Chapter 1
Everything happens for a reason.
It's a pretty shit saying.
People use it to somehow transcend and cope with whatever's happening to them. You rationalize a breakup, an accident, a failure with five goddy words. If you couldn't tell, I despise the saying. Because cynicism runs deep in my bones. I was born with it. I will, therefore, die with it. Anyone who tries to convince me otherwise is going to find their life pretty difficult.
"Time's up."
There goes another SAT.
Bubbling my last answer, I drop my pencil to the table. Glancing up, I rest a hand on my cheek. It's really of no use. My score's tanking with every practice that I take. That entire six-month regime Javed tried getting me into is worthless. Basically I'm packing my bags and getting ready for community college.
Don't get me wrong, nothing wrong with community college. But Aarohi Keshav is meant to be on the path to Harvard. The best school! I can hear my dad's voice in my head with the age-old lecture.
"You're Nani only knew three words in English- hello, no, and Harvard."
So apparently it's faith for me to be Harvard bound. Thanks, grandma!
First-generation Americans have it easy they say. America- the land of opportunity! Well, spoiler alert the American dream isn't always as it seems.
Shocker, I know. I tug at the strings of my hoodie, maybe if I sink deep enough into the chair I can finally disappear.
It's been like this for a while now. The feverish need to disappear that is. I can't really help it. The thought just comes and goes. Kind of like the summer breeze. The latter being more predictable.
Once I'm out of the testing center I exhale loudly. Around me, students are chattering frantically about how it went. I see a few people from my school. Avinash waves my way, and I return the gesture with a weak smile. He has his arm around this girl with blazing red hair. Hm. Guess our student body president had a girlfriend. Wonder how Deepti Aunty felt about that. What did she have to complain about though?
Avinash is blessed by the Hindu gods. Every single one of them. I swear to god the dude's way too good at everything. And he's nice on top of that.
He couldn't even be an asshole for me to pick at. I don't even know why he's here. He's graduating a year early after getting a perfect score on the ACT and the SAT. Probably here for moral support- see what I mean; the dude's got zero chill.
Then there's me.
I switch on my phone, a rookie mistake because the moment I do there are a dozen texts from my family group. An entire diatribe from my mom and dad about how well I was going to do. Moments like these send a ripple of guilt within me. If only they knew what goes on in my head these days. Whirling my car eyes in my hand, I jog over to where our BMW's parked.
I still don't see why I've been entrusted by this. Or why we own a goddy BMW, to begin with. Probably because everyone on our street has one.
Slipping in, I rub my hands that are freezing from the bitter cold. My phone buzzes with another text, this one surprisingly from Javed asking me how it went.
I ignore it.
Flipping my phone so it's face down I start the car. I switch into auto-pilot mode, the gesture feels all too familiar to my body. As I'm backing out, I get distracted and end up nearly ramming into this figure.
Oh great.
Unstrapping my seat belt, I turn off the car and bolt out without a second thought. I'm met by deep emerald eyes that blink like a deer caught in headlights.
"You almost ran over me."
Folding my arms, I take in the sight of the boy I nearly killed. Okay, that did not roll off the tip of my tongue. Good to know I'm still capable of some amount of feeling.
Back to the matter at hand. He's lanky, tall with broad shoulders and an easy smile. Freckles dot his cheeks red from the cold and his hair is a crimson mop. In other words, he's unconventionally good looking.
"Sorry about that," I say finally.
He runs a hand through his hair messing it up more, "It's all good."
Stuffing my hands into the pockets of my hoodie I nod. "Cool, see you around."
The last statement is a mere formality. I do not intend to see someone I nearly ran over again. In fact, I hope redhead and I never see each other. Maybe one day I'll scroll through Instagram and find him on my explore page as someone tik tok famous. He had the looks for it that's for sure.
I would scroll right past him.
"Paxton."
I throw a glance at him over my shoulder in confusion, "What?"
There's a tinge of annoyance in my voice that I fail to mask. He doesn't seem fazed by it, instead taking this as a sign to grin more.
"My name's Paxton, in case you were wondering."
Opening the door to my car, I meet Paxton's eyes for a quick second.
"I wasn't."
Sliding into the driver's seat, I back up my car and drive out of the parking lot without a second glance his way. Things are better this way. Leave him in the dark so he doesn't get any ideas. Besides me? Paxton clearly didn't know what he would be getting into. Heck, I don't know who I am these days.
The drive back home feels monotonous as ever. Same old scenic route, pulling into my community where a quarter of the population is Indian.
My parents believed in equilibrium, live in an area where I have a good mix, so I don't end up like those kids from Plano. (Harvard bound.)
I'm about to park our car in our garage but stop myself. Two u-hauls are parked in front of the house opposite ours. Our neighbors moved out a few days back. They were family friends who decided to move back to India after their green card rejection. Not much of an option I wanted to tell them, but Ma stopped me before I could.
Living in America feels weird sometimes even though I've grown up here. What would it be like if I had grown up in my parent's city of Bangalore?
A fast-paced hub in South India with traffic, city lights, and all things cool. Both my parents hail from north India, but to them, Bangalore is their city.
They met each other there through an internship at the Times. Decided to move here after two years together, and here we are. If I had grown up in Bangalore, I might have been better. Instead of being hounded by tensions of taking the SAT, I'd have to deal with boards. Instead of worrying about all my extra-curriculars, I would participate in the on-off festival hosted by schools. Instead of having to waste time shopping for clothes every Black Friday, I'd have to sport a uniform every day. Instead of dragging myself out of bed every morning, maybe I would be happy.
Sure I'd replace my heart with a textbook in true Indian fashion by 'byhearting' everything there is to know. At least I wouldn't have this nagging feeling at the back of my head though.
There's a tapping at the window of my car, disrupting my train of thoughts. From the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of freckles and ruby hair. Staring ahead, I'm tempted to drive off and ram our BMW into my parent's prized magnolia tree. Instead gritting my teeth, I lower the window of my car.
"How can I help you on this fair day?"
Paxton cocks his head to one side, that same infuriating grin on his face.
"That's no way to greet your new neighbor now is it?"
YOU ARE READING
Palindrome
RomanceIt all started when she nearly ran over the new kid. Aarohi Keshav is the girl destined for Harvard- just like every other South Asian kid she knows. To the rest of the world, she's an artist, the girl who carries pepper spray at all times, the inf...