Tug of Fate | When Stars Align Book one

Becca's Promise

Becca

India, September 2017

I look at Ananya, holding her hair back as she pukes her guts out. Rage I've never known before fills me up. When I remember Ananya standing outside my door late last night, with disheveled hair, eyes red and screaming terror, with slight bruises forming on her arms. It doesn't take a genius to know that Rishi asshole snapped and raised his hand. If she hasn't realized what an abusive relationship she's in, I shake my head. It's clear to me. But because she is so calm outwardly, and brings joy to those around her, no one else suspects. The whole night she had nightmares and the same old dream that she cannot remember upon waking.

Asshole of the finest fucking order of an ant is fucking Rishi.

As Ananya comes back to the bedroom, I settle in beside her. We both called out sick for work today. Smarajit, God bless his soul, understood something was wrong and didn't even ask any questions. Just told me that if I needed anything, to let him know.

I hand Ananya her vegetable soup and sit next to her stroking her hair. Many would say that our friendship isn't too deep, as we have known each other just four years. But, no. I never believe that the number of years or the duration of how long you have known someone determines how close you can be. Anya for me is my sister. She was the first person who showed me love and kindness, and I was like a whipped puppy. Jokes aside.

After literally picking myself up from where the foster system shoved me in the US, I made a life for myself. It would have been easier if I gave in to drugs or prostitution or anything. Hell, it would have been easier if I offed myself. Trust and friends don't come easy to us foster folks, ask anyone.

When I joined Genesis International, it was cutthroat out there. I was still on the skill pool – which means they utilize us for different projects but we don't belong to any team. It gives us independence, yes. But it also makes our jobs as secure as a brick tied with human hair. If nobody wants to work with you, then you are let go. Luckily, my art and design work always impressed everyone, so I always had a place in projects. But no one wanted me full time. It sucked. Big time. To give your heart, soul, and creativity to a project, and you are not even on the team. It made me feel like being in the foster system all over again.

Then one day on the job bulletin, I saw a temp stint in India with a new team that was being formed. The person heading that team wanted someone who has a love for cultural history and folklore, as they were working on a global project debasing racism and ethnic cruelty. I didn't even understand what her thinking was, but I was intrigued. Well, to my foster background mind, if I could earn money, travel, and bust some of these white people's ass then By All Means I am your Bitch!

I remember opening the link and staring at the screen. For minutes, or hours. I don't know. It was Anya. Smiling, with eyes that gently probed my soul. Beautiful almond shaped eyes, lined with thick lashes, without mascara, wearing her kajal. And I knew. I knew I had to go and work with her. I don't know why. Maybe it was the smile. Maybe it was the promise of revenge against racists. Or maybe it was the eyes that felt familiar. I signed up. Had an interview. Got selected with a few other folks from the world over and arrived here.

My first meeting with Anya, she was wearing a flowing cotton dress and her warmest smile. I have never seen her wear anything other than pure materials like cotton, silk, chiffon, georgette, linen, wool, and that heavenly smile of hers. So, I see her come into the room, say a big hello to everyone and proceed on to hug everyone. Random strangers. With so much warmth and love written on her face that I couldn't even define. I recoiled when she approached me. But I didn't want to seem rude and she was being pretty sweet. I let her engulf me in her arms. And.... I. Felt. At. Home.