First Time Ever

First Introductions

Chapter-3

First Introductions

Dreaming about living abroad, easy. Adjusting in foreign environment, not so easy! What was I thinking when I accepted the scholarship without a single thought?

I wasn’t thinking duh!

The food here sucked! Where on earth were salt and chili and pepper? The leisure activities sucked even more. The house was empty most of the time and when it wasn’t it was filled with people I did not know.

During the course of next two days I rushed to my college and filled the required documents, watched T.V, attended a few classes. Basically I was trying hard to get accustomed to my new life.

Also I managed to meet the third girl resident of our apartment, once. Apparently she had an entire room to herself because she was paying better. That being said she happen to be a ‘little’ bitchy but she looked hot, like super model hot!

But with attitude of hers, she definitely didn’t make it into my list of ‘nice people.’ She was a blond, her hair falling perfectly in layers below her shoulders. Her nose was straight, her eyes a deep green.

Shit! I got a complex.

But never mind, her name was Rose and boy she did have her thorns.

I happened to see the handsome man at times but only in glimpses, sometimes he would be on his way to the kitchen or going upstairs or out the door. That was all. Although whenever he saw me he would make sure to pass on a slimy smile.

Most of my time was spent with Lita and Brandon. They were a nice couple but being with them for long always made me uncomfortable as if I was interfering in something. They never said anything about it but I could feel it so I made sure never to stick around for long.

The last occupant was still to show up, all I was able to gather about him was that his name was Peter and he liked keeping to himself.

Other than that I missed home, badly. I missed my family and friends and felt miserable because I mostly felt alone. Everybody here had someone which made it even more worse for me.

God I wanted to go home.

But of course I couldn’t.

I was sitting on my bed and sulking (after washing the bed sheet five times) when Lita came in.

“Hey there India, whazzup?”

“Nothing,” I replied with a sigh.

“You look miserable,” she popped down on her bed.

“Nothing like that,” I didn’t even want to sound convincing.

“You’re missing home?” she turned her body towards me. She was wearing a white cotton top and denim shorts and looked awesome.

I wish I could wear something like that. Back home I was always taught not to wear clothes that were exposing.

I just let out another sigh.

“I miss it too,” her eyes turned soft, “home, you know.”

“Home? This ain’t your home?” I asked, a little confused, “You aren’t from The States, are you?” suddenly her name rang a bell in my head, just like it had the first time I heard it.

“Nope, am from Spain,” she replied looking at the ceiling.

“Then why are you here?”

“Mom’s Spanish, Dad’s from Ohio, she moved here when they got married. When I was three they got divorced so we moved back to Spain with my Grandparents.”

“Oh,” was all I could say.

“I spent most of my childhood there. Then when Mama died three years back it became unbearable for me to stay there.”

“What was it like?” I asked, picturing Spain in my mind.

“Different. Alive,” she whispered, a dreamy look on her face and eyes closed as if remembering her home.

Deciding not to disturb her, I got off the bed and headed out.

Coming to the drawing room and sliding the glass double doors open, I went out, into the lawn and was met with blinding sunlight which instantly reminded me of home. Although the intensity of the sun was considerably low and there wasn’t any sticky moisture in the air, it still felt a bit familiar.

It was so much like home yet so different.

Though the distance between India and U.S. was only of hours yet both these countries felt like two entirely different worlds.

I missed home so bad right now, I wanted to rip something apart. These two days made me realize how much my home, my family, hell even the food back home meant to me.

Remembering my mother’s face, marred with lines of worry, softened when seeing me and my brother almost brought me to the edge of tears. I remembered how my father would look out for me even when I asked him not to, I recalled how my brother would save my butt when I did things I was told not to do.

The times when I bossed around my friends, made them do silly things and then laughed my head off because of it, those talks about boys and boyfriends in the middle of the night, going out after the entry time of hostel, those festivals I celebrated with them, everything came rushing back before my very eyes.

“Why the sad face?” someone commented from behind me.

“No reason,” I said to the person.

“You can share, you know,” he was in my peripheral view now.

“Ya right!” I said sarcastically.

“Come on India, you’ll be sharing a home with me now.”

“Yes and that’s reason enough to share my problems with you?” I snapped out at him.

“What specific reasons are you looking for?” he asked sitting down on the perfectly carved wooden stairs that led down to the lawn, sipping something from the mug he brought with him.

“No reason in the world could make me tell you,” I said stubbornly.

He held out the mug to me.

I gave him a look that said ‘You’re mad!’

“Take a sip,” he pressed.

“What’s in the mug?” nobody can blame me for being a little skeptical.

“God! You break my heart India,” putting the mug down, he clutched his heart in an over dramatic manner, “Didn’t they teach you to respect people’s feelings? I thought Indians were top notch in that department.”

“We are but……………,” I hesitated, a little embarrassed.

“It’s just coffee, I promise,” he held out the mug again.

“But you were drinking from it,” I objected.

“So?” he looked at me and the way he did, the question seem so utterly innocent that for a second even I thought what’s wrong in drinking from his mug?

But that was only for a second and then it was gone.

“I don’t want it,” I declined plainly.

“Your wish but really I wasn’t trying to get you intoxicated,” he took another sip of the steaming coffee.

Crossing my arms over my chest I replied, “I said no such thing!” He was accusing me!

“You don’t need to say it,” he gave me a ‘you’re an open book’ look.

“Whatever,” I turned away from him.

“Really India am not that bad you know and since you’ll be spending a lot of time here, I guess you should at least try to trust me, all of us?”

Was he insane? He was asking me to trust him just like that. What exactly did trust mean to him, Paav Bhaaji?

“Don’t ask me to give you my trust, if you want it then you gotta earn it,” looking square in his eyes I continued, “Besides I barely know you.”

“So that’s the problem huh?” he said without breaking eye contact.

“That’s a part of it.”

“Well we gotta start from somewhere, right India?” his eyes were shining due to the sunlight and it felt like I was looking through crystals.

“I’ve got a name and it’s not India!”

“You never told me,” he simply shrugged.

“As if you can pronounce it right,” I muttered to myself.

“I could try,” apparently he heard me, “Come on, tell me.”

“My name is Haya.”

“Haiya?” he sounded unsure as if he knew it came out all wrong.

It made me smile.

“No. Not Haiya, Haya,” I tried again.

He moved his lips without any noise as if testing which twist of them would give the correct result.

“Haa…..ya?” he tried again.

“I’ll live with India,” I told him. It wasn’t his fault. He had his own way of speaking, his own accent, it was in his genes.

“I’ll get it right,” he looked at me sheepishly, “in time.”

He was not bad indeed.

“Your turn,” I told him, “introduce yourself.”

“Okay,” standing up he held out his hands, “I’ll introduce myself.”

I was not sure what he wanted me to do so I just kept staring at his hands.

“Give me your hands,” he asked softly.

“What!” What would he do with my hands? I merely wanted him to introduce himself.

“Just do it,” he prompted.

I was still unsure but I did as he asked me to and gingerly placed my hands in his.

His palms were a little calloused under mine yet soft, soft and warm and sure. There was something in his touch that made my heart race.

“Look at me,” he instructed and my eyes went from our joined hands to his beautiful, sparkling eyes.

“My name is Keith Night,” he pressed my hands gently, “and I belong to you.”

My heart thumped against my rib cage so loudly, I thought it would break apart my ribs and come out. But I was looking in his eyes and was lost in a world of blue.

He reduced the pressure on my hands and I broke out of it.

“What!” I demanded, jerking myself away from him, “What the hell!”

“Don’t be angry,” he tried to soothe me down, “I was just introducing myself.”

“That is what you call an introduction?” I tried to get my heartbeat under control.

“Yes.”

“You’re mad!” I stomped down my foot on the wood. It hurt!

“But that’s how we were taught in the Art of Living program,” he clarified scratching the back of his head in a childish manner.

“Art of Living?” suddenly I remembered the things my friends told me when they attended the course, since I didn’t. It was basically an Yoga based series of sessions ran by Shri Shri Ravi Shankar and his pupils, they thought the students to be happy, to control anger, to get over negativities in life, crap like that. I believed in practicality so it barely appealed to me.

He was right, that was exactly how my friends have been taught to introduce themselves. Personally I found it stupid.

“You took the course? How?” that was quite a surprise.

“They have a branch in New York. I attended when I was living there,”

“Sorry for my over the edge reaction,” now I felt stupid.

“It’s alright,” he smiled at me.

And it was the first time I felt that a human can have an angel’s smile.