Illicit Affair -Raghavi

Chapter 1

•Mia•

The last time I paid a visit to the hospital was when my grandmother was on her death bed. She didn’t make it. I didn’t cry then. Now my dad is dead and my mom is lying on her death bed. She is in the emergency room, fighting for her life. My eyes are teary, but I still hadn’t cried. Surgeons are trying to remove shards of glass from her brain, but the odds are grim-only 1% chance of survival. And yet, I cling to that silver string of hope.

3 Years Later

Open it.

“Open it bitch!” my best friend Nidhi urges, practically bouncing in excitement.

I hesitate, staring at the two emails in my inbox. “What if I didn’t get into either of them?”

“You won’t know unless you open them.” She says, her voice sharp but tinged with nervous energy. I can tell she’s as anxious as I am.

     Before my 12th-grade finals, I applied to two universities: the prestigious Berkley College of Music and Colombia University, which recently launched a new writing program for young writers. Both offered scholarships, and without one, there’s no way I could afford to go. Now, sitting here, I have emails from both schools in front of my eyes. And their responses on whether to accept me or to reject me could turn my world upside down.  This moment could change everything.

     Music has been a part of my life since I was six, though back then, I didn’t understand the lyrics. As I grew older, I started writing my own lyrics and melodies whether it’s on my guitar or piano. When it came to thinking about college, Nidhi convinced me to apply to Berkley, and I listened. But Colombia… Colombia was different. My mom had once dreamed of attending, though she never got the chance. I wanted to fulfill that dream for her, but it wasn’t just about her. I love writing stories as much as I love writing songs. Colombia’s writing program felt like it was made for me.

     But there’s the scholarship. Without it, I’m stuck. My uncle and aunt have taken care of me since my parent’s death, but they don’t have the money to expense my education abroad. The only reason they took me in was the child support they received from the government. Now that I’m over eighteen and the child support has stopped, I’m just an extra burden. It wouldn’t take long for them to realize that now I’m officially an extra mouth to feed. I can already feel them getting tired of me. On the other hand, now that I’m above eighteen years of age, I can live with anyone I want. The court doesn’t decide anymore. So if I don’t get in, and my aunt kicks me out of their house I’ll just move to Mumbai with my Uncle Rohan-my mom’s brother. He can afford my college tuition if I do get in, but I don’t want to depend on him or anyone to be frank for something this big. So I need that scholarship.

     Nidhi lifts my hand from the laptop's cursor and clicks on the email from Berkley herself. My heart feels like it’s about to burst as she reads aloud:

“Dear Ms. Malhotra,
We are delighted to inform you that you have been accepted to Berkeley College of Music…”

We both scream together, our voices echoing off the walls.

Nidhi clicks on the email from Colombia next and reads:

“Dear Ms. Malhotra,
On behalf of the Committee of Admissions, I want to congratulate you on your acceptance into the Young Writers Program…”

We scream again, even louder. The whole neighborhood must have heard us, but I don’t care.

I expected rejection from both schools, yet here I am-accepted by both. Now I have to choose. But the choice isn’t hard. Colombia is offering full schlorship, while Berkeley only offered half. Colombia wins.

      It’s more than just the scholarship, though. My parents shared a dream together of settling in the United States. They loved everything about it-its lifestyle, its openness. They were obsessed with it, that’s why my name is so American… Mia. They never got to live that dream, but maybe I can fulfill it for them, in my own way. Even if I’m not planning to settle there, I’ll be going to U.S. to study, and that feels like honoring their memory.

     Growing up, I faced a lot of teasing for my name. Even my relatives and school teachers teased me, but my parents always told me to ignore them. They didn’t care much about traditions though, and that made them different from others. They were wild, free and in love with each other even after being married for seventeen years. And they loved me.

Nidhi looks at me expectantly, “So, have you decided?”

I nod. “Yes. Colombia.”

She grins, pulling me into a tight hug. “I knew it! By the way, Happy 19th Birthday, Mia. It’s about time you got some good news on your birthday.”

     Her last sentence hits me hard. Three years ago, on this very day, I was waiting backstage at my school’s annual dance function, scanning the audience for my parents. I wanted to check if they were present because I didn’t want them to miss my dance performance. But instead of my parents, my class teacher came finding me. The look on her face told me something was wrong. I still remember what she said to me, word to word.

“Mia, I wish I didn’t have to tell you this,” she said gently. “Your parents were in a car accident. They’ve been taken to the hospital.”

     She drove me there herself. That day, my birthday, became the worst day of my life.

     Even though after a long time my birthday is a day to actually be happy about, the day after is not. It’s my parent’s death anniversary. So I’m dreading tomorrow.

     Nidhi excuses herself to ‘use the bathroom’, but I know she’s going to get the cake she brought for me. She’s always believed in me, even when I didn’t believe in myself. I pull out my phone and call Uncle Rohan. It’s late, but I know he won’t mind. For once, I’m calling him with good news, not complaints.

     As expected, he’s thrilled. “Mia, I’m so proud of you!” I’ll take the next week off so we can start working on the visa and everything.”

“And happy birthday!” he adds, not forgetting.

      When Nidhi returns, her parents are with her, and they sing “Happy Birthday” as I cut the cake. Mr. and Mrs. Desai have always been kind to me, treating me like their own. And for the first time in years, I feel like maybe things will be okay, for once, I’m looking forward to what’s next. For once I’m curious to find out about my future.