*Airyana*
In a husky whisper, Dhairya leaned into her ear. "I told you... I don't talk. I prove it with my actions."
He spun her around to face him, holding her waist tightly with one hand, while the other slid to the back of her neck. Before she co...
I had just arrived at the airport. To be specific, I’m at Rajasthan Airport, here to attend the wedding of my best friend from school, Ruhi. She isn’t coming to pick me up herself, but she did say she would send someone to get me.
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( Noor look )
Oh, we’ve been talking for a while, and I haven’t even introduced myself! So here it goes: my name is Noor. I don’t use my last name because I believe I should be known by my profession, not my surname. For the past 13 years, I’ve been living in the US, and now I’m 26. It’s a beautiful place, but I love my homeland and my mother tongue, so I decided to come back. I know, I know, you must be wondering, “If you loved your motherland so much, then why did you go to the US?” Well, I went there for my studies. I received a scholarship to a top university, so my parents insisted that I go. In short, they pushed me out the door.
But I still love them a lot, especially my mother—she’s my everything , my mom always brings a mix of warmth and longing. She’s my rock, my guide, the one person who knows me better than anyone else. Living in the US all those years, I realized just how much I missed her small gestures—the way she'd call me in the middle of the night just to check if I had eaten, her endless advice about everything, and even her little scoldings that reminded me of home. Every day abroad, I felt her presence through our calls and messages, but it wasn’t the same. There’s something irreplaceable about a mother’s hug, her touch, her voice. She is, and always will be, my everything.
As for my university in the US, it was a whole different world. It was a dream, really. Getting a scholarship there was life-changing, a chance to study with people from every corner of the world. I learned so much, both inside and outside the classroom. But it wasn’t just about academics—it was the independence, the challenges, the chance to explore who I am. I made some amazing friends and memories that I’ll cherish forever. Yet, even as I enjoyed my time there, a part of me always felt like a visitor. It wasn’t home, not in the way my heart belongs to India, my family, and my roots.
The Boy’s POV:
Sitting on my bed, I had my favorite book in hand, completely immersed in the story. It was by my favorite author, the kind of writing that pulls you into another world. I found myself whispering the words, talking to myself, reliving the story as if I were part of it. I could feel each character's emotions, and the way the author described everything was nothing short of magic.
Just then, my mother came in, breaking the spell. "We should leave," she said gently, her voice bringing me back to reality. I looked up, a little startled, and saw her standing in the doorway, patiently waiting. It took me a second to remember where we needed to go, but I couldn’t resist lingering on the last line I’d just read. Reluctantly, I closed the book, marking the page for later.
