The beginning of something new                                                                                                                                                 "I'm just a little bit caught in the middle

                                        Life is a maze and love is a riddle."

                                                   ---Lana Del Rey

INDIA.

In the heart of India, where ancient echoes merge with the gentle whispers of the monsoon, every moment feels like a love letter written by time itself. The vibrant hues of twilight cast a spell over centuries-old temples and bustling bazaars, while sacred rivers murmur secrets beneath a sky painted in rich saffron. Here, the air is perfumed with the scent of jasmine and spices, each breeze carrying a promise of passion and timeless romance. In this land, every stone, every melody, and every heartbeat speaks of a story waiting to be discovered—a narrative where love is as eternal and vibrant as the soul of India itself.

Standing in the middle of the park, I take in my surroundings. Couples stroll hand in hand, children laugh and chase one another, and teenagers sneak around with mischief in their eyes. Life moves forward—moment by moment, second by second—yet here I stand, frozen in place, lost in the past while the present rushes ahead without me.

Never in my nineteen years did I imagine I would move to Mumbai, leaving behind everything I knew in California. And yet, here I am, under the sweltering May sun, stepping into a summer unlike any I've ever known.

The light breeze gently lifts my waist-length, brown curls, making them dance along with my flowing light blue skirt. My white, floral-patterned tank top, adorned with delicate lace, clings softly to my skin, and I find myself grateful for the wind's cool touch against the summer heat. It has been a week since I set foot on this foreign land, and two weeks since I found out my sister was getting married. I was born and raised in California, but when I was six, my parents decided to split up, dividing not just themselves but also us siblings. 

I stayed in California with my dad, while my sister moved here to India along with our mother. Despite the distance, we never let it weaken our bond. We always found ways to stay connected, talking for hours and sharing our lives across continents. I still remember the day her now-fiancé came to pick her up for their first date just a year ago. She was a bundle of nerves, jittery with excitement, video-calling me as she tried on different dresses, seeking my opinion on each one. 

I had always thought that coming here would be fine—that I would adjust, that it wouldn't feel too different. But so far, it has been anything but fine. Indian weddings are filled with countless rituals, each one beautiful yet exhausting. As the bride's sister, I carry a heavy weight of responsibilities on my shoulders. But beyond the never-ending tasks, there's also the constant sting of my mother's words—that I'm too skinny, too dark. Then there are the whispers of relatives behind my back, murmuring about how my father failed to raise me properly.

 But they don't know him the way I do. They don't know about the struggles he endured, the sleepless nights he spent helping me finish my homework, or the way he'd come home early just so he could play with me when I was little. They don't know how he'd wake up at dawn to make me a healthy breakfast or the small, heartfelt notes he used to tuck into my lunchbox, encouraging me to finish my meal. I still have those letters, carefully folded and kept in a small box, hidden in my closet. I brought them with me—because they are proof of the love and care that no one else seems to see.

People can be exhausting sometimes, which is why I've been sitting in this park for the past three hours. The evening has settled in now, painting the sky in soft hues of blue and pink. The sunset is breathtaking—India has a way of making moments like this feel almost magical. But at the same time, it doesn't feel that way at all.

 As I make my way back home—a short ten-minute walk—I take in the sights around me. A Vada Pav vendor is busy serving customers, while a samosa chaat stall and a pani puri vendor stand nearby, their carts filled with crispy, spice-laden treats. The street food here is on another level, bursting with flavors so rich and intoxicating that, for a moment, one could forget all their worries. The aroma of freshly fried snacks only fuels my growing hunger. Unable to resist, I stop by the samosa chaat vendor and order some to take home, keeping in mind how much the bride-to-be loves them. 

After paying, I headed straight home. As I reached the gate, my eyes took in the sight before me—strings of glowing lights draped from the rooftop to the ground, lanterns casting a soft golden hue over the trees and plants. The house looked exactly as it should—a wedding house, alive with celebration and warmth. 

Inside, my family awaited—my mother and her husband, my stepfather. Then there is my sister, my cousin sister, my aunt, my uncle, and, of course, my two brothers. That made me the youngest in the house, a fact that ensured I was always on the receiving end of their protectiveness, whether I liked it or not. Six months ago, something happened—something so terrible that it left me in silence. A silence so deep that even darkness unsettles me now. I haven't spoken in the past two months, nor have I shed a tear, except for the one time I saw my sister, Dhriti. 

I lost my father six months ago, and the wound is still raw. Only I know what truly went wrong that night. And yet, I didn't speak. I couldn't. I was sent to therapy for three months, and before that, I spent my initial days in the hospital, recovering from the accident. Afterward, I was shuffled between different relatives from my father's side, staying here and there, never quite belonging anywhere. Time from those days is a blur, hazy and fragmented in my mind. 

For six months, my mother tried everything to bring me back to India, but she couldn't—not while my father's family still had custody of me and I just wasn't ready. Then, a few weeks ago, in April, I turned nineteen. That was when I finally told my mother I was ready to return. Because without my father, there was no place left for me there. Even now, I struggle to grasp the truth—that he is gone. That he will never come back. And some days, that realization is unbearable.

As I walked into the house, I noticed that the number of relatives had grown—no surprise, considering the wedding rituals would begin in just three days. The house buzzed with energy, laughter, and conversation, a stark contrast to the quiet I often found myself lost in. Carrying the chaat with me, I headed straight to Dhriti's room, knowing she would be there along with our other cousins. As expected, they were all gathered in a big circle, engrossed in a game of UNO, their playful bickering filling the air. Without a word, I placed the snacks in the center of the group, watching as their eyes lit up at the sight of food. 

Then, glancing at Dhriti, I allowed myself a small smile—one of the few I had managed in a long time. "What's in there, Val?" Dhriti asked as she opened the packet. The moment they saw what was inside, everyone dived in without hesitation. I couldn't help but smile at their excitement. 

"Thank you so much, Val. I was starving," Kabir—the youngest son of my uncle and aunt, Akshath and Maya Rajvansh—said with a grateful grin. 

With the room packed with our cousins, I made my way to the dressing table and settled in the small corner seat. The space was alive with chatter and laughter. Naina Bhabhi, Rudra Bhai's wife, who was expecting in four months, sat comfortably on the floor, leaning against the bed, while Rudra Bhai sat beside her. 

Dhriti Di was on her other side, engaged in conversation. Riya, Ritesh, Lokesh, and Manasi—the children of our distant relatives—occupied the bed, facing Bhaiya and Bhabhi. Kabir had taken the study table chair to my left, leaving me with the dressing table seat. "You know," Kabir said dramatically between bites, "you're an absolute angel for bringing me such delicious food." I shook my head with a soft chuckle, watching as they devoured the snacks, filling the room with warmth and familiarity I hadn't felt in a long time.

I nodded slightly, acknowledging Kabir's words with a small gesture of appreciation. They soon returned to their game, laughter and playful arguments filling the room, while I sat quietly, just observing them.

Sometimes, it feels like I don't belong here. Like I'm just an outsider, intruding on a happy family with the weight of my shattered life. Watching them, I'm reminded of everything I once had—and everything I lost. The life I built in California, my school, my friends, my dreams, my ambitions—all of it slipped away, piece by piece, until there was nothing left to hold onto.

And now, I'm here, where everyone expects me to start over, to rebuild something from the ruins of my past. But how do you start again when there's nothing left inside you? When you feel like an empty shell, drifting through a life that no longer feels like your own??

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Word Count:1590