US IN THE U.S

1.THE ARRIVAL

Yodha:

The plane touched down with a gentle thud, jolting me out of my thoughts. As the wheels hit the tarmac, a surge of anticipation washed over me-this was it. My new beginning in the United States.

I tightened my grip on the armrest, letting out a long breath I hadn't realized I was holding. The tension that had built up during the long journey slowly released, but the uncertainty remained lodged somewhere deep inside me.

This was the first day of the rest of my life, and it scared me as much as it thrilled me.

"Welcome to the United States," the flight attendant announced, her voice brisk and efficient, but I barely heard her. My thoughts were already racing ahead, weaving through the fog of nervousness and excitement.

I had landed in a country that was both foreign and familiar-a place I had seen countless times in movies and read about in novels, yet never experienced for myself.

Everything I had known up until now felt like a distant memory, and what lay ahead was as hazy as the morning fog that greeted us on the runway.

Stepping off the plane, I was immediately engulfed by the sprawling airport terminal, a hive of activity buzzing with energy. People hurried past, their footsteps a constant rhythm against the polished floors.

They all seemed to know where they were going-each with a destination, a purpose, a story. I, on the other hand, felt unmoored, drifting through the sea of unfamiliar faces. For a girl from an upper-middle-class family in India, this moment was monumental-a leap into the unknown, where everything I had ever known felt small and distant.

The air inside the terminal felt different too-cooler, almost sterile, carrying with it the sharp scent of jet fuel and freshly brewed coffee. My senses were overwhelmed by the cacophony of voices speaking in languages I couldn't recognize, the clatter of luggage wheels echoing through the vast space, and the intermittent crackle of announcements over the loudspeaker.

Yet, amidst the noise, there was a kind of quiet that settled inside me, a calm born out of the realization that this was the start of something entirely new.

I passed through customs in a blur, the officers asking routine questions, their eyes scanning my passport with practiced efficiency. Before I knew it, I was out in the arrivals hall, greeted by the sight of bright overhead lights and advertisements in English, their vibrant colors stark against the sterile walls.

I tried to steady my breath, to focus on the moment, but my thoughts were scattered, tugging me in a dozen directions at once.

More than anything, I thought of my parents-their stern faces when I had told them about my decision to study abroad. I could still hear their voices in my head, filled with reluctance and unease.

They hadn't wanted this for me. Sending me to America had been an ordeal, not for me, but for them. My mother had cried the night before my flight, saying it was too far, too dangerous, that a girl like me should stay close to home.

My father had remained silent, but I could see the disapproval in his eyes, the way he clenched his jaw when I spoke about my future. They had their plans for me, ones I was well aware of: finish my studies and then marry.

The marriage proposals had already started trickling in, even before I had left, and I knew the moment I returned, I would be expected to choose-or rather, let them choose-for me.