Meet Indira Devi, an ambitious 18-year-old from India who secures acceptance into her dream university, The London School of Economics. Leaving behind the comforts of her home country, she sets out on a journey to pursue her passion for economics an...
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Leaving home to study abroad had always felt like this glittery Pinterest board dream. Late-night Google searches. Moodboards. Overplayed "City of Stars" montages in my head. But now that it was real—like real real, not-daydream-real—I didn't feel so sparkly.
I felt like crying.
Not in a bad way. More like in an oh my God, I'm actually doing it way. Except "doing it" involved hugging my aunt until my arms went numb and watching my dad blink way too much at the airport gate, pretending he wasn't about to cry. Spoiler: he definitely was.
That image of him—his kind eyes, the way he gripped my shoulder like he was holding on to time itself—kept flashing in my head. That was the hard part. The hardest.
But London? The London School of Economics? That was the dream. The goal. The thing I'd whispered to myself in 6th grade, right after asking my dad, "What can I be when I grow up?"
He said, "Anything." I picked economist. Probably because I didn't really know what that was but it sounded smart. And now here I was. With three suitcases, jetlag, and a heart that didn't know whether to skip with excitement or crack open from homesickness.
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My dorm building smelled like fresh paint, burnt toast, and someone's overly ambitious essential oil diffuser. After hauling my life up three flights of stairs and possibly pulling my entire back, I stood outside my new room door, half expecting it to burst into flames or judgement.
I turned the knob. Deep breath. Go.
Inside was a girl—gorgeous brunette, calm posture, that kind of confident glow people usually only have on Pinterest or when they've had 8 hours of sleep.
She looked up and smiled like we were already old friends. "Hey! I'm Eloise. You must be Indira, right?"
Okay, charming. Great smile. Minimal serial killer vibes. We might survive this.
"Yep, that's me." I gave her a smile back even though I was wearing a hoodie, looked like a soggy airport croissant, and hadn't brushed my hair since Dubai. "Indira Giordano. Nice to meet you."
