly who she was, who her father was and all he led her to was the cover of tabloids and with the most hits on Youtube (at least until the video was taken down for sexual content). It had been horrible. Everything painted her as a whore, insinuated that she was being paid to pose naked and have sex with her now ex-boyfriend.

Heiress Finds New Ways to do Business!

That was the first headline she remembered and she had seen it on her Facebook feed. She was certain at that moment she could die of humiliation. And she wished she had when she attempted to go out of her apartment. Paparazzi bombarded her complex, the sounds of their cameras going off quickly, her vision filled with spots from the flash. Immediately she had turned and run back into her apartment, crying tears of frustration. As the day wore on, her face and blurred parts of her filled her TV and computer screens until she unplugged everything, begging for it to be a nightmare she could finally wake up from.

Tech King’s Princess Reveals Everything!

Her face burned, thinking back on this. It burned with anger but most of all it burned with embarrassment. Over and over again her father asked how she could be so careless, so naïve and worse, stupid. On the eve of his huge merger and he wakes up to his daughter’s naked form all over the news? He had been so mad that he eventually began speaking to her in rapid Hindi, a language she had not spoken since she was a child. She could only pick up a few phrases, but it had been enough to cut her deep.

            “You are a disgrace to me and to this family, Nisha. You have shamed us all.”

The tears spilled from her eyes, running black down her cheeks, her mascara running. Never before had she experienced such anger from her own father; she had been his little princess, the beloved daughter who could do no wrong and who he had trusted to take up her studies in the states alone. Now what was she beyond disgraceful? A sullied woman who he no longer knew, a woman who he could only be rid of through a tradition he had never upheld in his own life. And that was why she sat on the plane now. Unable to run, to escape from this hell she had fallen into.

            “Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking; we have been given the ok to go to the runway. Flight attendants, prepare for takeoff.”

Nisha wiped her eyes, not caring if it made her look more of a mess. What was the use of getting made up now? She was being sent off to stay with her grandmother who was more a stranger to her than family where she would be force fed traditions she’d never had to embrace and be prepared for a marriage she was not ready for.

The flight attendants came around, reminding everyone to turn off their electronics, to buckle up and pay attention to the safety demonstration. Nisha made no movements, she simply stared out the window, watching as they taxied and eventually, took off. The plane shook, trays and luggage rattling as the behemoth plane took to the sky. Pressure filled her ears when they reached the higher altitude and her landscape became the white clouds.

She only had his name, not even a picture. Dinesh Singh, middle son to a man her father supposedly owed many favors to. So what better opportunity to pay everything back by giving his daughter to their son? Her body shuddered and sunk down in the seat. How could he do this to her, despite what she had done? To give her life away to a man who could be cruel or hateful? To take away her chance to find real love like he had with her mother? How wrong was it that he could break tradition and marry her mother yet subject her to a tradition all because of a scandal? She knew it had come from her grandmother, her Dadi who always told him how he was raising her wrong. She could picture the woman (who she really only remembered from photographs and one failed attempt at a Skype conversation) pointing a finger at her father, telling him how this would be good for Nisha, how it would help mold her into a proper Indian woman. But it was all wrong. She could take being forced to live in India with her Dadi, she could accept going through a few years of pomp and tradition. But the arranged marriage sent her over the edge of despair. She didn’t want this Dinesh, she didn’t want to be painted up like a pretty bride and given away like a thing.

            “No man will want you after this disaster anyway! You should be grateful that you will get a marriage!” he had said shouted to her after her fifth call, pleading for him to change her mind, and she could only hear her Dadi’s voice at that point.

Calls to her mother had also been in vain. Juliet Quasar could only whisper apologies to her daughter, telling her she had tried so hard to change her father’s mind but to no avail. Nisha begged her to let her go back home to England but she knew it would never work, not once her father had made up his mind.

No, now it was time to just accept it, accept the inevitable end of her happiness.

              At some point, Nisha had fallen asleep; her head resting uncomfortably on her shoulder, giving her neck a great ache when she shifted. She almost didn’t want to wake up, to face reality. Her dreams had been wistful, filled with her running away from everything, able to break free from her fate but it also filled her with guilt. As much as she wanted to, she knew she couldn’t leave her family, she couldn’t be left on her own like that. She stretched out her arms, rolling her head in hopes of getting rid of the aching crick in her neck and looked around. The cabin was dark, only a few seats had people who were still awake with their lights on, but up here in first class, most of the group had their seats reclined and were comfortable. If only she had thought to do that before dozing off. Her stomach grumbled as she tried to work out how much longer she had before they would land and she buzzed a stewardess, hoping to eat with what little appetite she had. Waiting for her food, she looked back out at the window, getting lost in the dark skies. They must have been over the ocean, she couldn’t see any light below. She pressed her forehead against the oval window, this time it was cool on her skin.

            “Dinesh,” she said softly, the name unfamiliar and clumsy on her tongue.

She didn’t like how it sounded but maybe she was being unfair. He could be a perfect gentleman, forced into a similar situation that he probably didn’t want either. But at this moment she felt selfish, she didn’t care, she was miserable and wanted to hate him for being there. Because maybe, just maybe if he wasn’t she’d be going to England to stay with her mother instead.

All wishful thinking, but it was something she could cling to as the hours ticked by.

              It was two in the afternoon when they landed in New Delhi, but three-thirty in the morning back home in New York. Nisha felt tired, her eyes were swollen from the crying she tried not to do and all she wanted was to fall into the queen size bed she had back in her apartment. Instead, she was standing at baggage claim, unsure of what to do until she saw her name floating on piece of cardboard. She gripped the handle of her suitcase, preparing herself, but could not force her feet to move her forward. Instead she stood there, staring at the cardboard, willing it away with her mind. Taking the step towards that sign would be the final nail in the coffin. She would get into a cab and go to her Dadi’s home and that would be it.

            “No,” she whispered as though all of her breath had been stolen.

A sudden force hit her shoulder and she stumbled forward, coming close to meeting with the ground until a strong grip held her elbow.

            “Oh shit, I am so sorry!” she heard and her heart warmed at the familiar American accent she had been around.

The strong grip pulled her up and she faced a man with dirty blonde hair, growing wild around his face and the most intense eyes. His lips moved and for a moment she couldn’t hear him, too lost in his gaze. His expression was filled with concern, more so when she wasn’t answering him.

            “Hey, are you ok?”

            “I,” her own voice seemed foreign to her, “I-I’m ok, thank you.”

He smiled, white teeth peeking out from his chapped lips.

            “Don’t thank me, I’m the one who nearly took you out. Sorry about that,” he laughed and she smiled.

            “I was kind of standing in the middle of the crowd like a fool, please, it is my own fault.”

The warmth of his hand disappeared as he let go of her elbow and he stared at her for a few moments before looking down at the large bag slung across his chest. He fumbled around and pulled out a very expensive looking camera. Before she could ask what he was doing she heard the shutter go off. Terror filled her every being. Had she been followed by some desperate journalist all the way to India? Her heart pounded in her chest and she looked around, wondering if anyone else was staring or pulling out a camera. She looked back to him, shaking.

            “Now listen here-“she started.

            “Beautiful,” was all he said, staring at the screen on the back of the camera.

Her cheeks burned and for the first time in days, it wasn’t because of self-hatred or shame. Looking closely she realized he wasn’t pulling out a note pad or bombarding her with invasive questions. He was just taking a picture, probably not even aware of who she was or what she was running from. She opened her mouth to say something to him but she felt a shock of cold on her arm and a new hand grabbed her elbow.

            “Miss Quasar, your grandmother is waiting,” said the harsh, thick accented voice.

So she had been recognized by her ride finally. He took her bag and suitcase from her with a small amount of force and she was pulled away from the strange photographer. He looked up from his camera and frowned as she was dragged away.

            “I feel the same,” she said to herself as she disappeared into the crowd.

The ride was agonizing. She was burning up in the backseat, feeling worse than the time she had gone to Texas in the middle of summer. Irritated she gathered her chestnut brown locks of hair and braided the strands together, if only to get it off of the back of her neck. It only helped cool her down a little.

            “How much further?” she called to the front.

            “We will be there in an hour, ma’am,” was the curt response.

Groaning she fell to her side, her cheek pressed up against the sweaty leather seats. She cringed. This had to be some sort of symbolism of what she could expect here.

            “Can you at least put on some music?” she asked, wearily.

After a few moments the car was filled with the shrill sound of bells and Bollywood style music.

            “No, no!” she whimpered, “Anything but that.”

The music cut off and silence filled the car once again. She sighed.

Nisha had nothing against the culture she was estranged from. She respected that half of her blood came from such a rich tradition filled lifestyle. But it wasn’t what she grew up with; it was unfamiliar and bizarre to her. She only had stories from her father’s childhood and stereotypes to go off of when it came to India. The most she’d ever done was pierce her nose and wear henna for a few special occasions and even then, it was purely out of fashion and vanity not tradition or respect. Of course that was what her Dadi had yelled at her father about constantly. Maybe if she had been more respectful, more eager to learn about her heritage she wouldn’t be in this mess. Wouldn’t that be a laugh?

            When the car finally approached the large mansion that was her Dadi’s house, she felt only a little relief. Mostly because she was ready to jump out of the car into what she hoped was a fully air conditioned bedroom where she could recover from the flight. Instead, she stepped out into blistering hot air and was welcomed with the glower from her grandmother.

            “Dadi,” she said, tiredly “hello.”

The look the elderly woman gave her made Nisha feel like she was five years old again, having been caught with her hand in the cookie jar after being told countless times she wasn’t allowed. She bowed her head, unable to look at the old woman any longer. Before her eyes could focus on the ground, she was being circled.

            “Look at you,” came the distasteful tone, “dressed like that it is no wonder you were caught without clothes.”

Nisha clenched her fists, but said nothing. She had mentally prepared herself for the old woman’s berating and comments. If her mom could stand them, then so could she.

            “At least you haven’t cut your hair, though you need to work on your braiding. Hmph,” she made a disappointed clicking sound with her tongue.

            “Dadi, please,” Nisha finally said, “I’m burning up and would like to rest. The flight was very long.”

            “Complain, complain! Is that what kind of wife you will be? Always complaining about such small things? Bah,” she lashed out in a long string of Hindi, most of which was lost on Nisha.

But she was finally led inside where it wasn’t nearly as cool as Nisha had hoped for. Her luggage was taken upstairs while she was led to the parlor.

            The home was huge and beautifully decorated. Pictures of long gone family members hung in the halls along with religious idols. Nisha had cloudy memories of running through the home when she was younger. Perhaps if the situation had been different, she’d feel at ease there, maybe she’d even be able to admire its beauty.  But right then, she could only see reminders of what life she would have to build, wondering if she would become an angry, shriveled woman like her grandmother.

            “Tomorrow you will begin dressing appropriately and you will have your hair styled.”

            “Yes, Dadi,” Nisha muttered.

She looked out the big bay windows that displayed her grandmother’s brilliant garden. Colors bright and bold filled the backyard, giving the illusion that there was no deathly heat outside and that everything was ok. If only it was more than a trick. Her Dadi continued to chatter about all the changes Nisha could look forward to during her stay in hell. It was simply out of boredom that Nisha paid half attention, until dadi said the name that made her still.

            “Now, regarding Dinesh,” the old woman started.

Nisha’s head shot up, hopeful that this was news on their engagement being canceled, on him finding love elsewhere, anything that would fill her with some relief.

But that relief would not come.

            “You will be meeting him the day after tomorrow for tea. His parents and I thought you two should spend the summer getting to know each other and making plans. We think a late summer wedding will be ideal.”

Great, it was like dragging out an execution rather than just getting it over with. Nisha wished she could say this out loud, if only to aggravate her grandmother as some form of payback. Instead, she merely nodded in response.

            “Do not look like that. Dinesh is a very remarkable young man from a respectable family. You should be grateful they are willing to look past this mess you’ve made and allow you to marry him.”

That struck a nerve. It stuck hard enough that Nisha leapt from her seat, enraged. The pressure from the week and her grandmother’s words bringing her to her limit.

            “No! This is ridiculous! I am being allowed to marry him? And I should be grateful?” she spat the words out, “I made a fucking mistake and I’m being treated like a plague and I will not stand for it any longer!”

The slap surprised her and for a moment she could only hear ringing. Never had she been struck before; her parents had never even spanked her as a child. Her left cheek stung but she only had a moment to let it sink in before her hair was given a harsh pull and she was face to face with her grandmother.

            “You are a stain on this family. You made more than a mistake and you will learn well to keep your mouth shut and head bowed while you deal with the consequences. And you most certainly will never raise your voice to me again,” the old woman hissed, pulling tighter on Nisha’s hair until the young woman yelped in pain.

            “Dadi, stop!” Nisha cried out.

            “Do you understand what is expected of you?” the old woman said, her voice laced with a quiet rage.

There was still fight burning in Nisha but she knew she’d never win. This was her fate, this was what she had to adapt to if she wanted to get through it sane. So she nodded, she looked down and kept her mouth shut as she was instructed. Her hair was released, falling limply against her shoulder. Head aching and cheek still stinging the pain seemed to double with the realization of what was happening to her.

            “Good. Now sit down and listen to what I am saying.”

The damn tears were back, stinging at her eyes, welling up until her vision was blurred. Silently, she let them fall, keeping her head bowed while the cruel woman continued to her lecture. The warm drops fell onto her shaking hands that sat clasped tightly in her lap.

Unspoken Words

If there's one thing I've learned from my time at Uni, it's this; never take home cute looking stuffed animals you find sitting in the quad. I know, it's hard to resist when you're a poor, hungry, attention starved college student and you only want something that you can hug during those long nights of papers and projects, but just don't do it. Why? Well because then things start to go terribly wrong and you're spending your nights fighting 'evil' instead of fighting Professor O'Neil's ten page midterm.

My name is Aya Reed, I'm a Criminal Psychology student at the University of North Texas  and I'm a mother flipping 20 year old Magical Girl.

Now, if you're looking at that sentence and going; what the hell is she talking about? Then clearly you've never had to sit down and watch things like Sailor Moon, Cardcaptor Sakura or other weird Japanese creations. You lucky soul. Don't get me wrong, I don't actually hate those shows, I actually used to be weirdly obsessed with them, but now that I've experienced their lives, I resent them because they're filled with lies. Lies about looking cute in your costume, about being able to just walk around in heels that are NOT battle appropriate, let me tell you, and that everything is going to work out. No, all of that is a bunch of crap. Oh and there is no handsome love interest who helps you in a pinch. Or at least not for me. And did I mention the heels? Seriously who thought someone should fight in those things?

I suppose I should go into a little more detail. So if you're curious enough, grab something to drink, maybe a snack, and listen to the absolutely humiliating tale about a 20 year old running around in a pink fashion disaster while also trying to maintain a 3.0 gpa in order to pay for school since you don't get paid to vanquish evil. Which, by the way, is another gripe I have with this whole magical girl business.

Chapter 1: The beginning of my end

                Freshman and sophomore year of college had not been kind to me. I had gained at least fifteen pounds (probably more like 25) and I had lost virtually all contact with my friends from high school. I was alone, two states away from home and away from my moms--yes plural, I have two amazing mothers who raised me to be the fabulous girl I am now though I had to get away because holy crap too much estrogen in one house. My grades were just barely good enough to keep my scholarships and most of the way through my sophomore year I decided to change my major, which meant I'd be stuck at school for probably an extra year. All in all things were friggin' awful. Also, the weather in Texas is a bitch, excuse the language. The accents were cute though. Still, I was miserable, homesick and getting chubby. So as my junior year (or rather sophomore year round two thanks to my major change) came upon the horizon, I was bound and determined to make some changes. I'd join a club, eat better, ride my bike to campus and try to make some real friends.

 And then, three weeks into the semester, I was back in my old ways. Go figure.

It as a rainy Tuesday and as I sat on the bus, contemplating the choices I had made in life, I saw Him at the bus stop.

No, not God, but close. He was a tall, blonde and blue eyed Adonis that had been in my Intro to Psychology class last semester and it was love at first sight. For me. Now, call me shallow (because boy am I) but I honesty knew nothing about him except how good he looked blue jeans. Oh man did he look nice in them. I watched as he got on and sat three rows in front of me, his blonde hair damp from the rain outside but he didn't seem to mind. Oh I'd love to run my hand through those thick locks and--oh that's gonna get R rated. I blushed and looked back down at my mp3 player, trying to crank it up a little louder. I contemplated following him after we all unloaded from the bus, after all my first class of the day was statistics and ugh, I hated math and would much rather spend my time staring at him. But it was a quiz day and my grade couldn't risk the zero. Sadly, I watched as he went towards the language building and I in turn went towards the Academic Building.

                By the time class was over the rain had ended and we were graced with that good old Texas humidity. My clothes felt like they weighed a ton by the time I made it to the quad and had that not quite wet but not quite damp feeling that was just fantastic (it wasn't). I plopped down on bench and stared at the fountains, contemplating life choices again--I think I was becoming a pro at it by this point, when I spotted something odd on the fountain. I'm embarrassed to admit that it took me at least ten minutes to convince myself to get up and walk over to it, but hey, I did do it.

I sometimes wonder if I'd waited a little longer I wouldn't be in my current predicament but that's a different story for a different timeline.

Upon closer inspection, I found the cutest looking stuffed rabbit toy ever. No, seriously this is the cutest god damn plush I've seen. Carefully, glancing around the quad, just to make sure no one would run up saying it was theirs, I reached for it and pulled it to my chest. It was warm and oh so very soft, like it was made out of the comfiest, softest and warmest blanket ever. I sighed and for a moment felt like everything was at peace.

                "Well, guess who's coming to my dorm?" I said, probably looking crazy to others as I held the cuddly toy in front of me.