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01 | moving away

"Beta," my father calls from downstairs, "Maama aa gaye." 

Yes, the Mehras speak Hindi. In English, that phrase means 'Uncle is here.'

I say I'm coming, but instead sit on my bed as silent tears fall to my cheeks. I'm almost half-way through my emergency panic-cry session, but I don't quite get the time to bawl and weep and curse my ill fate. I'm glad I finished putting away the last pieces of my life into cardboard cartons days in advance, because just then I hear a car screeching to a halt outside my house. That screech could only belong to a cab. 

This is really happening. 

My mother hollers from downstairs this time. Putting my hair up in a bun, I walk towards her voice. A lean man with pale skin, messy blonde hair and a beaming smile steps down from the taxi. Yep, definitely my mother's brother. They look just the same. Uncle James hugs my mother brightly and exchanges a weird handshake with Papa before eyeing me with amusement. He's seeing me for the very first time when I'm about to live with him for months. It must be weird. 

Butterflies storm my stomach when I glance back at my room. Everything I know, everything I am, I'm leaving it here. What on Earth am I even going to do at Juniper Hills? 

I guess I'm about to find out. 

There's no turning back from here. It's do or die."Lissa, we promise we'll work hard to make this work," Mummy and Papa promise me, their voices cracking. I bury myself in their embrace. So what if my parents are so different from each other? They'll make it work. This. This is home, this is family. It is to save this that I'm going away. 

The last thing I say to my parents before strapping myself inside the cab is, "I hope you do."

They wave, I wave. Uncle James watches me from his side of the backseat like he's watching the finale of a TV show—soon enough, my parents become tiny figures and then disappear from view. I turn in my seat and stare out the window, watching my city go by with an unusual feeling of loss inside me. 

But, of course, it doesn't last for long. 

"Taylor swift or Katy Perry?" my uncle whispers softly, pulling out his earphones, and my eyes almost pop out of my head. Definitely not how I'd imagined the start of our first conversation. I brace myself and smile tensely at him in response. Usually, it takes me some time to adapt to new people and open myself up to conversation. My plan is to always stick to monosyllables. 

"Taylor." 

He offers me one earpiece, puts the other in his ear and we listen to Taylor Swift for a long time before uncle clears his throat. It's really sweet of him to come and pick me up from so far away, for him to be sacrificing his work for my convenience and safety. He's also doing the best job of not bombarding me with questions and nagging to get to know me. "I heard you are into photography.You'll love the hills, then," he says, with a genuine smile that crinkles around his eyes. I kinda like him already. 

I hope I do love the hills.

"Yes," I reply, and notice that we're almost out of Spring Park now. It's gone. 

And it's going to be gone for six months now. 

Ugh, kismet. 

I fight an urge to jump out of the car and sprint back home, but luckily, my uncle keeps talking. Uncle James tells me cheerfully that he has a daughter named Katy, who is a senior this year and that he has already taken care of my admission at Hills High, their local high  school. Then he mentions something about a girl named Riley and how I should make friends with her, and that his wife Alexa and he are going to take "absolute care"of me. That's too much information to process, and all this is too much change to process over three days. We stop for food and reach the airport a few hours later,from where we catch a flight to Hogenesen Town, which is the nearest airport to Juniper Hills. I pretend to be asleep during the journey so I don't have to think about home too much. It's weird, travelling without my parents by my side.

The thought leads me to wonder what my parents might be doing right now.

"Where's my Aloe Vera mask?" Mummy must be asking Papa. I'm able to picture it clearly inside my head, as if I were right there—my mother, sitting on the dressing room table with those gigantic curlers in her hair, fretting about having to do all the packing while my supercool Papa just sighs and shrugs his shoulders.Mummy always ends up finding her masks inside that tiny teakwood cabinet.

I hope they don't fight as much when I'm gone. All I can do is hope, because I'm not going to be there with them all the time to see it with my own eyes. I'm fully aware that constant worry won't leave my brain until I talk to them through video call upon reaching this Juniper Hills.I shift uncomfortably in my seat, biting down tears—again—and Uncle James removes the handkerchief that has been plastered to his face for thirty minutes to raise his dark eyebrows at me. "You okay, kiddo?" 

No. 

"Yes," I croak, and the handkerchief falls back into place. 

By the time our taxi pulls in along the "Welcome to The Hills" sign, I'm so exhausted I could sleep right there, on the road. 

But my exhaustion doesn't last either, because this place is so much more breath-taking in real life than it looked on Google. Large Victorian style houses with big lawns and beautiful porches line both sides of the road, and we pass big green signboards that say "Lover's Lake", "Hills High" and "Hills Forest". The two hills are easily visible,tall and grassy with heavy clouds lining the peaks. 

Definitely not how a city-dweller imagines towns to look like. 

It is incredibly cloudy and misty all around. The mist kinda makes the town look like a big-budget fantasy movie set. Maybe it is one. What would a newbie like me know? 

Uncle James notices me gaping at the beauty of his town and smiles wittingly. "You can come out here and click those pictures of yours that you like." 

You bet. 

This place is too good not to capture, and I find myself wishing Spring Park resembled its serene features. 

Birds fly about everywhere. I see little kids cycling on the broad roads beside new mothers wheeling large baby prams. Thick trees surround us and cold, damp air without any sign of the slightest bit of pollution fills my nostrils as I tumble out of the car, still enchanted. 

Holy hell. Juniper Hills is nothing like home, but is gorgeous. 

"Lissa Jordan-Mehra in the flesh!" Someone screams my birth name from behind me, and I turn to see a tall woman with dark skin and chocolate brown hair walking towards me; hands outstretched, heels clacking. This must be Aunt Alexa.

She engulfs me in a tight hug like I'm her long-lost child, and I struggle to breathe while she studies my tired features. When I think I have her approval, I smile. She smiles back warmly, causing my heart to leap. 

What is it with the people of this place? First Uncle James and then Aunt Alexa—how are people so naturally homely over here?I don't feel like I'm intruding into their lives, contrary to my expectations. They don't let me sulk.

"Are you tired? Of course you are. Let me show you your room. James, get the bags, please. Her boxes just arrived," my aunt instructs Uncle James, clearly the matriarch of her family. She leads me inside her magnificent house by the arm. Uncle gives me an encouraging grin as he sorts through my bags, and I'm too awestruck to speak or even offer to help him. 

One hour of being here, and I haven't thought about home even once. 

Who thought that was possible?