It's four in the morning, and the airport is alive since it's midday somewhere in the world. I'm sporting one of Ram's hoodies, the grey material infused with the daily lush mint spray he uses. I had also borrowed a pair of shoes and a copy of The Kite Runner.
"You're sure you want to do this, right?" Ram signs as we walk further in.
"I guess," tucking my passport and printed visa into the hoodie's pockets, I reply.
When I pull him into a side hug, the bulk of my bags hinders our embrace. The tension in his shoulders slacken, and he hugs me tighter. It might sound bizarre, but his uncertainty gives me the decisiveness I needed.
I see Chitt. He's at the entrance with his secret girlfriend—Kajal—tagging along. I pull back from Ram. He follows my trenchant stare and sighs as he sees my brother.
"I told him when to come," Ram says, gaining my attention by smacking my back.
"And why did you do that," I move my fingers, but my face stays vacant.
"He just wants to say goodbye."
I tip my head at Chitt's red and yellow outfit. He's still looking for us. "He looks like the clown from MacDonalds."
Ram's eyebrows draw close, "Don't be a dick." He pulls his phone out and texts Chitt while waving his other hand in the air. Chitt's gaze lands on us, and he sprints over, not at all concerned when his girlfriend gets washed behind by the drone of rolling suitcases and footfalls, beeping of security machines, and the announcements of flight information.
"Hey," Chitt starts, giving Ram a grateful smile, and I roll my eyes.
"Hey," I mutter.
"So you're really leaving?" he asks. His raven locks are disheveled, his dark eyes accusing.
"No, we hang out at the airport all the time."
"No—yeah no, I asked because I thought—" he wipes the sheen of sweat on his forehead. "Isn't it better to stay at Ram's place and ride this out? Amma will come around eventually."
"Ram's a friend, not my legal guardian."
"The way he takes care of you, he might as well be your brother."
I run a hand through my hair, glancing at my friend who's giving me the look. What? I ask by raising my eyebrow. He crosses his arms and waits.
"Well... take care, I guess," I say to Chitt, finding him fiddling with the colorful, sacred strings circling his wrist.
"Is Ram coming with you?"
"He says he'll join me later on," I shrug, glancing at said person a second time. A pleased smile plays on his lips. "You should get going. Your girlfriend looks a little lost," I smirk.
"I—I thought that maybe— maybe I could stay till you left—"
"Why?"
"Because I want to?"
"Wouldn't amma want to know where you were?"
"So? I'll tell her the truth."
"But—"
"You know what? Fine. I'll go." He walks away, collecting his pretty little girlfriend on the way.
"You were doing fine until the last part," Ram signs, his fingers cutting through the air, scowling. "That was uncalled for."
"I didn't mean for it to sound like that."
"So you didn't want him gone then?"
I sigh, adjusting my bags once more. "I'll see you soon."
He mutters something under his breath. His eyes flutter shut before they gaze up at me, thinking, calculating. "Bye."
He's still waiting after I've joined the queues; I wave. He waves back, alone boy in the herd of families. I suppose I look the same.
Two days later, I walk out of the New York airport, muscles aching with each step. I had lost track of time, date, everything. I rub at my face, squinting up at the sun and craning my head this way and that to ease the stiffness. A middle-aged man bumps into me, urging me to trudge forward into my new world.
I flag down a cab, peering in to find a ginger-haired man with a pointed nose, a small mustache, and a cap perched on his head. His accent is too thick to understand, so I nod to what I assume had been his greeting. I tell him where I want to go.
After an hour of driving, he pulls aside. After paying him with fresh dollars I had gotten at the airport and a thank you, I step out of the vehicle. The air feels heavenly on my brown skin after countless hours of AC. The sun burns on itself above me, but when one would be sweating buckets in India, the draught's chill makes the perfect weather.
The New York Times Square girdles me, reeling me in with its alienness. I walk through the broad way of tall buildings with flickering screens. A red H & M with dressed-up mannequins and people bustling in and out. A massive poster of two female models has been hung on Karen Millen's building's marble exterior. I grin at the tourist shop nearby, almost stepping on a child in the process. Sephora has a small board announcing its special sale for the day.
Ram would love this place. The people: hustling as they talk into their phones, kids on roller skates and skateboards whizzing past, tourists with their black sunglasses.
My stomach begins to complain, and I look for a place to eat. I could have gone to Subway, and the M&M store looked rather inviting, but I chose a diner, dwarfed by the seafood restaurant next to it.
The diner's floor tiles are in orange and dark blue shades. The warm aroma of powdered sugar, maple syrup, and the crispy sizzle of meat beckoning me.
I throw my bag onto the leather seat and slide in. My mouth waters at the pictures on the menu card, kept next to a cute cactus pot on the marble table.
"Good evening." I look up to find a boy in a sky blue shirt and a white apron tied over it. His pen is poised over a notebook. "Welcome to Mum's diner, sir. What would you like to have?"
"Coffee and two sandwiches, please."
"Coffee? Would you like an Americano? Cappuccino? Latte?" the boy asks, leaning forward with his wide eyes training on me.
"Whatever," I shook my head, swallowing a huge yawn, "you can pick."
The diminutive boy with a mop of warm blonde hair smiles and nods before scribbling something down. "And what sandwich would you like?"
I groan, picking up the menu and rattling off the first option. His smile widens as he promises to be back with my order. The specks of dust mark the wall on my right, portraying the world outside in a nitty-gritty shade. Music descends upon the diner, a slowed down beat to sustain the peach of the evening.
I slump back into the leather seats, resting my eyes. I don't realize I had fallen asleep until the waiter shook me awake, a gasp slipping out to find the boy flitting so close to my face.
He steps back, gesturing to the plate on the table, amusement dancing in his eyes. I try to play it off, straightening up and thanking him. But my voice comes out hoarse and cracks mid-sentence, and damn, he's giggling now.
I rest my elbow on the table, fiddling with my ear before putting shame aside and giving my food the attention it needs. Scarfing down my sandwich, I count the long hours I haven't eaten anything.
I cringe, discovering the waiter still standing near my table, my sandwich falling from my hands. I chew, swallowing the bread in my mouth, fully aware of his stare now. "What?"
"Where are you from?" he asks, many metallic rings adorning his knobbly fingers. I toss him an unimpressed look, going back to my delicious sandwich. A gulp of ice coffee. The song shifts to a faster beat, and a few more customers come through the door.
The waiter waits.
"Don't you get paid to work?" I snap, my tired eyes meeting his curious blue ones. I didn't wait for a reply, another big bite. Cheese and chicken had never tasted so good.
"My shift's over now," he shrugs and slips into the seat in front of me. I frown. "Where are you from?"
"Why do you ask?"
"I'm curious." He tries to catch my gaze, but I refuse to give in. Instead, I look at the helix glinting on his left ear.
"Will you let me eat in peace if I answer?"
A mischievous smile grazes his features.
"India," I admit grudgingly, wolfing down the last of my first sandwich.
"Cool, how long are you gonna be staying?" his name tag reads 'Milo.'
"Not a tourist."
"You have a place to stay then?" he tucks a wisp of hair behind his ear, soft waves with undertones of whiskey and strawberry.
"Why do you care?" I ask, exasperated.
"You can stay at my place if you need—"
"What?"
A/N: so is this waiter super sweet or super creepy