Chapter 1: New Moon

There was a full moon in the sky that night. It was the only thing that kept my nerves in check. 

I’ll admit, I was pretty scared as it was my first time ever being in a huge metal contraption a mile high in the sky, but the full moon always gave me hope. Better yet, it was in its waxing phase. This made it lucky in Hinduism. The full moon brought back such good memories of my life: my tenth birthday when I got my violin, my eighth grade graduation, and now today. 

The way my dad kept calm was through his usual unrelenting optimism. 

"We should all be happy," my dad exclaimed in Hindi, "I think this move will be good for us. You know they call America the land of opportunity." And yes, we all did know. My family heard this more than a few times already. Nevertheless, my dad was practically humming out of his plane seat. He was on the opposite side of the aisle from us next to my younger brother, Revan, who was practically starry-eyed as he stared out the window.

My older sister, Prisha, who was sitting between my dad and I sighed theatrically. "Papa, if you say America like that, people will know you are a foreigner." 

I rolled my eyes. "I think people will be able to tell just by looking at us."

My dad chuckled.

"Yes but Myra, even if we look like foreigners, we should at least try to not act like immigrants. From now on only speak in English. It shouldn't be difficult if Dad and Mom have been studying English." 

Prisha and I had gone to an all-girls international school back in India—meaning we were taught a lot of our classes in English. My parents however, had been speaking mostly Hindi or Punjabi most of their lives. While we had made the decision to move to America a while back, my parents still struggled to reflexively speak English instead of Hindi. 

"Oh I was Papa, and now I'm dad?" my dad replied jokingly, but seeing the visible glare Prisha gave him, he sighed. 

See, my dad is a force to be reckoned with. His unrelenting optimism knows practically no bounds. The only people with the ability to really dampen his mood would be the people who he cares and loves most in the world—his family. 

“Prish, don’t be a party pooper.” I jutted in, using my dad’s favorite American colloquialism, causing him to let out a laugh. 

“I'm just trying to be careful. Appearances are important. Right, mom?” 

My mother was wringing her hands together and had a faraway look about her, as well as an air of restlessness and nerves. Sitting next to her, I put my hand on hers to try to calm her. 

She smiled at me, “Thanks Myra, I didn’t even notice I was doing that,” she said solemnly in Hindi. 

“It’s okay, don’t apologize. But are you okay?” I responded in the same language. 

She exhaled deeply. “Yes, or at least, I will be. Like your father said, this move will be good for us,” she said, trying to reassure herself. 

“Of course dear, you have nothing to worry about.” My father responded, perceptively listening into the conversation. 

His optimism influenced both my mother and I as she visibly relaxed, untensing her shoulders, and I laid back against the seat, closing my eyes. 

I let myself take in his words and I truly believed there was nothing to worry about. Yes, we all had to leave so much behind when moving here: our friends, certain family members, and the overall community. 

But this move was necessary. My sister and I wouldn’t have the same resources or opportunities to study back in India. My parents wanted a safer and better life for the five of us and we would find that here. There truly was nothing to worry about. I took out my Sony Walkman which was a Diwali gift I had gotten. I only had a few songs on the cassette, many of them being ‘50s and 60s music which was my dad’s favorite, and his favorite artist was Frank Sinatra. I layed back against the seat and played Fly me to the Moon, by Frank Sinatra and Count Basie, a song that always brought me comfort when I was nervous.

As soon as we set foot on American soil, my sister straightened out her outfit, trying to look as presentable and put together as possible. Prisha was well-known and a social butterfly in our school back in India. She was so used to fitting in that the mere thought of being the outsider for once in her life scared her.

My mom did the same. However, my dad, my brother, and I were too distracted by the bustle of people and the diverse community we had just entered.

“We made it! Finally, we are in America,” my dad exclaimed excitedly. 

“Honey, fix your hair, it is a mess from the flight,” my mom chided my dad. “And you too Myra.”

We both hastily fixed our appearance and then grabbed our suitcases. I also slung my violin case strap over my shoulder with care. I couldn’t wait to play it in an orchestra in an American school. 

I was overcome with a sudden sense of excitement which continued as I stared at all the huge buildings and rush of people in New York City.

Despite the pollution and crowdedness, it still looked beautiful to me. It was foggy outside which caused Mom and Prisha to complain about how frizzy it would make their hair. Contrastingly, I liked the foggy weather. It made it look like some of the buildings went on forever into the sky.  I felt so small but in a good way. 

There were so many people bustling around. Although most people there had European features, I still saw many people who looked to be of other cultures just like us. There were Latin American immigrants, Chinese immigrants, and others. 

I was so mesmerized by both the blend of culture and impressive buildings that I hadn’t even realized I stopped walking. Prisha tripped over my luggage.

“Myra, keep walking,” she complained, “We can look around later but we need to first put this heavy luggage away.”
“Oh right, yes, sorry,” I replied and continued lugging the suitcases we were holding. I saw my little brother Revan getting tired holding his backpack.

“Here, I’ll take it,” I said in Hindi.

“No, I can do it!” He exclaimed, despite looking exhausted.

I just chuckled and took it from him. 

“Such a helpful older sister,” my dad said, ruffling my hair. 

Finally, we made it to our apartment. It was on a street with other Indian families.

“Isn’t this smaller than it looked in the photos they sent?” My mom inquired.

“I-well maybe a little smaller, but it’s fine! It’s cozy, just more reason for our family to get closer!” My dad exclaimed—his optimism giving me some type of benign envy. 

My dad talked to the seller and thanked him. He was a friend of our cousins. I couldn’t wait to see them again. 

After we all got settled, did our greetings with our cousins, and spent most of the day unpacking, we lazed around in our new living room. Except for Revan, who, tired from the long flight and the walking, was already asleep in the bedroom he, Prisha, and I were going to have to share. 

Even though it was close to sunset, Prish and I still felt restless and wanted to explore. I felt like my dad was the best person to ask to try our luck. 

“Papa, can you come with us to go walk around the city?” 

He looked at us with an expression saying ‘Of course, why wouldn’t I?’ but then turned to mom, who would have to stay home with Revan if we went.

“What do you say, Meena? We can pick up some groceries and bring back some American food to try. I’m sure Revan would love American chocolate,” he pleaded. 

My mom sighed but let out a small smile when confronted with the full force of my dad’s excitement. “Yes, you can go. But don't stay out too late. I’ve heard the city is dangerous at night.”  

“Don’t worry, we’ll be safe. I’ve been here once before you know?” My dad responded. He was the first of our family to ever come to America due to landing a job interview. When he came back, he waxed poetic about how wonderful it was and how it was the perfect place for our family to live.

His dreams had finally come to fruition.

The three of us walked through the city looking for a grocery store. 

Eventually, we passed a street with a rainbow flag in the window and people with colorful, bright outfits and makeup. I saw two girls outside the building, holding hands, seeming like close friends. My dad was distracted  trying to ask people where the nearest grocery store was. My sister on the other hand was looking at the same street. She made a noise. I followed her gaze and she was looking at two guys who seemed close as well. My eyes widened in shock.

“Is this what America is like?” Prisha inquired with a slight tone of disgust in her voice, snapping me out of my confusion.

I didn’t know what to answer to that so I quickly averted my gaze and Prisha just took my hand, leading me quickly away from being able to see that street.

Walking a few steps behind our dad, Prisha began to talk in a harsh whisper, “Look, you’re my little sister and I feel that I have a responsibility to teach you about life,” she explained. Why was she so philosophical all of a sudden?  I wondered. “I know I seemed worried on the plane but like the rest of us, I truly feel like this move could be good for us. Mom and dad need to continue to think that way so don’t tell them what you saw on the street over there,” she said with grave sincerity, "or else they might change their mind.” 

Suddenly, the New York air was bitingly cold. I nodded to fill the silence which led Prisha to let out a sigh of relief. Her mini monologue was unnecessarily foreboding but with an uneasy feeling in my stomach, I knew she was right. 

We walked into the grocery store someone gave dad the directions to and it was filled with mostly Chinese Americans. I looked around at the signs and canned foods and saw Chinese writing.

Prish sighed. “Dad, I think we’re in the wrong place.” 

He furrowed his eyebrows. “No-I swear this is the place that guy told me to go to.”

“Are you sure you didn’t mishear him?” Prisha asked, her tone accusatory.  

“Maybe…” 

“Hi, I haven’t seen you guys here before, are you new around here?” I turned my head around to see who said that and wow—her smile was almost blindingly bright. She also sounded basically fluent in English despite being Chinese American. I had to look up a bit since she was slightly taller than me. She was leaning on the cash register next to someone working it—probably her dad.  

I was frozen in place so Prisha, ever the social butterfly, answered instead.

“Yes! We are new, we just moved here recently. Sorry, my dad was asking around for the nearest grocery store and we seemed to have gotten lost.”

“Don’t worry, this is a grocery store! Much of the writing is in Chinese though so I can help you find anything you’re looking for,” the girl insisted and walked over to us. Something told me that most immigrants to America weren’t usually this bubbly or outgoing but judging by the man at the register’s lack of shock, it wasn’t unusual for this girl.

“We have plenty of food. We have the freshest fruits and vegetables in the city! Our prices are also unmatched.” She smiled, awfully customer-service like. 

Deep down, I knew that that claim was likely not backed by any real evidence but the cheerfulness of her demeanor and sincerity in her voice made me cling to her words. I would believe her if she said that she personally hung up the stars. 

The hesitance on my dad’s face wore off on her words.“If that is true, we must buy from here then!” My dad laughed good-naturedly. 

I saw how easily he communicated to this complete stranger in a foreign country. Especially for him the language barrier made it no easy feat. I wished I could talk to people that easily. I wished I could be even half as outgoing as my dad or the girl in the apron. 

My sister whispered harshly in Hindi. “Papa! What are you doing?” 

My dad replied also in Hindi, “Prish, why not? This is so close to our home which makes it convenient for us. The prices are also relatively cheap. And the vegetables do look fresh. We can make good sabjis with them.” 

Prisha looked like she wanted to argue more but ultimately decided against it. 

The girl asked us what groceries we needed and my dad handed me the list, asking me to translate. I began reading but being met with the full force of the gaze of the girl who was practically the human embodiment of an excited puppy, I froze up again. 

Prish rolled her eyes and just took the list from me, taking over as translator. The girl looked back at me for a second but then led us around the store and put all the groceries we needed in a cart. She even gave my dad a good recommendation for a store with American snacks we should try. 

“Trust me, this place has the best chocolate—”

“ Perfect! I was looking for some for my family to try!” My dad exclaimed excitedly. 

The combined excitement coming from the two of them made me laugh. The girl turned to me, along with a few other faces at the store. I immediately closed my mouth and felt my face get hot. Who starts randomly laughing in a grocery store? I scolded myself. 

However, the girl just smiled at me. Then, it looked like a lightbulb went off in her head. 

“Hey, you’re around my age. You live nearby right?” 

I nodded, confused. 

She asked me what school I was starting and I told her. This caused her face to light up.

“That’s where I go!” She exclaimed “I could show you around on your first day.”

I nearly let out an audible sigh of relief. Now, not only my cousins but also this friendly girl my age also went to the school me and Prish were attending. 

Then, we left to find another grocery store. Inevitably, my sister began berating me, “The first person you meet in America and you forget how to speak English? Even though you’ve been speaking it for years in India?” 

I couldn’t stand her pestering anymore. “Prish, you already know I get nervous meeting new people. It’s even harder in a new country. Not everyone’s a social butterfly like you.”

Shockingly, she actually looked a little guilty. “Sorry, I’m being harsh,” she apologized with impressive emotional awareness. 

“It’s okay. Now can we stop talking about this and instead explore the city and get some snacks?” 

She nodded. 

We returned to the apartment during sunset. My mom rushed to the door. She glared at my dad. “You kept them out later than I expected.” 

He just smiled good-naturedly as he pointed with his eyes to the bags of food we were all carrying. 

“Oh wow. That’s a lot of food.”

“We have to make use of the high quality fridge this apartment came with. There’s also chocolate for Revan.” 

Suddenly appearing, Revan tackled dad. 

“Yay! Chocolate!” 

The excitement on his face made the whole long walk worth it. Even Prisha’s face softened. The five of us sat together on the table and my mom made us a grilled eggplant curry using spices we brought from India served with rice we bought from the grocery store. The hope and happiness resonated throughout the room. This move would be good for all of us. 

Chapter 2: Friendship

It was Monday, our first day at a new school district. Prisha had spent hours on her hair that morning. I even asked her to make mine. We had freshly ironed the school uniforms we received when we met with the principal of the school a few days prior. Technically, we had visited the school once already. It wasn’t going to be our first time there. However, the visit did nothing to ease our nerves. Seeing the established cliques and communities in the school, seeing the makeup and hairstyles of some of the girls—it was more than a little bit intimidating.

I hoped that all the students there could be as nice as the girl from the grocery store but I had a feeling that probably wasn’t the case. It was fine, though. There were mean kids in India also, how would this be any different?

“Myra, Prish, it’s time to get out of the car,” my mom exclaimed. Our uncle gave us all a ride there. Luckily, we were going to the same school as our cousins. How bad could it be?

By the end of the day, I was a mess of nerves and worries. What if I made a bad impression on everyone? What if Prish or my cousins are embarrassed of me? 

My mom noticed my hand shaking while holding my spoon during dinner. She pulled my hair back and kissed my forehead. “It’s okay. It was just the first day. It’ll get better.” 

The unwavering optimism and unrealistic hope and expectations I had when entering the country were beginning to wane. “But I’m worried. I really want to make friends,” I responded, chewing on my lip and feeling my eyes begin to pathetically water like a toddler who hadn’t yet learned how to control their emotions. 

“Myra, you care so much for your family and you did for your old friends too. People will see how nice of a person you are. I know you will make friends.” 

Like most Indian moms, my mom didn’t usually show affection this bluntly. The dam that was keeping me together broke and the tears finally spilled. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me for stating the truth,” she wiped away my tears and kissed my forehead again. “Now finish your dinner before it gets cold,” she admonished gently, returning to her usual self. 

My nerves kept me awake that night. Thinking about school led to thinking about the girl at the grocery store which then led to thinking about that building from before with the rainbow flag. I didn’t know where that flag was from or what it meant. I remembered how close the two girls seemed. I remembered how they looked at each other like the other one was the sun they orbited. They looked close in a way I had only ever seen between girls and guys in India.

 A pit formed in my stomach as I remembered me and Saanvi. She was my best friend back in India. Or—past best friend now, I felt my throat get dry.

The two of us were almost as close as those two girls looked. The most painful part about leaving India and heading to New York was leaving her. 

I remember when Saanvi and I began drifting apart. I remembered how we used to watch television huddled with the rest of our friends, but the two of us would always sit the closest. I would rest my head on her shoulder, even falling asleep on it a few times. 

I had other close friends/ Yet, the friendship I had with her was different. 

I remember being debilitated by a strong fever once, likely a type of flu, on top of having painful cramps. I heard a knock on the door. That was weird. My parents never knocked. 

“Yes?” I answered, in Hindi.

“Myra, can I come in?” The voice sing-songed in reply, also in Hindi.

“Saanvi!” I exclaimed, immediately recognizing her voice. “Yes, of course.” I felt suddenly excited while simultaneously feeling like every part of my body was being burned with a bunch of tiny, hot irons. 

Then she entered, holding a container and a thermos. She sat next to me. “I made you vegetable soup and also chamomile chai for your cramps.” 

“Wow, you’re an angel. Thank you so much. How did you know I was having cramps?”

“I called your mom and she told me everything. I know how horrible your cramps usually get so I made you my famous herbal tea remedy.”

She truly was one of the greatest friends I could ask for. My fever-addled brain was even worse at handling emotion than my normal brain and I felt my eyes water a little. My fever-addled brain also put together at least two brain cells and realized that I had a fever. 

“Wait! Stay by the door, you can leave the container and chai on the nightstand. I can get them, I don’t want you to catch whatever it is I have.”

Saanvi laughed good-naturedly. “Don’t worry! I have a great immune system. I’ll be able to handle it,” she replied, and sat by my bed. 

She sat by my bed and recited some of her favorite stories, a lot of them coming from Hindu books. She even hugged me through the worst of my cramps, despite my pleas for her to stay far away and keep a safe distance. But in the end, her presence and comfort made the pain easier to bear. 

In hindsight, I should’ve seen through her bluff as her immune system wasn’t as great as she boasted; she got sick a few days later. 

The bittersweet nostalgia of that memory somehow helped my brain to finally stop racing and rest.

With the help of my mom’s reassurance and the memories of Saanvi, the next days at school went better. I was introduced to my cousins’ friends and even made some of my own—surprising myself. Especially in my orchestra class, where I was able to tangent about my favorite classical composers; orchestra soon became my favorite class of the day. 

Unfortunately, I had no classes with the girl from the grocery store. But one day, after the school bell rang, I saw her outside the building with her friends. I wanted to call out to her but then realized I didn’t even know her name. Prish had just grabbed my hand and led us to our uncle’s car. 

Once we got home, my dad said he was going to go look for an Indian supermarket to buy curries and spices. I pleaded with him to come along and go to the grocery store from the other day to pick up some vegetables.

We didn’t really need vegetables again so soon though, I just wanted to see the girl at the store.

I entered and didn’t see her at the register like a few days ago. I realized how foolish I was being. There was no guarantee that she would be there everyday, she had school too. I was thinking about heading back to find my dad when I heard her voice.

“Hey you’re back!” She waved to me. She got up from where she was sitting at a desk in the corner. I felt bad for making her get up from her studying. She didn’t look annoyed though. “I don’t recall if I got your name before.”

“I’m Myra Kapoor,” I replied, with more confidence than I expected, “And you are?”

“Right! How could I forget,” She slapped her forehead lightly as she responded. It was endearing. “Sorry, that’s not very welcoming of me. I’m Emma Zhao.”

Her name was short, it rolled off my tongue. 

“So, what brings you back so soon?”

“I saw you at school earlier but remembered that I didn’t know your name. I wanted to ask you especially since you were really nice and helpful last time,” I said. 

Was I just imagining things or did her ears get pink?

I suddenly realized that due to the language barrier, I must’ve sounded really blunt. I felt like copying her and slapping my own forehead. I hastened to try to explain myself. 

“Sorry! I mean—”

She just laughed, but not in a mocking manner. “Hey, don’t apologize. I love compliments,” and despite her words, there wasn’t a single hint of arrogance about her. She instead smiled, unlike her usual customer-service smile. “Thanks, by the way.”

My face felt as hot as her ears had looked. 

She cleared her throat. “Hah, so anyways, it sucks that we don’t have any classes together. But if you see me at school again, you can just call out my name.”

 Chapter 3: Lucky Cat

And that’s what I did. I called out to her when I saw her after school. We began talking about small little things like how the move was so far, how I was liking the school. Honestly, after almost a week at the school, I didn’t mind it as much. The students were nicer than I expected overall. The community at school was pretty diverse and I didn’t feel like I stood out too much. 

On Thursday, she recommended that we should walk home. “I can show you around the best parts of the city near us.” 

I wanted to agree right away but after asking my parents, my mom shut down the idea immediately. “Myra, it’s not safe.” 

Luckily, Prish had a similar idea to mine. “Mom, it’s important for us to go out in the city. How will we fit in if we don’t spend time with our new friends and explore the best places around here? It’s an important American tradition.” 

Wow, my sister practically had a doctorate in bullshiting. But kudos where it’s due, she ended up getting Mom to miraculously concede. 

On Friday, Prish walked home with her friends while I walked home with Emma. It was lucky that we lived so close—or well relatively close when it comes to the city. 

“So, any plans for the weekend?” Emma asked. 

The question caught me off guard. “No, I was just going to study. Is it common for students to have plans on the weekend?”

Emma chuckled. “Well, for white students at least. I’m also just going to be studying and helping my parents at the store,” she explained, looking uncharacteristically despondent. However, as soon as that emotion appeared on her face, it disappeared. “But before that, I have to show you all the best stalls in Chinatown. It is Friday after all.”

I could tell how excited she was to show all the different foods and handicrafts. She grabbed my hand and dragged me over. Since it was after school hours, the street was bustling. It was filled with the brightest hues of many different colors. Various smells and sights mixed together. I could smell a multitude of fruits and spices. I felt my stomach grumble.

She brought me to a stall where she talked to one of the vendors in fast Mandarin. I couldn’t understand anything she was saying but just the cadence of her speech and her animated gestures enraptured me nonetheless. 

She smiled cheekily as she held two dumplings in her hand which I had a suspicious feeling she had probably haggled for. 

“Don’t worry, this one only has vegetables.”

I suddenly felt warm inside. I was surprised that she remembered such a small detail that I had only mentioned once in passing. I thanked her and ate the dumpling. The spice was bordering on too much and yet it tasted amazing. It must’ve shown on my expression because Emma gave me a knowing look. 

“I know, good isn’t it?” She asked.

I nodded enthusiastically while chewing it, causing her to laugh. 

We then made our way near the artisan stalls. The handicrafts were so beautiful. One of the stalls had waving cat sculptures. I pointed to it. 

“Those cats are so cute.”

“They’re lucky cats,” she responded and then talked to the vendor while handing him the cash. Before I fully understood what was going on, the vendor handed her a cardboard box. 

“Wait–”

“Here,” she handed the box to me, “your first authentic, artisan-crafted New York souvenir.”

I could barely comprehend any of the words she was saying. “Emma, no, I can’t take this.” 

“Consider it a thanks for being one of our most loyal foreign customers.” 

It took me a second to realize she was talking about the Zhao grocery store. I tried my hand at a sarcastic joke, the type Prish was an expert in already. 

“Are you friends with me only to help your business?” 

“Mhm, absolutely. I’m a ruthless businesswoman. I only keep acquaintances to boost business. It’s how you survive with the current New York markets,” she replied with a smirk.

I felt my cheeks suddenly get hot, as if I had just eaten another spicy dumpling. I held the cardboard box close to myself, cradling it closely to make sure it wouldn’t fall. 

We walked home together, splitting up at the Zhao grocery store. She waved goodbye. It was sad to see her excitement die down as she stepped into the store but there was nothing I could do about it, especially after only having known her for a week.

 Once I got home, I carefully took the lucky cat sculpture out of the box and placed it on the shelf in the bedroom I shared with my siblings. The cat had a warm, friendly smile painted on it. It reminded me of Emma’s. 

Prish noticed and of course, had to ask about it. “What’s this?” 

“A gift someone bought for me.”

“Ohhhh,” she smirked. I immediately realized the blunder I made with my vagueness. “You already have a boyfriend? Calm down, we’ve only been in America for six days.”

I knew she meant it light-heartedly but the fact that she said ‘already’ insinuated it was inevitable that I would someday have one. The thought irked me. I couldn’t imagine ever having a boyfriend. I felt queasy. 

“No, Prish, it was just Emma.” 

“Emma?”

“The girl from the grocery store,” I explained. It sounded wrong referring to her in that way. As if that was the only defining characteristic she had.

“Oh right, you two seem pretty close,” she replied nonchalantly then headed to the kitchen. 

Were we? I pondered. It was nice to know that from an outsider's perspective it looked like we were. 

The next week, I continued walking from school with Emma. I told her about how I was struggling in my history class, which was new for me because it was one of my best subjects back in India. She insisted that she could help me study and despite telling her that it was fine, she wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Her family’s apartment was right on top of their grocery store. It was small but quaint and cozy. It looked lived in. There were paintings hung up and handicrafts adorned the shelves. A lucky cat figure was sitting on top of their china cabinet. All the decorations looked artisan-crafted. 

Emma furrowed her eyebrows. “Sorry, I hope it’s not too messy or too small,” her voice sounding unusually small. 

“No! It’s so pretty. All the furniture and decorations are so unique.” 

She smiled gratefully.

We sat down on the couch and she opened her world history textbook. Her animated storytelling kept my attention. History, which was difficult to understand after entering high American high school late, sounded so interesting and simple when she explained it. Suddenly, I remembered when Saanvi told me stories that day when I was sick. The queasiness suddenly returned. 

“Sorry, I have to go to the bathroom,” I abruptly interrupted. 

“Are you okay?” She asked, looking worried.

I nodded quickly and rushed to the bathroom, locking the door behind me. The world started to spin. I sat curled into myself. God, why was I so weird when I got close to someone? I forced myself to think reasonably and remembered that it was nothing. It was foolish to think that I was betraying Saanvi in some way. We would both inevitably have to find our own friends anyways. 

I realized that I had been in the bathroom for an unreasonably long amount of time. I remembered how she looked worried before when I suddenly rushed out of the living room. Why did I always make people worry about me so much? I thought about how my mom would often worry about me and now the first real friend that I had made since the move.

I got up and returned to the living room. 

“I’m so sorry—”

She put her hand on my shoulder, effectively shutting me up. “Why are you apologizing? You didn’t do anything wrong.’ She looked genuinely confused. 

“Come on, let’s take a break from studying and play a game.” 

She fished out some cards from a cabinet and taught me a card game. I felt oddly relaxed even though it was my first time at her house. 

One day, the two of us were laying down on her couch after our brains were fried from studying for a trigonometry test. 

“Do your other friends also come to your home?” I asked Emma one day, noticing how I would visit the store and her apartment often but only see her other friends there once in a while.

“Sometimes,” she responded. “But I feel like I don’t really fit in with them a lot of the time.”

“What do you mean?”

She sighed. 

I realized that I was definitely overstepping certain boundaries. It wasn’t normal to ask people questions like this, much less to ask them to elaborate. “Sorry, you don’t have to explain anything unless you want to” 

“Nah, it’s okay. I trust you.”

That small sentence made me feel instantly warmer. 

“Sometimes I feel like I’m not Asian enough, especially for my friend group. They’re always comparing grades and competing with each other. I care about my studies but I never feel as compelled to compete as they do.”

She paused. “I also feel like I’m not Chinese enough. Like my mom, even if she’s not super calm on the inside, she always puts on a calm, obedient face. I feel like I’m so loud and it seems so unlike other Chinese people I know. I feel so–disconnected from my culture sometimes.”

I pondered her words for a minute.

“I understand the mom thing. My mom is so good at hiding her emotions when she feels anxious that only my family really notices her signs.” I wished that I had the ability to mask emotions in public as well as she did. I turned to my side to look at Emma. “Maybe I’m not the best person to say this but to an outsider you seem connected to your culture.”

She looked confused so I explained. 

“I remember how excited you were showing me the stalls in Chinatown. You looked proud of your culture, and you talked with such ease and closeness with everyone at the stalls.” 

She was silent, as if contemplating my words. I continued. 

“We don’t need to fit into senseless stereotypes to be connected with our culture. We just need to keep our traditions and language alive and stay close with people from our culture.” I shocked myself with my words. This wasn’t advice I had ever really considered but after hearing Emma’s thoughts, it clicked. 

In the beginning, even despite the diversity in our school, so much of it still seemed like a culture shock. There was still a desire to fit in. But I couldn’t try to fit in to the extent that I lost connection and ties to my own culture. I still oiled my hair to school even in an American school but then for lunch, I would never bring in food that was too pungent. I told my mom that the only foods I wanted to bring in for lunch were ones that had less spice; therefore, their scents wouldn’t be strong enough to cause other students in the cafeteria to give me a look.

It was a thin tightrope to walk. One wrong step and I would either be too Indian and get judged at school or too American and get judged by my extended family. I didn’t want to stand out too much but I also didn’t want to betray my own culture.

Luckily, this wasn’t a dilemma that only I faced. I noticed Prish also struggled to not make her hair too ethnic but also not too ‘white-washed’ that it would cause our cousins to give her a funny look. Even Emma, who was one of the most seemingly confident people I knew, struggled in establishing her identity separate from her cultural identity. I wondered sometimes if her confidence was a façade. 

She smiled at me. “Thanks, that means a lot.” 

When coming home from studying at Emma’s house. My mom was waiting for me on the couch. 

“You’ve been coming home late a lot recently,” she said in Hindi.

I took a deep breath, knowing this conversation wasn’t going to go well. But I had nothing to hide. I wasn’t doing anything wrong. 

“I was just studying with a friend.” 

“You were out late…to study?” The disbelief was evident in her voice. 

“Yes,” I showed her my math notes as proof. 

She nodded but there was still some disbelief on her face.

Chapter 4: The Moon Festivals

Near the end of September, Emma invited me to the store for the Mid-Autumn Festival, also called the Moon Festival. As I entered the grocery store, Mrs.Zhao waved to me, likely used to me by now. I saw her baking something in the kitchen on the side while Mr.Zhao sold bundles of it. Unable to contain my curiosity, I asked her what she was making. 

“They are mooncakes! Emma told me today the English name for them,” she replied, in an accented but kind voice. 

They looked interesting and I offered to buy some from her but she just shook her head. 

“You can have them for free,” she said as she handed me a few. I hastened to try to give her money but she wouldn’t accept it. “I want to thank you for being Emma’s friend.” 

I chuckled lightly, “You don’t have to thank me for that Mrs.Zhao.” 

“Really, I haven’t seen her this close and happy with any of her other friends before. Better yet, her grades even went up after all the studying the two of you do together,” she explained, jokingly.

I smiled. In many of my friendships, I was always scared that I felt closer to the other person than they did with me. It was reassuring to know that with her, my friendship was reciprocated on a similar level. “She’s a close friend for me as well,”  

Then, I heard a familiar voice call out. “Oh no, I hope my mom isn’t telling you anything too embarrassing about me.”

I was about to reply with a clever joke but the words left my mouth as I turned my head. Emma was dressed in a beautiful red outfit that complimented her nicely. She had her hair tied up in a bun with some strands framing her face, in contrast with her mom’s tight bun, giving off an air of grace but also youth and kindness. She smiled self-consciously. 

“You look beautiful,” I said, saying the first words that came to mind. 

Her smile turned soft. “Thank you.”

“I agree!” Her mom exclaimed.

Emma and I chuckled at her energy. 

“I feel underdressed now,” I joked. 

A lightbulb seemed to light up in her head. She grabbed my hand. “Come with me,” she uttered suddenly as she led us upstairs to her apartment. 

We sat on her couch as she made my hair. 

“Your hair is so nice,” she said, likely absentmindedly. “It’s so smooth. It feels like silk.”

I laughed. “My mom would be happy to know that her years of oiling my hair paid off.”  

“It’s done!” She exclaimed excitedly. “Wait, something’s missing.”

She came back with a mirror and plucked a white flower from the vase on the coffee table and put it on the hair tie. I looked in the mirror and the braid was done beautifully. The flower was a perfect touch. 

Her eyes met mine in the mirror. “Pretty right?” 

I nodded. 

“Yeah I know, you look like a princess.” 

My face felt hot with embarrassment and another emotion I didn’t want to decipher. I suddenly looked away from the mirror. I covered my face with my hand.“I-I meant the braid, not me.”

“The braid is on you, you know,” she giggled, as if my embarrassment was amusing to her. “Every artist has their muse,” she smirked.

Despite the horrid cheesiness of that sentence, my heart still felt fuzzy hearing it. I felt weirdly warm. Did the heater suddenly turn on in the apartment? I punched her shoulder, which made her laugh. 

“Come on, let’s go outside. The streets are beautiful today,” she stated.

She was right. The sun was starting to set and the bright pink and orange hues in the sky mixed gorgeously with the bright decorations. There were strings of lanterns that hung from building to building. Everyone was dressed in nice outfits. Some women were wearing dresses similar to the one Emma was wearing.

We continued to watch the sunset as we sat on the balcony of her apartment. She explained that since her parents were going to be busy till late that night, her extended family and other friends were coming later.

She taught me how to make a hanging lantern. 

“You can draw anything you want on it.” 

I drew a floral pattern around and then drew two poorly-drawn figures in the middle. I saw her lean over to try to look but hid it. 

“Hey, it’s a surprise.”

“Oh no, should I be scared?” She asked dryly.

I nodded intensely, “Yes, very scared.”

She directed me on how to fold it and then handed me a fake candle to put inside.

“In China, we would make much bigger lanterns and light them with real fire before letting them go into the sky.” 

She showed me a photograph that her dad must have taken when she was younger. It was a baby Emma with her mom who was helping her hold a lantern, preparing to release it. The lantern had a cute bunny drawing on it which made me smile. All around them, millions of orange dots were in the sky and other people around them were releasing their lanterns. It looked like something out of a fairytale. 

“It looks magical.”

“I know,” she said reminiscently. She looked like she was going to say more but then cleared her throat. “Anyways, can I finally see the masterpiece you drew on your lantern?”

I laughed. “Don’t get your hopes up. I’m not a good artist,” I explained as I turned the lantern to its front. 

She gasped. “Aww, it’s so cute! And the details! The one with the tied up hair and cheongsam is me. And the one with the princess braid and– you even added the flower!” 

Her reaction shocked me. I didn’t think too much of the lantern when making it. Honestly, the anatomy was misshapen and it was rushed. “It’s really nothing,” I insisted. 

She rolled her eyes light-hearted. “It’s not nothing. It’s a masterpiece.”

I burst out in sudden laughter and punched her shoulder lightly again. “Shut up. That’s a bit much.”

She smiled with mirth. “Okay, maybe I wouldn’t go that far but this is still so pretty and so cute. I’m going to keep this.”

“No!” My eyes widened in shock.

“I’m sorry, but you can’t stop me,” she clicked her tongue.

“No, seriously, I’ll make you a better one. You shouldn’t keep that one.”

She dramatically contemplated for a second. I knew it was mostly just exaggeration. I laughed at her expression. 

“Alright, I’ll hold you to that,” she said, solemnly shaking my hand. 

“You’re full of bull,” I said lightly. 

She burst out laughing.

“Hey,” she said suddenly. “Thanks for spending time with me while I wait for my family and everyone else.”

“Of course. It was fun.”

She looked genuinely relieved. “I’m happy to hear that.” 

As the sun was mostly out of view and the air felt brisker, we headed inside. The inside of her apartment was also decorated so well. I was about to sit on the couch when Emma invited me into her room instead because it had the best view of the moon. 

The two of us sat on her bed and looked out the window. The moon was bright. It glowed like a guardian angel looking over us. The sky still looked blue but I knew that when it turned black, the moon would shine even brighter. 

“Do you want to know the story of the festival?”

“Of course.”

She explained to me the story of the moon goddess, Chang’e, as well as some more common traditions of the festival and sentiments attached to the holiday. She explained how it was often related to romance and marriage as well.

It reminded me of a holiday in my own religion that was coming soon. It was interesting how, despite the racism that often existed between Indian and Chinese cultures, they were more similar than people realized.

A few weeks later, my mom was preparing for Karwa Chuath, a Hindu holiday that occurred based on the lunar calendar where women would pray for the long life of their husbands. They did this by doing a certain type of fast from dawn to dusk. They would end the fast by looking at the moon through a metal strainer. 

My mom was cleaning around the house and Prish, Revan, and I did whatever we could to help. I realized, with the amount of time I spent at school, studying, and with Emma, I didn’t see my family as much anymore. I felt a little guilty and tried to make up for it by helping my mom get ready. I applied henna carefully on her hands in an intricate design. 

“You’ve gotten much better at mehndi,” my mom chimed.

“Thank you.”

“You remember the story of Karwa Chauth right?” 

I laughed lightly. “Of course, Mama, you’ve told me a few times before.” 

She smiled. “One day you will be in my place.” 

Suddenly, my hand shook and I messed up the flower I was making on her hand. 

“Sorry!” I hastened to fix it.

“Darling, it’s okay. Are you worried that you won’t be in my place?”

She must’ve seen something in my face because she continued, “My beautiful, kind daughter. You will find a good husband one day.” 

I felt queasy. She was saying these words to calm my worries about the future but for some reason, they had the opposite effect. 

I just nodded and thanked her as I finished the design. 

My mom brought her hands to her face. “Wow, so talented. Good at drawing, music, and in your studies.”

Despite my skin complexion being too dark to physically blush, I could’ve sworn my cheeks turned red. “Thanks, Mama.” 

“Like I said before, you don’t have to thank me for saying what is true.”

After she got up to watch the television while her hands dried, I let out a deep breath that I hadn’t even realized I was holding. 

Chapter 5: Snowy Days and Stargazing

My family experienced our first Thanksgiving that fall. Some of my friends from school and my cousins explained some of the common traditions and food. We went to our cousin's house and we all baked and cooked together. We didn’t have a traditional turkey dinner since my family and our relatives—especially from my dad’s side—were all vegetarian. Nevertheless, baking apple and pumpkin pie as well as curries and naans was enjoyable, especially with all of us working together. The food tasted even better knowing it was made with love. The blend of Indian food and traditionally American food conveyed more than just a really yummy blend cuisine to me. I thought about how while we incorporated American food into the feast and celebrated an American holiday, we still kept some of our traditional dishes on the table, and that nothing had meat in it. I felt content that the tricky tightrope I was worrying about before was blurred. Everything mixed together perfectly.

As the sunset-colored leaves began to fall off the trees and autumn shifted to winter, the weather got brisker and chillier in a way I had never experienced in India. Dad was finally able to finish up paperwork for a car, just in time for the colder weather. Prish, Revan, and I were extremely grateful that we wouldn’t have to walk outside in the freezing cold when getting to school and coming home.

Unfortunately, this made it so Emma and I didn’t walk home together. I missed spending time with her. Especially when I got sick and had to stay at home. I contemplated calling her on the landline, along with some friends from school but decided against it. It seemed too clingy and too cheesy. 

My mom made me some of my favorite soup and doted over me, allowing me to relax, but weirdly I was missing school on my days off. Spending time with the new friends I made was fun and walking home with Emma became an enjoyable routine. . 

While I was sick, I practiced my violin. The pieces the school gave were a fun challenge. 

When I was done with them, there were pieces that I had bought back in India that I was looking forward to working on. One piece was for piano since  I had gotten permission from my orchestra teacher, Mrs.Williams to play the grand piano at school. 

The amount of opportunity and the kindness of the teachers in America had me pleasantly surprised. I doubted that if I ever asked a teacher back at school in India to play the school’s grand piano for fun, they would probably say no. 

Being sick allowed me the privilege—or perhaps the curse—to have some time alone with my thoughts. During Karwa Chauth, I realized how little time I had spent with my family the past few weeks since moving to America. I voiced this thought to my dad after he got back from work and he agreed. He said there were parts of Manhattan that he was dying to explore, one of them being Central Park. I had enthusiastically agreed. We made plans to go there soon as a family. 

On the day we planned to go to Central Park, it started to snow. It was the only day all of us were free and my dad and I practically begged my mom to let us go anyways. 

“Darling, it can be a chance for us to experience snow in America and for the kids to experience it for the first time!” 

My parents had only once experienced snow, when they went to Kashmir, one of the few snowy places in the South Asian subcontinent, before Prish was born. I couldn’t wait to feel snow on my hands and play in it. 

Mom finally agreed, which led Revan, Dad, and I to cheer. We all bundled up in our warmest jackets, hats, and gloves. Prish complained about how the hat made her hair frizzy and about how wet and cold the snow would feel but I could tell, from her not very hidden smile, that on the inside, she was excited. She just never tended to convey emotions like excitement. She claimed it was frivolous and childish. Prish acted as if she had an obligation to always appear cool, unexcited, and unphased by anything as the eldest child. 

Once we got to Central Park, Mom, Dad, and Prish all seemed to have gotten a few years younger. They smiled and laughed with a joy that I hadn’t even seen my dad, the most optimistic idealist of us all, express before.There might have only been a few inches of snow on the ground but that didn't stop us from playing in it. 

I yelped as I felt a hard, yet soft projectile strike my back. I realized that it was a snowball. I turned around to see who did it and didn’t see anyone behind me. Weirdly, I heard a familiar giggle come from behind a tree. I smiled. 

“Oh no! I’ve been hit. But there’s no one here!” 

I heard the giggling get louder and I ran behind the tree. “Caught you!”

Revan shrieked as I tackled him to the ground. Then I got an idea. 

“Let’s make snow angels!” 

“Snow angles?” He asked. I could practically see a question mark on top of his head.

I demonstrated and his eyes grew wide with the type of wonder only kids had the ability to feel. 

“That looks fun! I wanna try," he exclaimed. It was cute how kids will say all their thoughts and emotions out loud. 

“Come on!” I patted the snow next to me with my mitten-clad hand. 

He laid down as well.

“I’m swimming! But in snow!” 

I laughed. “You’re the best snow swimmer I’ve ever seen.”

“Thank you!” He replied, genuinely. 

I smiled but then heard my mom’s voice call out my name. “Myra! You’ll get dirty, or worse, you’ll get sick again!” 

I frowned, getting up and wiping the snow off my pants. My mom pulled Revan up and did the same for him. He pouted petulantly. 

“Darling, let them be. They’re having fun,” my dad gently reasoned.

“They won’t be having fun anymore when they get sick.” 

The air turned serious. I turned towards my dad and tried to plead as hard as I could using just my eyes. I could tell that the non-verbal message was getting to him but he sighed and shook his head. 

“Mama’s right. We should head home soon before it gets colder. One of us could get sick.” While he sounded convincing enough, I knew that he didn’t truly believe the words he was saying.

As we walked back to our apartment, I wondered why my dad would go along with what Mom said even when he disagreed. I felt contemptuous. I was looking forward to playing in the snow for so long, even before we came to America, only for when it finally happened it got cut short.

I tried to take a word out of my dad’s book though and look on the bright side. It had been a fun day and the truth was, my clothes did feel wet from making the snow angles. My mom was the one who looked after me when I was sick and she probably saw how bored I was. Instead of complaining more, I thanked my parents and they both smiled at me.

A week later, a light bulb went off in my head. I remembered how fun and how nice the Moon Festival was and I was trying to think of a way to repay Emma for inviting me to her home that day. I recalled when one day she was raving about the Museum of Natural History—really, she was nerdier than I had initially thought—because she loved when she went to it with her cousins when as a kid. However, she said she had really wanted to go to the planetarium but wasn’t able to.

I learned that she really loved space. Her favorite subject in school tended to be science, especially astronomy, chemistry, and physics. On the other hand, I was more of a music, art, and history girl, but I also loved space. Getting tickets to the museum and the planetarium would be perfect. 

Turns out, the tickets were pretty damn expensive. I rushed to gather enough money from my piggy bank. Luckily, being the type of person to save rather than spend, I had enough with some left to spare, 

On Friday after school, I handed her the envelope. She looked at me confused but I just motioned for her to open it. She carefully ripped the tape and gasped. I wish I could have taken a photo of the moment she saw the tickets. 

“Myra–you–what,” she stuttered incoherently. 

“They’re tickets to the Museum of Natural History and the Hayden planetarium.” 

“I-I see that, but why? The tickets cost a decent amount of money.”

“I wanted to do something nice for you after the Moon Festival.”

Her eyes turned wide. “You really didn’t have to.”

I grinned. “Like I said, I wanted to.” 

Her eyes turned bright and painted on her face was a wide, genuine smile. She tackled me in a bone-crushing hug. 

Despite the frigid winter air, the hug made me feel as warm as if I were sitting by a crackling fire pit.

At the museum, Emma grabbed my hand and led me to all the exhibits she was the most excited to see, even rambling facts about one’s she knew a lot about. 

“I thought I was more of a nerd between the two of us but you might actually beat me,” I stated, admirably.

She laughed. “Don’t try to out-nerd me. You won’t win.” 

Eventually, it was time for the planetarium’s space show. The wait was long but it wasn’t boring. Emma was practically buzzing in place like a bee and spouting random astronomy facts. 

“So, Jupiter is basically a failed star since while made of hydrogen, it isn’t big enough for nuclear fusion to occur, and therefore it doesn’t burn like the Sun does.” 

“Ohh, I never knew that, that’s interesting,” I replied honestly. 

She chewed on her lip self-consciously. “Was that sarcastic? Am I boring you?” 

I chuckled lightly. “No, I’m serious. Space has always interested me. My favorite celestial body is probably Earth’s moon though. Venus might be second.”

“Mine would be the Moon and Jupiter,” she replied honestly.

I laughed. “Wow, I couldn’t tell. Especially about Jupiter.”

She punched my shoulder lightly. “Now that was sarcasm.”

I nodded, grinning cheekily. 

It was finally time for the next show and Emma led me to seats near the middle. The bright galaxies were beautiful and enchanting. Even the stars and constellations themselves were amazing to look at. New York City was usually polluted to get clear views of the sky. This was the closest thing to stargazing. 

I was fascinated and intrigued. This was an entirely new experience for both of us. It was crazy to me how small we all were in this world. 

As the narrator rambled on about the universe, I turned to look at Emma. Her eyes were bright with wonder as she stared up at the ceiling. The tickets truly were expensive, especially for a high school student with no job, but at that moment I knew that it was one of the best purchases I had made. 

Chapter 6: Tightrope

The past months have been some of the happiest of my life. My academics, friends, and family were all in a perfect harmony and balance. I prayed each night that it could always be like this. The full moon on the night of the flight had really blessed me.

Even though we didn’t walk home together anymore, Emma and I still found ways to spend time together. It was like there was a formidable force keeping us together. Sometimes, I would go to her apartment to study and other times she would come to mine. Prish joked that we were like twins.

One afternoon while we were poring over our chemistry textbooks, Emma blurted out,  “you know, if you really want the New York experience, you should go to Rockefeller center.”

She must’ve noticed the look of confusion I had on my face. “There’s a pretty Christmas tree and an ice skating rink there.”

“I don’t know how to ice skate though.”

“Neither do a lot of tourists and New Yorkers who go there. Honestly the most I can do is wobble around and not fall. But I can try to teach you. We should go sometime.”

Noticing my hesitance she rushed to add, “or we can bring some of our friends also. Or your family.” 

Prish was listening and jutted in.”Maybe if both me and Myra ask to go, my parents might be more easily convinced.”

Emma nodded in agreement.

“I’ll ask one of my friends to come with me. I’ve always wanted to visit Rockefeller Center during the winter,” Prish continued, thinking out loud. 

I honestly didn’t know too much about it but I was still excited to spend more time with Emma and even Prish. 

When asking Mom, Prish and I were met with surprisingly little pushback. 

“Yes, you two can go. Just be safe and be home before five.” 

We thanked her and then gave each other a look.

“Huh, mom was in a good mood today,” Prish stated, taking the words out of my mouth. 

“Honestly the past few months have been nice for all of us,” I reasoned. 

I bundled up in my warmest jacket, gloves, hat, and scarf. On the other hand, while Prish was dressed warm, her jacket was much lighter. She opted for earmuffs and no scarf or gloves. 

When I inquired about it, she replied, “I just don’t want to look like a snowman.”

Emma walked with us to the rink, leading the way. This wasn’t without sarcastic quips by Prish that Emma and I were joined at the hip. I glared at her but Emma just laughed.

 Seeing all the pretty Christmas lights on the street as we walked put me in a good mood nonetheless. Every holiday was so magical here. The blend of people from all different cultures and backgrounds and the fact that everyone had the ability to practice their traditions and celebrate their holidays was one of the things that made America, and especially New York City, so beautiful.

 When moving to America, I mostly thought about the educational and economic opportunity it had to offer. I never put much thought into the coexistence of different cultures and religions. I never imagined that I would be able to experience a Chinese holiday, or experience a Thanksgiving feast with my family even though we didn’t eat turkey.

In a way, America reminded me of a salad. Each herb and vegetable was certainly different, each adding to the blend in its own unique way, but they still existed together on the same plate. 

Once we got to the rink. I once again felt enchanted. It was so whimsical. Just like with Central Park, it shocked me that a place like this existed within the bustle of the city, between skyscrapers of office buildings and towers of department stores. 

There was nothing that could take you out of a scene like that like the noisy dial tone of a phone. Prish, being the oldest, had gotten a flip phone for her last birthday. She was calling her friend on it. 

“Oh, he’s here!”

“He?” I asked, with a cheeky grin. It wasn’t abnormal to be friends with guys, I had guy friends from orchestra, but it was unlike Prish, who was usually only friends with girls.

“Oh shut up,” she replied. Then, doing a double take, she pleaded, “please don’t tell Mom.”

I laughed. “Of course not, who do you think I am?” 

“Only the best sister ever!” She exclaimed with too much energy as tousled my hair. 

I rolled my eyes. “You’re full of bull.” 

She then rushed over to her friend and I realized the real reason she wasn’t wearing gloves as she immediately took his hand.  

“You and your sister are adorable,” Emma blurted out out of nowhere.

I dramatically gagged. “Ew, please never say that again.”

She laughed. “Having someone to always joke around with seems fun.”

I remembered she was an only child and suddenly felt bad. No matter how much my sister and I annoyed each other, we were still always there for each other in the end. 

“Sorry! I just realized how heavy that must’ve sounded out of nowhere,” She laughed, sounding suspiciously self-deprecating.  

“If you ever feel lonely, even if we can’t hang out that day, you can always call me. I thought about calling you on the landline sometimes back when I was sick.” I didn’t know where I got the confidence to make this sudden confession but since she had poured out a part of her heart to me, I felt like it would be unfair if I didn’t do the same. “But I thought it would be too cheesy so I didn’t. I can’t pretend to know exactly how you feel but I still know how isolating it can feel to be alone sometimes. So if you ever need to just talk, whether it’s something heavy or something dumb, you can.”

Her smile this time was soft and small but still sincere. “Thank you Myra, that really means a lot.”

Stupidly, I felt like smiling just because she used my name in her sentence.

We put on our ice skates. I took my time to tie the laces extra tight. Double-then-triple -knotting them. There was no delaying the inevitable. We had to get on the rink. I felt my hand shake similarly to how my mom’s often would.

Emma must’ve noticed because she held my cold shaking hand in her warm one. “If you don’t want to, we don’t have to,” she reassured. 

Everyone looked like they were having so much fun though. Even the people who wobbled around or fell just laughed and regained their balance.

“No, I want to.”

She nodded. “Okay, you can hold my hand, I’m not going to let go.” 

I was honestly planning to do that anyway. I had never ice skated a day in my life. 

We made our way onto the ice. It was slipperier than I expected. I felt like my feet were going to fly out in different directions. 

“Look, I’ll show you. One of my friends taught me like this.” 

I held onto the sides as she demonstrated. She did two different motions. One where her feet were in a wide stance and next a stance where she turned her feet inwards. “Watermelon, hotdog.”

Despite my nerves, I couldn’t help but laugh. 

She smiled. “It’s silly but it works.” 

I held onto the wall with one hand and her hand with the other. I tried to synchronize with her movements. I hobbled around for a while, even tripping and falling a few times, probably making a fool of myself. Emma laughed, but she laughed with me. 

“Don’t worry, it took me a while to get it too.”

I was finally able to awkwardly somewhat replicate her movements. 

“Yay, you did it!”

Her excitement was oddly validating. I felt weirdly proud of myself. 

“Do you want to go a little closer to the middle now?”

Honestly, I didn’t. I was only just getting the hang of it, but I could tell that she wanted to so I nodded. 

As we made our way closer to the center of the rink, my grip on her hand turned iron-strong. There were more people near the middle and I was worried about possibly knocking onto one of them, resulting in either severely embarrassing myself or worse, hurting them.

I felt my nerves come rushing back. I suddenly felt conscious of how tightly my clammy hand was holding on to hers. I meant to only try to loosen my grip but my thoughts and actions were jumbled and disconnected, causing me to fully let go. Not remembering how to stop, I kept skating. I tried to stop but it was like trying to build a dam to stop a river using toothpicks. 

People skated around me. The rush of people which I originally saw as so beautiful became scary. I was trapped between them. My breaths turned short and fast. I couldn’t see Emma anymore. I heard sounds all around me, people deep in conversation, but I couldn’t comprehend a single word. My ears were filled with cotton. My heartbeat, deafeningly loud, was the only sound I could hear. The beats felt stronger and more rapid. I looked around frantically. Luckily, I saw her. The rest of the world blurred and turned dark. There was a spotlight on only me and her. A red string connected us, pulling me to her, to safety. My legs turned to lead and they moved as if they had a mind of their own. Unfortunately, the movements were clumsy and uncalculated. I felt the world tilting and I braced myself for the moment that I would come face-to-face with the ice.  

Miraculously, I didn’t become a pile of bloody limbs on the ice. I felt two strong, grounding arms hold me up. I knew immediately who it was. I hugged her tightly and heaved a sigh of relief. She was like my anchor, a safety net. I could cry out of relief.

When we separated. I looked up at Emma and her eyebrows were furrowed, with prominent worry lines on her forehead. Her concern made me feel guilty. 

“Are you okay?” 

“Yes, thank you, I’m sorry,” I blurted out quickly.

She frowned. “It’s okay, don’t apologize,” she said as she took my hand and dragged us to the wall.

“What happened?” Emma asked after we were out of the rink and took off our skates. 

I felt extremely embarrassed, “Sorry–”

“No more ‘sorrys,’” she said, “at least for the next ten minutes.”

I laughed. “Okay, I can do that.” 

She gave me a disbelieving look and I punched her arm. She smiled but then looked at me, waiting. I remembered that I owed her an explanation. 

“I got nervous. My hands got clammy.”

She looked confused but then a look of realization dawned over her. “So…that’s why you let go of my hand? Myra, it’s fine. I don’t care if your hands get sweaty when you’re nervous. That’s normal.”

Despite her reassuring words, my brain still had me convinced that it was weird and gross. 

“Was there any specific reason why you got nervous?” 

“I was scared to go to the center. I get scared sometimes of places where there’s a lot of people in one place and no escape.”

“It’s okay. But next time just tell me, okay? I wouldn’t have made you go if I knew. It’s important to communicate the things that scare us, even if it seems senseless. And your fears aren’t senseless. Even if it seems that way, other people get scared of things too. I know that my mom has a fear of tight spaces and of flying, but she told us about it. Fear isn’t something to be ashamed of, but is important. That’s why communicating it is important too.”  

I nodded. “Yeah you’re right. I’ll remember next time.” 

She smiled. “Sorry if that sounded like a lecture. I just remember my mom telling me something similar when I lied about my fear of the ocean before we went to the beach,” I must’ve looked shocked because she laughed. “I know. It was stupid. See yours doesn’t sound as bad now huh?’

“Hey I have an idea,” she continued. “To make up for the ice skating not being super fun, do you want to come to my apartment and have hot chocolate? It is a Saturday after all.” 

“Yeah, that sounds nice,” I agreed.

Then, Prish and her friend waddled over from the rink.“Are you okay?” She asked, likely seeing my expression.

“Yeah, I am now. Thanks.” 

Her friend then said, “I should head back. Today was fun.” 

Prish turned to him. “It was! Thanks for teaching me,” she said, demurely. 

I looked at Emma and made an exaggerated face of throwing up which she laughed silently at. 

“Hey, we should head home soon too,” Prish said to me after her friend left,

“I think I’m going to go Emma’s home for a bit but we could walk back together.” 

Prish didn’t even argue against that. “Okay sure, I’ll tell mom that I let you, but make sure to be home before five.”  

“Thanks,” I hugged her. Shockingly, she didn’t even fight it. 

Once we were at her apartment, she opened a peppermint hot chocolate mix from the cupboard. I had never seen it made before so I just watched. She boiled water in a pot and then added some milk and the mix. It reminded me of how I made chai at home, and I told her. 

“Yeah, it’s similar to making tea. But this is so much sweeter.” 

She poured the pot out into two different cups and then decorated them with small marshmallows. 

I held the warm cup in my hind and took a sip, burning my tongue. The warm chocolate drink melted on my tongue and I didn’t even mind the scalding hot temperature of it.

“Woah! Wait for it to cool first,” Emma laughed.

“Mmm, but it’s so good.” 

After we finished our cups, we went to her room. She showed me a bunch of souvenirs and posters and rambled about them. We sat on her bed and talked about silly little things, sharing stories, worries, interests, and everything in between. We talked for hours, losing track of time. 

“Myra,” I heard a voice call out. 

“Myra, wake up,” Emma called out, as she shook me.

I got up so fast I nearly got whiplash. 

“Oh no, I fell asleep.”

“I tried to wake you half an hour ago but you were out cold. It’s okay though. It’s Saturday, there’s no school tomorrow.”  

“What time is it?”

“Almost six.”

“My mom said I had to be home before five,” I said, while rushing to gather my jacket, hat, and other belongings. 

“I’m sorry, I think you told me that but I forgot,” she replied. “If she gets upset at you, I can talk to her. Or I can ask my mom to…”

I smiled gratefully by the door. “Thanks but it should be okay. It’s only a few minutes late.” Then I closed the door and rushed back home. 

I mostly said that so she wouldn’t feel too bad but part of me believed it too. I felt the bite of the chilly air and realized I hadn’t even put on my jacket. But I would rather suffer through the cold than my mom’s anger. 

I rushed up the stairs to our apartment and opened the door. My mom was in the kitchen. I met her gaze “I–”

“Do you know how late it is?” 

“No–”

“Six thirty, she said, in a serious tone as she made her way from the kitchen to the entryway. I reflexively backed up closer to the door.

“Thinking of leaving again?” It sounded like a joke but there was no humor in her voice.

I shook my head furiously. “No. Mama, I lost track of time. I didn’t mean to—”

“I can tell that you lost track of time,” her voice gained volume. “Were you with a boy?”

“No!” I felt my own voice gain volume. 

“Don’t raise your voice at me,” she admonished ominously. 

“I was at Emma’s apartment. I fell asleep by accident.”

Some of the tension left her shoulders, she sighed, “Do you know how unsafe the city is at night?”

“Emma lives close though—”

“Myra, don’t argue. Next time you’re coming back by your curfew or I’m not letting you go outside with your friends anymore. Do you think that since you came to America, you’re free to break as many rules as you want? You haven’t even apologized.” 

“I’m sorry, it won’t happen again.”

Her face softened. She held my face in her hands. “Darling, I just want what’s best for you. This is a new city, a new country, for all of us. I only want you to be safe.” 

I sighed, she was right. “I know, thanks.” 

“Now go to your room. I’ll call you out for dinner.” 

As I went to the room, I saw Revan playing with some toys and Prish typing on her phone in her bed. She had a bed to herself while Revan and I had a bunk bed. Revan had to really beg Mom in order to get the top bunk. She looked at me as I came in. 

“Did you hear all of that?”

She gave me a sympathetic look. “Yeah.” 

I sighed. 

“Hey, you know Mom is just looking out for you right? She tends to be paranoid and the city can be unsafe sometimes,” she reasoned. 

“Yeah I know, I don’t need a second lecture,” I said, which was probably unfair of me as Prish was just trying to help. 

She rolled her eyes but gave me space. 

I sat down on my bed and hid under the covers. I realized that the perfect harmony between friends and family was harder to achieve than I thought. I was too confident, too proud. 

There was a tightrope I had to balance on, not just between my Indian culture and fitting in but between making myself happy and making sure my family was happy. 

I thought about the red string I saw earlier and realized I would have to balance on that too. Sometimes the extent of emotion I felt with Emma and how carefree and honest I was with her scared me. She was like an anchor. But I couldn’t rely on her too heavily or I would cause her to sink with me.

I thought about the guys I saw earlier with Prish when we had just moved here. The fear reached a crescendo. What if…? No, that was silly. I didn’t think of her like that. But the more I thought about it, I wouldn’t mind doing stereotypically-for-couples type things with Emma: giving gifts, writing poetry, holding hands. It was more than ‘I wouldn’t mind.’ I had a feeling that I would enjoy doing those things and that was the scariest part of it all.

Chapter 7: Sappho

After waking up, I realized that the thoughts I had from the night before were jumbled and nonsensical. I couldn’t trust them because they occurred after I had felt intense anxiety and after my mom had scolded me. I was overcome with immense emotion and my thoughts were obviously going to be all over the place. 

There was no proof that the thoughts I had were actually true to how I felt. I might feel closer to her than I did with my other friends but that just meant I had made a new best friend. Yes, it was true that I was a hopeless romantic but that didn’t mean I wanted that with her. As someone who liked science—even if, I thought nostalgically, it wasn’t to the extent that Emma did—I decided to create a hypothesis and test it:

If I participated in romantic things with Emma, then I would realize that I don’t feel that way for her.

Likely, I would wish at that time that there would be a boy instead of her by my side. Now, I just needed to find stereotypically romantic activities to do. 

“Prish, what would your ideal date be?”

She nearly squealed and got up from her bed to sit on me. “I can’t believe you’re asking! You never talk about these types of things with me. Is there any reason, what changed?” She said, ending her question with a smirk. 

I rolled my eyes light-heartedly. “No, I’m just curious.”

“Ugh that’s no fun,” she pouted dramatically. “Anyways, I have so many dream dates. It’s too hard to choose.”

I sighed, I had a feeling that would probably be the case. “Okay, then what’s one that you would like at least?”

She sighed dreamily. I wanted to physically gag. 

“Oh! I know. I would love to go to the Coney Island pier with a guy. When the sun’s out, we could walk on the boardwalk. When the sun starts to set, we could sit on the beach, on a towel of course, and watch the sunset. Then, when it’s darker, we could go on the rides and maybe kiss on the ferris wheel.” 

Wow, I was impressed. She had it organized by time of day. I was about to sarcastically make that joke to her but I realized how valuable this information was to me so I thanked her instead, which made her eye me suspiciously. 

As weird as it was to talk about these things with my sister, I now had a plan. Unfortunately, I remembered that since it was winter, Coney Island wasn’t open. I needed a new plan. We already went ‘stargazing’ and ice skating. I realized how date-like a lot of the things we had done already were. I also realized the flaws in my plan: these ideas would be hard to plan, my parents might not let me, Emma might not agree. I decided it would be better to go on with life as usual. 

I developed a new hypothesis instead: 

If I spent less time with her, then the thoughts from the night before would go away.

Yes, this was a much better idea. It was just a temporary infatuation and admiration. I had to throw myself back into my usual hobbies, like art and music, and spend less time with Emma.

When my parents saw my report card, they saw that I got straight A’s.

My mom’s eyes lit up. “Darling, great job!” 

“Especially in a completely new school, in a new country!” My dad exclaimed excitedly.

Their validation and pride made me feel happy and oddly proud of myself as well. 

“Is there anything you want?” My dad asked. 

“Oh, you don’t have to–”

“Come on, don’t be so humble,” my dad joked as he ruffled my hair. 

I laughed and then thought about it.”Oh! Well there is something. I really want tickets to the Met.”  

My dad bought me two tickets, probably expecting me to go with either Prisha or Emma. I asked Prish but she said she didn't have much of an interest in art so instead I went with  my older cousin, Aditi, who’s also interested in art. 

The museum looked amazing even from the outside, reminding me a little of European style architecture. As someone who loved both history and art, the museum was perfect. Aditi and I talked about the pieces we liked. 

The Greek and Roman style art and the art inspired by it were some of my favorites. In the American section, I saw a marble carving of Sappho, a famous Greek poet I had heard about before. The piece was carved by Erastus Dow Palmer in the 19th century. I was fascinated by the air of grace and beauty the sculpture had, as well as the history behind it. She looked to have an expression of deep longing or sorrow on her face. I knew that I wanted to research more about the sculpture and the poet. 

One day, I went to the New York Public Library for the first time with some friends from orchestra. I found books on Sappho and her poetry that I found interesting. As I read more about her, I found out that most of her poetry had either been lost over time or destroyed by religious institutions. As someone who loved learning about history and classical literature, it hurt to learn that. I read some of the fragments of her poetry that the books had. I brought my journal with me to copy some of her poems down. One I found beautiful was Sappho Fr. 16: 

“Some men say an army on horse, some say an army on foot, and some say an army on ships is the most beautiful thing on the black earth. But I say it is what you love.”

One of my friends from orchestra, James, leaned over to see what I was reading. “Ohhh,” he whispered. I looked at him oddly and he pointed at the book and asked, “are you, you know…”

I thought I must have misheard him. “Sorry, I don’t understand.”

He looked nervous. “You know,” he pointed at the book, “are you like her?”

I didn’t understand why he was asking me this. “Romantic?”

“No, not romantic…” He looked frustrated, making me get increasingly confused. 

He must’ve seen the confusion on my face because he gave up on trying to discreetly communicate whatever it was he was trying to ask. “Never mind.” 

He went back to reading Homer’s Iliad, while I went back to reading my book on Sappho. The writer mused that Sappho had romantic affairs with other women and the Greek Island she lived on, Lesbos, was the origin for the word lesbian. 

Suddenly, realization dawned over me. My heartbeat quickened and I felt dizzy. I quickly closed that book and the other ones. My other friends were still browsing books, James was the only one sitting at the desk. 

“Sorry, can you put these back for me?” 

“Yeah, but what happened? You alright?”

“Yes, I just remembered my mom wants me back home soon.” 

“Alright, take care,” he said, not sounding all that convinced. 

I paused before I left. “And, what you asked before, I’m not.”

He frowned, “Oh, okay. See you at school.” 

That night, I couldn’t sleep again. James’s reaction had shocked me. I was confused why he frowned when I responded. Had I misinterpreted his question? I thought he was asking if I had those types of feelings for women. Maybe he was asking something else.

I turned on the lamp by my bed and opened my journal. Her poetry was still beautiful. Was it wrong of me to immediately shun it after finding out about her affairs? I got immersed in her poems and felt inspired to write some of my own, letting my sleepy mind wander freely and carelessly.

The next weekend, Emma suggested we watch a movie together. It had been a while since we had really seen each other and I assumed that enough time had passed for me to finally test my hypothesis so I agreed. That and I really wanted to spend time with her again.

 Aditi’s family let us borrow some of their DVDs and Emma suggested that we watch Aladdin, a movie she had seen in the theater and loved. She sang along to the soundtrack—not necessarily with the most talent but definitely with heart. Her energy made me smile and even chuckle at her occasional voice cracks. 

When we got to the magic carpet ride scene Emma’s eyes were starry. I understood why because the scene and the song were so enchanting and magical. I wished I could be on that carpet with someone, flying into the starry night with the only light being the moon. My eyes were probably similar to hers watching that scene, though probably not as pretty.

“Doesn’t that look so cool?” She blurted out after the song ended. “As a kid I dreamed of having my own magic carpet. I was so disappointed to find out that they don’t exist.” 

I smiled. “Aww, baby Emma must have been adorable.”

Her ears turned red and she cleared her throat. Then all of a sudden, she had a shit-eating grin on her face. 

“Not as adorable as teenage Myra.” 

“I-what,” I stuttered, her words catching me off guard. 

“Aww, so cute,” she continued. I realized she was teasing me.

“Shut up,” I laughed. 

The two of us laughed together, cracking jokes until our stomachs hurt. I had missed her more than I thought. It was probably crazy to think that someone’s laugh was pretty but her face was beautiful when her eyes twinkled from wonder, happiness, or carefree laughter. I remembered a line from Sappho’s poem I read earlier: that the most beautiful thing in the world is what you love.

I realized the tightrope that I was trying to balance on was thinner and more brittle than I initially realized. It got more worn down each day I walked on it, becoming increasingly fragile. I didn’t know how much longer I could continue walking on it until it snapped. 

Chapter 8: Swan Lake

I learned that Emma loved ballet. One day, I walked to the store and saw that Emma wasn’t there so I asked Mrs. Zhao. 

“She is upstairs. I don’t think she expected you today but she will love to see you.” 

My face flushed. I thanked her and headed upstairs.

In hindsight, I probably should have knocked. Instead, I just opened the door and saw Emma in her living room, dressed in white silk pajamas and wearing pointe shoes. She was doing a pirouette, one of the only ballet terms I knew, as I gasped. 

She yelped in surprise, “Myra! I wasn’t expecting you today.”
“Sorry, I came to the store and your mom told me I could head upstairs,” I reasoned. Then I addressed the elephant in the room. “I didn’t know you did ballet.”

She laughed self-deprecatingly. She sat down on the couch and motioned for me to sit next to her. 

“I used to. I don’t anymore.” 

“But why? I don’t know much about ballet but you looked so graceful, even though you were in pajamas.”

She chuckled softly. “Thanks Myra. But I don’t do ballet anymore. The ballet classes my parents put me in when I was younger only got more expensive as the level.”

I silently admonished myself. Obviously the answer wouldn’t be simple. I also noticed that it was the first time Emma was openly talking about something financial with me. I had the feeling she didn’t do it often. 

“I’m sorry, I wish you were able to continue.”
She sighed. “It might be for the best. I’m able to focus on my studies more this way. You know how important that is to Asian parents,” she paused, “and it’s not like I absolutely hate studying either. School can be pretty interesting sometimes, especially astronomy.” 

I didn’t know how to respond. 

Her face got a little brighter. “I was practicing today because I’m going to watch a ballet. Not the New York City Ballet, though that would truly be a dream…” she trailed off wistfully. “Anyways, do you know Rose Harris?” 

The question seemed random. I just shook my head confused.

“She goes to our school. She has some classes with me and when I found out she did ballet, I mentioned that I love it. Rose is an angel and she told me I could come watch the dress rehearsal she has today for her ballet’s upcoming recital. If you’re free, you could come with me.

“Yeah sure, I’d love to. I’ve never seen a ballet before. As long as she’s okay with me coming.”

She beamed at me. “You’re going to love it. Especially since they’re performing one of the most famous and challenging ballets to exist: Swan Lake. It’s rare that anyone of Rose's age can be in a performance of it but I’ve heard she’s very talented and that she’s in one of the highest levels at her ballet academy,’ she explained dreamily. “Wow, I was rambling. Give me a moment to get ready and then we can go.”

“Should I go home to change as well?” I asked her, looking down at my casual clothes

“No, it’s nothing formal. Just a dress rehearsal,” she explained, waving it off.  

Nevertheless, she dressed up. She wore a nice beige coat and boots while I was wearing a puffer jacket and worn down sneakers. 

We arrived at the theater and only around a quarter of the seats were taken. I saw a few familiar faces from school. Rose must've been popular. 

The theater lights dimmed and the stage lights went on. The first act began. The costumes looked beautiful and the dancers had flowing yet calculated movements. The music was also magical and they were only using a recording since it was a dress rehearsal. I imagined how much more beautiful it would sound with a live orchestra.

The music suddenly turned frantic and the emotion conveyed through it with the combination of the skill of the dancers made me feel fully immersed. When the swans entered, their dresses seemed to glow against the backdrop. The music turned lively and jaunty again before the act ended. 

One of the pieces of music in the second act was one of the most hauntingly beautiful pieces I had ever heard. Emma pointed out which one was Rose. I realized that I was right, I had never seen her before at school. I knew that if I had seen her, I wouldn’t have forgotten her. She had a soft, almost ethereal beauty to her. She danced with an impressive grace and agility. Her motions weren’t as sharp as some South Asian styles of dance, but all fluid and flowing, like water. Under the harsh spotlights above, her pale skin glowed, which looked gorgeous against her bright red hair. She looked like she came out of a painting. I looked down at my own hands, plenty of shades darker than hers and less delicate.

I turned my head to see Emma’s reaction. She looked absolutely mesmerized. She looked at Rose as if she had personally hung up and arranged all the stars in the sky, as if she was the most enchanting person she had ever seen. Rose looked as beautiful as the moon itself when she danced. 

All of a sudden, I felt cold throughout my body, especially in my stomach, even though I was wearing the warmest jacket I owned. I looked down at my ratty, white puffer jacket. It seemed like a crude replication of the jeweled, intricate, white outfits that many of the dancers were wearing. 

I thought about how I would always be the one wearing the ratty jacket while Rose would always be the one in the pretty white dress. I would be in the shadows while Rose would have millions of eyes on her, especially Emma’s. I looked back at Emma and noticed how her eyes were glued to Rose, not the other ballerinas. 

When the act ended, I said to Emma, “Rose looked so beautiful.”

Trance-like, Emma replied, “Yeah she did,” while still staring at the stage. A sour taste entered my mouth at her agreement. I wanted her to think I was beautiful. It was a silly wish because no one could be as quintessential and as beautiful of a girl as Rose.“Her moves were so graceful and perfect,” she continued. 

“I know,” I replied honestly.

We continued watching. I grew more nauseous and had the sudden desire to leave the theater and go back home. But I saw how much Emma loved being there and loved ballet so I forced myself to try to sit through the entire show. 

After the show ended, we congratulated Rose on the role, complimented her, and wished her luck for the actual performance. She bowed and thanked us.

She looked over to me.

“I’m afraid I haven’t met you before,” she stated in a melodious voice, speaking with the cadence of a Disney princess. What about her wasn’t perfect?

“Oh right, sorry. I’m Myra Kapoor. I moved here recently. Emma told me about you and asked if I wanted to see the performance. It was amazing by the way. I’m sure the actual recital will be as well.”

“Thank you, and thank you so much for coming,” she replied with a curtsy and a soft smile that would probably make angels jealous.

As we walked back, Emma suggested we go to her apartment. Usually, I wouldn’t mind but the acidic taste in my mouth was only getting worse. I didn’t tell her this so as to not sour her good mood. On the other hand, she said she didn’t want to be alone. I wondered why but she didn’t elaborate, only insisting that I don’t leave her.

At her apartment, she busied herself with giving me a new hairstyle. 

“Hey, I’m still waiting on that lantern.”
I had honestly almost forgotten about it. Now, the thought of drawing myself irked me. I wondered if I could get away with just drawing her. 

“I'll give it to you soon,” I promised, as I traced patterns on her couch absent-mindendly.

“Good, or else I’ll just keep the one from the Moon Festival.”

I gasped. “You still have that?”

She laughed softly. “I told you that I would keep it until you made me a new one.”

She finished my hair and handed me the mirror. I had to admit, the hairstyle looked beautiful. The braided updo had an ethereal air to it and yet the strands that were left to frame the face gave it a more approachable and friendly feeling. The face that the hairstyle was sitting on though didn’t do it any justice. 

I stared at my face in disdain. While Rose might have been a deity among mortals, couldn’t I have at least been born with at least a quarter of her beauty? 

“Are you sure you’re not actually a princess who fled her home country to live safely in crowded Manhattan? If so, I won’t tell anyone,” Emma joked, snapping me out of thoughts.

I laughed, “Well if India ever has a royal family, I’ll be sure to let you know.” 

“Your face just lit up. You’re so pretty when you laugh, you should laugh more often. You seem so down. What happened?” 

Immediately my frown returned. Normally a compliment like that would have my heart racing and head spinning but remembering the ballet, waves of insecurity and self-doubt crashed over me. 

“You can tell me, I promise I won’t judge you. You’re such a good listener, I’ll try to be even half as good,” she stated, in a small voice. 

My brain seemed to take her words seriously. She wouldn’t judge me. This was Emma. The false sense of security led my mouth to start running faster than my mind. 

“Even laughing, I wouldn’t be as pretty as Rose right?” I laughed self-deprecatingly.

“Myra, what—”

I wanted to physically slap myself. Why would I say something like that out loud? 

“Sorry, that was so random. I don’t know why I said that. I think I was just trying to distract myself from the real reason,” I hastened to reply. At that time, I really wished that I could have my sister’s skills in bullshitting. “There’s just something going on in my family,” I replied, feeling horrible for lying. Lying was one thing that I almost never did. It was especially frowned upon in my religion. But honestly, I couldn’t even tell Emma the actual truth if I wanted to because even I didn’t know it. 

Graciously, Emma seemed to ignore the Rose comment. “What family thing?” She asked instead.

“Sorry it’s nothing.”

“It doesn’t seem like it’s nothing.” 

I looked over to the clock and I was like. “I-I should go, it’s almost my curfew. Or my mom will get upset like last time,” I reasoned as I gathered my things to leave. 

My words seemed to only make the worry lines on her face deeper. “Call me if you need anything or want to talk,” she ultimately said.

Chapter 9: New Moon

Walking home seemed to take longer than usual. I felt physically sick and my thoughts were racing. When seeing Rose, I was envious of her beauty but even my muddled brain figured out that that wasn’t all. I saw how Emma had stared almost entirely at Rose, as if in a trance and intoxicated by her beauty. 

I couldn’t even blame her. You don’t see girls that graceful and gorgeous every day. Well, in Emma’s case, she sort of did. She had multiple classes with Rose. 

My feelings for Emma were so all encompassing, I found it hard to breathe. I hadn’t tripped off my tightrope. No, the tightrope completely snapped and I came crashing down. I was free falling through the air until I landed in the frigid ocean. The cold traveled down my body, through my veins, until it took over.

I remembered another time that I felt guilty due to the extent of emotion I felt for someone.

Back in India, Saanvi and I would sometimes sit on the grass and stargaze. We talked about almost anything that was on our mind. 

One time, Saanvi said out of nowhere, “I don’t want to get married.”

“Oh?” 

“I can’t imagine spending most of my life with a man.”

I chuckled. “Yeah, me neither.” 

She looked right at me then. Her eyes were intense with emotion. 

“Myra, we should just combine our money when we’re older and get a nice house together. We could get a bunch of dogs and maybe also adopt some kids.”

I let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “Saanvi, what are you saying?” 

She snapped out of her thoughts. “Sorry, I’m not thinking right.”

I hastened to try to explain. “No,” I put my hand on hers, “it sounds nice. I would love that,” I said as I smiled at her. “But do you think our parents would really let us do that?” 

She sighed. “Yeah, probably not. Even if my parents allow me to not have an arranged marriage, they would definitely at least want some type of marriage.” 

A few months later, Saanvi had a boyfriend. The next time that our friend group would come to watch the television at our house, I made sure not to sit as close to Saanvi. 

She noticed and gave me a funny look. “Why are you so far away?”

I sat close to her but it felt weird, she had a boyfriend now. I told her this and she started laughing. 

“That was the reason? Myra, we’re both girls. Platonic love and romantic love are different. I thought you were old enough to know that now.” 

I understood this but since then, I never felt as close to her as I did before. 

Once I got home, my mom looked at me worriedly. “Myra?” 

Her voice was soft and kind and I wanted nothing more but to confide in her. However, when I looked up at her, I only felt guilty, remembering Prisha’s words from earlier. If I mentioned the two guys we saw that first day, it would ruin my parents mood. I tried to imagine how much worse they would feel if they found out something like that about me. 

“I’m fine—just cold,” I said as I rushed to my bed and under the covers with my Walkman. I hurriedly put my headphones on and listened to whatever song was on. Dream a Little Dream of Me by Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong came on. Ella sang the first few lines especially with such emotion and beauty: 

“Stars shining bright above you. Night breezes seem to whisper, ‘I love you.’”

 I sat up and huddled by the window on the side of the bed. I gazed out into the night sky as I pondered. Was it love? I couldn’t think of any other way to describe it. If this wasn’t love, I didn’t know what was. 

The next time I saw Emma at school, I grew disgusted with myself. What if Emma found out about my feelings and decided she never wanted to see me again? What if my feelings disgusted her? I guessed that people who were Indian and people who were Chinese tended to have somewhat similar sentiments towards feelings like these. 

Weirdly, when I was trying to avoid Emma, it was when I saw her the most often. Sometimes when our gazes met, she had a hurt expression on her face. I had the urge to run over to her and apologize. But I remembered that I would feel more guilty if she was disgusted by me or felt uncomfortable. 

It took a lot of willpower to ignore her. I tried to distract myself through my academics.. Ironically, some of my grades dropped from A’s to B’s. I found it much harder to focus. My mood turned increasingly despondent.

I decided to focus on music instead. The past months since I started school, my new orchestra teacher Mrs.Williams  allowed me to learn piano on the school’s grand piano after school. She often assisted students when they had questions and was very attentive during lessons. She gave me tips and even some lessons on piano. She was the teacher I had felt the closest to since I moved. 

I remember once telling her about my fascination with the moon and she gave me sheet music of the first act of Moonlight Sonata by Beethoven. I spent time practicing it after school. It was also a way to not have to see Emma after school. 

I also couldn’t get Swan Lake out of my head and I fell in love with Tchaikovksys’s music as well. Mrs.Williams was thrilled when she heard this and she even let me borrow some sheet music she had of a few of his pieces. 

At home, I spent time practicing my violin, studying, or working on the lantern. I still wanted to give it to Emma, possibly as a Christmas gift, because I didn’t want her to think I disliked her. Each time I tried to draw myself though, I stared at a feature in the mirror that I despised. Did my eyes always look that dead? Why was my nose so wide? Were my lips getting thinner?

Emma wasn’t difficult to draw, I had her face practically memorized. She was also beautiful, so making a beautiful drawing of her wasn’t a challenging feat. Making it as beautiful as her was difficult though. While the portrait of her on the lantern looked nice, it wasn’t as pretty as her. 

Seeing how pretty she looked besides me made me want to erase the sketch I made of myself and draw Rose instead. The drawing would be so much nicer to look at then. The two of them both looked like they were out of a classical painting. I snapped myself out of that spiral. That would be weird, I thought. She didn’t ask for a lantern with her and Rose drawn on it. She asked for one of me and her. 

I sighed hopelessly and just laid down on the shared desk. Looking around the bedroom, I saw the lucky cat still on the shelf. The kind, cute smile reminded me of Emma’s. I held it in my hands for a minute before hiding it in the closet behind piles of clothes. 

“Hey,” my sister called out from the doorway. 

My heart nearly jumped out of my chest. “Prish, you scared me. 

“Sorry,” she replied unapologetically. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I mean, I’d prefer you didn’t sneak up on me but I’m okay.”

“Not about that, dumbass,” she sighed then her voice turned softer. “You’ve been really quiet lately. I know that mom and dad tried to talk to you already but you wouldn’t talk to that. You’ve also been a lot less annoying recently and not in a good way.”

“You want me to be annoying?”

“Yes, actually. I'd much rather prefer that than this.” 

“What do you mean?” I replied just to be difficult. 

“Sadder, quieter. You know I said some pretty crazy stuff at dinner lately and you didn’t argue with me about it. That’s how I know something is wrong.” 

She sat next to me and put her hands on my shoulders. “Who are you and what have you done with my sister?” She asked. 

“What? What do you mean? Nothing, I’m still me. Nothing’s changed. Why would you ask that?” 

“Woah, I was just joking.”

“I knew that,” I responded, wringing my hands together.

“Myra, what’s wrong? I know we can annoy each other a lot but at the end of the day, I’m still your older sister. You can tell me anything.” 

I almost believed her for a second. I shook my head. 

“I’m fine, but thank you.” 

The next day, after practicing more piano, I walked home late with Aditi and some of my friends. Even Aditi asked me what was wrong. I used to think I was good at masking my emotions but apparently I was very wrong. 

Last night was the end of the Waning Crescent where the moon was barely able to be seen, so tonight was the inevitable New Moon.

I slowly went up the stairs to the apartment.

 My parents were waiting on the couch. My mom looked furious and my dad held his forehead in both of his hands. The cold fear from a few nights ago returned. 

“What happened?” 

My mom took a deep breath as she tried to gain her composure. “I was cleaning the house, including your bedroom.”

My eyes went wide. Did she find something? What if she saw the lucky cat and guessed that it was from Emma and guessed how I felt about her? I shouldn’t have hid it, I should’ve given it back to her or smashed it. 

“I was worried about you.” 

I noticed the past tense used of the word. 

“All of us were. But then I found this in your room.” She took my journal out of her pocket.  

My legs turned to jelly and I fell to the ground. 

“Can you explain the writing in this?” She asked, in a quiet but harsh tone. 

I remembered some of the things I had written, lines such as wanting to travel to the sky and take back all the stars it stole and put them back in her eyes. They weren’t necessarily beautiful or even comprehensive—they were written with a sleep-addled brain—but they were still heartfelt

“Mom, it’s about my best friend,”

“People don’t write about their best friends like this. Can you swear to me that this is a best friend?”
I knew that I couldn’t. 

She laughed in disbelief. 

“Do you know how much we had to give up to move here?” Her voice elevated.

I felt my tears cascading onto the palms of my hands.

“I know. I’m so sorry.”

“Your apology doesn’t mean anything. You are so ungrateful. Your father and I worked so hard for us to have a better life here in America. I never knew you would risk it all for some silly lovesick fantasies.”

I looked to my dad and he looked away immediately. My parents couldn’t even stand to look at me. I felt like I was worse than the rats in the subways and the piles of trash bags on the street. 

“I can’t believe this.,” my mom continued, her Hindi had never sounded this harsh before. “Feelings like that—for a girl? I wanted you to live without regrets. You, Prisha, and Revan. I wanted you to live like I couldn’t. I was on the border when Papa suggested moving to America. But he wanted what’s best for you all as well. You could get a much better education here and much better jobs. To live in a country with much less corruption. In a society with less judgment from relatives. By less judgment. I never imagined you would take it this far. Maybe we should’ve never moved here.”

My dad sighed. He looked guilty, as if he felt responsible in some way. I felt horrible. 

“It wasn’t because we moved to America,” I said in a small voice. 

That stopped my mom’s speech. “What?” 

“I-I felt similarly for one of my friends in India.”

Chapter 10: Umbra

Umbra (n.) “the fully shaded inner region of a shadow cast by an opaque object, especially the area on the earth or moon experiencing the total phase of an eclipse” (Oxford Dictionary).

I was experiencing some of the darkest days of my life. I was cast in a complete shadow, surrounded by darkness, in an abyss where light couldn’t penetrate. How had I lost all the closest people to me in the span of a week? First Emma then my family. I could spend a milenia sobbing but I remembered that I still had to go to school the next morning and I didn’t want Prisha or Revan to not be able to sleep.

There was little hope to look forward to the next morning. Getting out of bed was an extremely difficult feat. My body was made of dense iron and I didn’t know how to lift my legs. Prisha looked at me with pitying eyes as she shook me awake for school. Revan gave me a hug and I nearly burst out into tears. I was an emotional wreck. 

The breakfast I ate, even though it was ordinary milk and cereal, tasted bitter and I ended up throwing it up. My mom was still in her bedroom and my dad had left for work already. Prisha told me that Aditi’s family was giving us a ride to school that day. I nodded. 

Throughout the day, my mind was filled with horrible emotions. Embarrassment, humiliation, misery, disgust, guilt. All of these ingredients mixed in cauldron to create a rancid, vile tasting potion of self-hatred.

A few days later, my mom asked me if she could talk to me after dinner. A flighty, deceiving, white bird trapped me in its nest of hope.

I sat with Mom in the living room. Dad was still at work and Prisha and Revan were in their rooms.

She took a deep breath and began to talk. “I said some cruel things to you the other day. I was perhaps unnecessarily harsh, I didn’t mean to scare you or make you fall into a deeper misery. As your mother, I hate seeing you so sad.” My wishful thinking made me so elated and I truly believed that everything might go back to normal between us. 

“I only want what is best for you,” she continued. “I know you are still growing and we have just moved to a whole new country, I understand that you must be overwhelmed and confused. You have always been a little quiet and emotional. Your poetry was filled with emotion. I just think that you are misinterpreting that platonic love as romantic.”

Well, that wasn’t the response I was hoping for but hope was a fickle, unreasonable thing anyways. It was still a better response than I could have expected. 

I thanked her and thought more about her words as I lay awake that night. All of a sudden, I recalled the tightrope between Indian and American culture that I was trying to balance on. Had I gone too far towards the American side, like my mother earlier implied? Was I betraying my own culture? Possibly even my religion? 

After everyone in my family was asleep, I tip-toed to our family computer—a beige, boxy contraption sitting awkwardly on a table in the living room. I researched Hindu texts I could find and thought back to one’s I had previously read. There were many differences I learned about certain animals in nature who observed same-sex relationships. Some people who were Hindu saw God as genderless or bigender. Sanskrit had words for male, female, and even words for gender-neutral, such as “tritiya-prakriti,” a being who is not fully male or female.

Relationships between deities of the same gender were also prevalent throughout the religion, but many priests would disregard or obstruct the teaching of them. I thought about how, while these types of relationships were condemned in many Indian cultures, our religion didn’t explicitly condemn them. It reminded me of how sexism against women was prevalent in Indian cultures while our religion instead preached for the respect of women—especially through the holiday of Ashtami, a time to worship and give gifts to young girls.

I also researched the history of homophobia, a word I just learned, in the United States and some international sources as well. I learned about protests that had occurred and the civil rights movements for people of different sexualities, gender orientations, etc. 

I went to sleep that night feeling much better than I had in days. I could see a small, flickering candle in the umbra I was stuck in, I just had to use it to guide myself out. 

Chapter 11: Moonlight Sonata 

That Friday, I stayed after school to play the grand piano in Mrs.William’s room and I finally played Moonlight Sonata Act I without mistakes. I could feel the sorrow and longing in the melody. It was gentle, somber, and melancholy. I had practiced it so much that at this point, I was able to close my eyes and allow myself to get lost in the tune. I remembered Swan Lake, and how the lake was formed from the tears of the White Swan Odette’s mother. 

I pictured the lake reflecting moonlight on the night of a full moon. I began to continue on to Act II, which, while I couldn’t play perfectly, still gave me a feeling of hope. I imagined a magic carpet ride on that same night of the full moon. My mind didn’t hesitate when picturing the person who would be sitting next to me, the person who was my other half, the sun to my moon.

Suddenly, the door burst open. I made a cacophony of discordant notes on the piano out of shock. “Hello?” I called out. 

Mrs.Williams came out of the shadows and pulled a chair next to the bench I was on. “I apologize for interrupting your playing, you do seem to be making good progress on Act II but Act I…”

“How was it?” I asked with excited hope. 

“Beautiful. You played it with such raw emotion. The longing and the sadness you expressed, it was exactly how I imagine Beethoven had felt when compassing it.”

I felt beyond elated and proud. “Thank you so much! That was the best compliment I could have received.” 

She chuckled light-heartedly at my excitement. “I’ve had extremely talented students before. I wouldn’t say that you’re at their level, yet, but the emotion and intensity you played with is even more rare than finding a student with immense talent. You didn’t just express skill and accuracy when playing the composition but you also captured the essence of the piece itself—it’s heart.” 

I could barely comprehend the shower of compliments that I was receiving. I thanked her again, graciously. 

“However, the emotion of this piece, although you conveyed it beautifully, is not one that is all that happy,” She laughed a little at her own joke. “That is an understatement, but I was wondering if everything is okay?” 

I trusted Mrs.Williams more than any of my other teachers and I looked up to her. But because I looked up to her, I didn’t want her to think badly of me. I didn’t want my opinion to change. 

Likely noticing my hesitance, she continued. “You told me once that one of your favorite songs is Fly Me to the Moon and how much you love the moon. The beautiful thing about the moon is that it shows how, even at times when it seems like all hope is lost, light can shine even in a sea of darkness. I don’t want to be presumptuous enough to assume that I can solve all of your problems—the odds are I probably can’t—but I still want to try to help. Even if you just want someone to talk to. I might not be able to light the candle that gets rid of your problems but I might be able to direct you towards the lighter.” 

I sat there in shock for a moment. “Are you sure you’re a music teacher and not an English teacher?’ 

She chuckled. “I swear I’m a music teacher. So, what do you say? I won’t judge you and I promise I won’t even tell anyone. Unless, of course, it is something dire, such as you or someone else is in danger,” she reasoned seriously.

“No! It’s nothing dire.” 

I chewed on my lip and decided to tell her. She was kind and accepting. I heard that she had even participated in civil rights marches and protests for equality during the 1960s and 1970s. I knew she wouldn’t judge me for something like this. Well, I didn’t know for sure but I had a feeling that if I were to trust and confide in anyone about something like this, it should be her. 

“I’m scared that I’m in love with someone.”

She made a delighted noise. 

“But it’s someone I shouldn’t be in love with,” I continued. 

“Is it a student in the school?” She asked hesitantly. 

I nodded. 

“Is the world trying to keep you two apart? A tale of star-crossed lovers?” She asked with a soft smile. 

“That’s a poetic way of saying it but, yes, I guess we are.” 

“I see. I’ll tell you about the story of my husband and I. We met in university. We were both music majors but I concentrated in mostly classical music while his focus was in jazz. In our early 20s, we were just a couple of aspiring musicians and we soon became close. We were so similar but also opposites in some ways. Ultimately, we ended up falling in love. But during the 60s, interracial marriage was still frowned upon and some states even had laws against it. The horrible things that were said about my husband, at the time my boyfriend, deeply pained me. Even though it was legal in New York, the two of us participated in some protests and marches calling out the unconstitutionality of the laws banning interracial marriage in some states. We wanted equality for couples everywhere. Later, during the 70’s, I saw all the protests for the gay liberation movement. I remembered how people, especially during the early 20th century, would think it was wrong for my husband and I to fall in love, a black man and a white woman. But they were wrong.” 

I didn’t realize that my eyes were watering until I felt the tears falling down my face. I wiped my eyes with the sleeve of my sweater. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” she reassured and her voice turned soft again. “I’m assuming that the situation is similar to your’s?” 

“Yeah. I’m in love with my best friend,” I inhaled, that was the first time I said that aloud with confidence, “and she’s a girl.”

“Ah,” the realization clicked in her. 

Once the words began, I couldn’t stop them. I had never really talked about this with anyone. “My mom found a journal where I had written some of my thoughts and poems and she figured it out.”

“Wow, poetry. That definitely is romantic.”

“Yeah, I should’ve hidden that journal better.”

“Hey, your parents were inevitably going to find out. Especially if you continue to be with her long term. You couldn’t have hidden it from them forever. They need to know and either hopefully accept and support you or at least come to terms with it.”

The thought of staying with Emma for a long time made me want to smile stupidly but it was unlikely. 

“She doesn’t know.” 

Mrs.Williams looked at me sympathetically. “I see. So that’s where the emotion while you were playing was coming from. I could practically feel the longing.” 

I sighed.

“Can I offer you some advice?”

I nodded enthusiastically. 

“I would recommend coming to terms with your own feelings before confessing to her. It seems like you do not fully accept yourself yet. If you can’t accept yourself, it would be hard to convince other people to. Especially those who are on the fence or far from acceptance.”

I agreed, what she was saying made sense, but “do I have to confess?”

She gave a soft smile. “I think eventually, when you’re ready. If you never confess you’ll never know if she feels the same. Even if it seems incredulous, it’s possible that she reciprocates your feelings. If you never tell her, you’ll never know,” she made a ‘poof’ gesture with her hands, “what could’ve been.” 

I contemplated her words. “You’re right.”

“I would hope so. I’m a 50 year old woman. Hopefully all my years of experience lead to at least some valuable wisdom.”’

I laughed. “Thank you so much. The past week has been very isolating. I’m so grateful for your help and your kindness.”

“Of course,” she smiled with her eyes crinkling, “and Myra, I hope things work out for you. You’re a nice person and deserve good things. If you ever need to talk about anything, I’ll be here.”

I felt my eyes starting to water again. I thanked her again and started to head home. 

Chapter 12: Penumbra

Penumbra (n.) a space of partial illumination (as in an eclipse) between the perfect shadow on all sides and the full light. 

Yes, hope was a fickle, flighty bird. It could deceive you into believing in your most wishful thoughts. But it was also a light in the darkness. 

I read more of Sappho’s poetry. I continued to write more of my own—this time, not sleep-addled but with full focus and concentration and just the same amount of emotion. I began to find the beauty in love, the beauty in my all-encompassing feelings. At the crux of it, I felt love just like people who were heterosexual. I was also a hopeless romantic, just like my sister. I had the desire to feel loved and be close to someone. To embrace, kiss, write, give gifts, spend quality time with someone. 

Why should I be disgusted with myself? Even the religion I was raised by didn’t condemn these types of feelings, so why should my family? My heart felt lighter than usual that afternoon as I walked home. 

When I got home, Prisha insisted that she wanted to talk to me. Revan was in the room also, playing with his toys. 

With a deep breath, she began. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have abandoned you when you were going through a hard time. That’s when you need your family the most and mom and dad already weren’t there, obviously, so I should have at least been there. I saw you hiding the cat statue that Emma gave you and I figured you guys aren't talking anymore either.” She sighed shakily. 

“I can’t imagine how alone you felt. No matter what happened, whether it’s right or wrong, you didn’t deserve to feel that alone. You’re so nice and care about our family so much. Even though I don’t exactly understand, you deserved better from all of us. I just stayed in my room as I heard Mama yell at you. I’m so sorry.”

I began to tear up along with her. “Thank you,” I hugged her.

Revan came over as well. He was frowning. “Myra, please don’t be sad.” 

I laughed wetly and brought him into the hug. Prish and I started to cry freely as we hugged each other.

Prish’s apology had warmed my heart. It was better than I could have hoped for. Of course, it had hurt to be disregarded and ignored by people you care about but I was glad that she realized. Haven’t I been doing the same thing to Emma? I thought all of a sudden. 

The realization dawned over me. I was horrified. I had been treating her the same way I hated being treated. 

“I have to apologize to Emma!” I blurted out.

Prish nodded. “I saw Emma before. She seemed almost as sad as you’ve been. You two are miserable without each other.”

I ran to the Zhaos’ grocery store almost as quickly as the beats of my heart. When I made it to the store, I was out of breath. Frantically, I searched for Emma and I couldn’t see her anymore. After I made my long overdue realization, every minute without seeing her felt like a year. 

“Mrs. Zhao!” I exclaimed as I saw her. 

She was startled and looked behind her. “Oh, Myra. It has been a long time since you came by,” she responded, not necessarily coldly but also not with her usual cheerful voice. 

“I know,” I responded guiltily, “and I’m so sorry, but do you know where Emma is?” 

Her expression lightened ever so slightly. “Yes, she just went for a walk. She should be back soon.” 

While I waited for Emma, I helped Mrs.Zhao with errands around the store. Some of the customers gave me a funny look but I didn’t mind. 

“Myra?” I heard a familiar voice call out. God, I was so happy to hear her voice again. I turned around from where I was helping Mrs.Zhao stack shelves. 

I turned around and was about to rush over to her when I remembered I had to put down the snacks. Emma’s expression was one filled with hurt and confusion. I also saw that she was with Rose. My face darkened. Has she replaced me? Did she realize that Rose was way prettier and more charming than I could ever be?

I shook myself out of my thoughts. I had no right to feel that way. I was the one who ignored her for weeks. 

Nevertheless, the words disappeared. My throat felt weirdly dry. Rose waved to me and I waved back, robotically. The awkward tension was palpable. Rose felt it too. 

“I should head out. See you guys at school,” she greeted, then rushed to leave.

I noticed that she used the plural form. Warmly, I realized that Emma wasn’t saying bad things about me to her, even though I probably deserved it. 

Mrs.Zhao said something to her in Mandarin. Emma’s face softened a bit, but she still looked hurt.

“I’m sorry—” I started.

“Do you wanna head upstairs?” 

At her apartment, “I know that sorry probably doesn’t cut it. I regret ignoring you out of nowhere like that. It was so unfair to you.” 

She chewed on her lip. “Then why’d you do it?” 

“I was afraid.”

Her expression turned into one of concern. “Afraid?” 

“Of how much I like you.”

Chapter 13:  Jupiter 

We were lying side by side on her couch but she shot up immediately.“Myra–what, you ignored me because you like me so much?”

“Yeah,” I nodded, feeling guilty.

She took a deep breath. “Okay, I don’t understand but I’ll try. Why were you afraid?”
“Emma, I Iike you way more than I’ve liked anyone before.”

She chuckled. “Myra, that’s not a bad thing. I feel the same with you.”

My heart nearly jumped out of my chest.

“It just means that we’re best friends. We’re closer to each other than we are with our other friends. I like you more than I can comprehend also. You know, when I saw you at the store, I kinda wanted to ignore you like you did with me. But after my mom told me you apologized and seemed guilty, I immediately changed my mind. I don’t think I would do that with anyone else.” 

Her words were sweet but I realized I misunderstood her. She doesn’t feel the same as I do. I was fine though. It wasn’t her fault. I wanted to catch the bird of hope that fluttered around in my body and release it. It kept deluding me into wanting more and more.

“Was that really it?” She asked. 

“Well not exactly. This is embarrassing to admit but…”

“I won’t judge you,” she smiled. 

“At the ballet, I saw how you were looking at Rose. You looked at her as if she was the most ethereal person to exist. I agree, she is beautiful, but I wanted you to look at me like that. I know sometimes that’s how I look at you. When you stared at the moon during the Mid-Autumn Festival and when you stared at the stars in the planetarium, your eyes lit up. When we went ice-skating, I felt like you were my anchor. After the ballet, I realized I felt too strongly for you. I thought maybe these feelings would go away if I stayed away from you,” I laughed dryly, “obviously that was wrong because I missed you so much that I think my feelings actually got stronger the more time we spent apart.”

“Distance makes the heart grow fonder,” she replied. That was not the reply I was expecting. 

“What does that mean?” 

“I read it somewhere, it means that distance can lead to increased feelings. The absence of the other person’s presence makes you miss it.”

I nodded in contemplation. How could I have been so stupid? That logic was so obvious. 

“Myra,” Emma said softly.

“Hmm?” 

“What did you mean when you said you want me to look at you like I look at Rose?”

I wrung my hands together and bounced my leg. “I got unfairly jealous. I wish I was as pretty or as pale as her.”

She furrowed her eyebrows together. “Myra you are pretty.” 

I laughed light-heartedly. “You don’t have to say that to make me feel better.” 

“Do you think you have to be pale to be pretty?” 

“No, of course not! I mean, well, it’s just…” 

She raised her eyebrow. 

“In India, I never thought that way. A lot of people did but I always argued with them. But over there, at least in the region in the North where I lived, everyone had somewhat similar skin tones. We were all brown. Seeing how beautiful Rose and the other ballerinas looked up on the stage, I guess I just associated paleness with beauty.” 

Emma smiled. “You remind me of myself. When I was younger and saw ballet performances, I noticed how most of the time, all the ballerinas were white. In my ballet class, I was the only Chinese girl there. I didn’t feel as pretty as the other students. I felt like I stuck out like a sore thumb. I told my mom this and she told me seriously that I couldn’t let myself think like that. Just because you’re in a minority doesn’t mean you’re any less beautiful than the majority.”

She continued. “You wanna know the real reason I was staring at Rose? She reminded me of what I could’ve been if I kept doing ballet. She’s not even a private school kid and she’s our age. She shows me how my dream is so close yet so far. Remember when I told you Jupiter was my favorite planet?” 

I nodded, confused. I remembered but why did she ask all of a sudden? 

“I feel like Jupiter sometimes, like a failed star. I think about everything I could’ve been. But my family couldn’t afford to keep sending me to ballet classes. Instead, I have to help out at the store.”

I paused. “You’re good at it though. Your customer service and advertising is amazing. If it wasn’t, we might have never met or become friends.” 

She laughed. “No, for some reason, I feel like we would have met anyway. I feel like we were meant to.” 

“I agree, there’s like a red string tying me to you. I saw it that day at the ice skating rink. It led me back to you.”

“Yeah, I never pictured it like that but I see it now,” she smiled softly and reached for my hand. 

I jerked my hand away and jumped up from the couch. Her expression looked hurt and I hated myself for constantly causing it. “Emma, I have to tell you something. You said that the strong feelings we both feel just means we’re best friends. But I’m afraid that for me at least, it’s more than that. I think I’m in love with you, and not in the way friends or family members are. I had to tell you because I’d feel guilty if you didn’t know” 

Her eyes went wide. “Myra…”

“You don’t have to say anything. You don’t have to see me ever again if you don’t want to. ”

“No, wait! I don’t want us to ignore each other. It didn’t work the first time. It’s not going to work now.”

“I know, but in case you don’t feel the same way or if this repulses you. Whatever it is, you can think about it. I don't need an answer right now.”

She tucked her knees under her chin and pondered for a while. “I’m not repulsed by it, Myra. But yeah, I do need to think about this for a while.”

I felt at least a little relieved. “That’s alright. You can talk to me when you want to.”

Chapter 14: Solar Eclipse

Waiting for Emma’s response made me oddly restless. We still talked to each other at school and even hung out sometimes but there was no mention of the conversation. 

Regardless, my mood must’ve significantly improved because my parents even asked about it at the dinner table after Revan and Prish were already in our room.

“You seem really happy now,” my dad stated. “I’m glad.”

My mom nodded her head in agreement. “What happened?”

I hesitated but remembered what Mrs.Williams had said. “Yeah, I started talking to Emma again,” I explained, looking down at my feet. 

My parents looked at each other. My dad sighed and decided to busy himself with cleaning up some dishes. 

“Darling, you know your dad and I want you to be happy,” my mom stated.

I felt like copying my dad and sighing as well. “Yes, I know. And Emma makes me feel happy.”

“Yeah, I had a feeling ever since your mood brightened,” she paused, “As your mother, I’m more insightful than you realize. I might not fully understand it but I know that you’re happy. I don’t know if I’m okay with it and I honestly don’t know if I ever will be but I can tell that you two care about each other and make each other happy. By the way,” she said, leading me to the entryway, “she left this for you, saying that it’s a Christmas gift.” 

My mom handed me the neatly wrapped box. 

I looked up at her and I didn’t even have words to express my happiness. I hugged her. 

She hugged me back, tightly. “I learned that our religion doesn’t condemn these feelings either. It’s nice that you checked.” 

I looked at her confused. 

My dad walked over to the entryway as well. The tension in his shoulders had dissipated as well after hearing what Mom said to me. “You didn’t erase the computer history. Your mom and I saw all the closed tabs.”

My mom nodded. “We did some research ourselves. Or at least, we looked at your research. 

“Thank you Mama and Papa.” I smiled gratefully.

I went to my room to open the present. I felt bad since I wasn’t even finished with the lantern yet. I carefully ripped off the neat wrapping paper. I saw a clay crown with a note. The note read:

A crown fit for a princess.  Don’t ever forget that you’re beautiful.

PS. I’m not the best at pottery. Maybe we could learn it together someday ;) 

P.S.S. We should go out for coffee this weekend! 

It was such a sweet gift and so was her note. I went into the closet and took the lucky cat out and put it back on the shelf. I placed the crown next to it. I took the note and placed it inside  my journal in my nightstand drawer.

I looked at the drawing I made on the lantern. It didn’t seem as heartfelt as hers. I looked at the note again and a lightbulb clicked on in my brain. 

That week, I worked tirelessly on a short violin piece inspired by some of my favorite ‘50s and ‘60s music as well as Moonlight Sonata. When I was done composing it, I played it for Mrs.Williams. She was thoroughly impressed and complimented my emotion and skill playing it. 

“I’m guessing this is for the girl you were talking about before?” She asked.

I felt my face get hot and I nodded. 

“I’m sure she’ll love it.”

Saturday finally rolled around and I carried my gifts with me to the cafe. The cafe Emma chose was beautiful. There was a cozy ambience, with wool couches and cushions and oak tables and chairs. There was light jazz playing on the speakers. Sunlight was streaming in through the windows. I saw Emma excitedly wave me over to her table. 

“Wow, this place is really nice.”

However, Emma was distracted by the presents I was holding in my hand.

“Are those for me?!” She asked enthusiastically. 

I nodded. 

“Two? I only got you one.”

“Well, one is a gift, the other one was a promise.” 

“Ugh, now I’m more excited. But I still need to tell you something first.”

“Don’t you want to open the gifts first?” I goaded, frowning dramatically. I was also somewhat worried about what she might say

“Nah, I’m gonna take a word out of your book and dramatically confess something first.” 

I laughed. “Ouch, that’s fair.” 

She played with a sugar packet. “The past few months have been amazing. I had more fun than I’ve had in a long time,” I looked down at the ground of the cafe out of fear of what was inevitably coming next. 

“Hey!” She jutted in as she grabbed my chin and moved my head level to her’s so I could meet her eyes. I felt my face heat up. I hoped she wouldn’t be able to notice. 

“This isn’t bad I promise. To continue, I also met someone amazing. The two of us are connected by a red string.Do you know the red thread theory?” 

I smiled at her mention of the string I talked about before but I shook my head, “No, I don’t.” 

“It sounded familiar when you talked about it so I asked my mom about it. It comes from a Chinese myth. It’s the belief that there’s a red thread of fate that connects soulmates. The matchmaking god who lives on the moon, Yue Lao, is in charge of the red thread. The thread connects two people by their ankles.”

This definitely didn’t sound platonic. My heart, once again, was revisited by the flighty, fickle bird of hope. “Ankles huh, maybe that’s the reason I didn’t fall that day when ice skating,” I replied, trying to lighten the mood and my nerves with a joke.

It worked because Emma laughed. “Nah, I’m pretty sure that was just because I caught you.’

“But I do think we are connected by the red thread. You’re my other half, Myra. I love you.” 

Those three words sent the bird in my heart soaring and singing with joy. A symphony orchestra seemed to play behind me and every color in the cafe was twice as bright as before. 

I nearly cried and it took all of my willpower not to, to try to save myself from the embarrassment. My expression must’ve been obvious enough beecause Emma beamed at me. 

“Oh, it’s time for you to open your gifts!” I blurted out, as a distraction. 

I gave her the thinner one first. My job at wrapping it wasn’t nearly as neat as her’s had been. 

She opened it and gasped as she saw the drawing I made of the two of us. “Myra, this is beautiful,” she said, then waited a moment, remembering something. “Was this one the promise?” I nodded. “I can’t even imagine what the gift will be like then. This is already so amazing. I’m going to hang it up by my desk when I get home.”

I chuckled. “Not before throwing out the old one, right?”

“Nah, I’m keeping that one too.”

“Emma!” I exclaimed, exasperated.

She stuck her tongue out at me and I light-heartedly rolled my eyes. 

I then handed her the smaller present. She gingerly took it from my hand and carefully ripped the wrapping paper. It was a small, gray, rectangular box. 

“A cassette?” She wondered to which I nodded. She held up the note and read it. 

 I hope you enjoy Luna and Solis, Latin for Moon and Sun.

It’s a violin solo I composed inspired by how you are like the Sun to my Moon. 

After all, every artist needs their muse :)

“You composed a song for me?” She asked incredulously. 

“Yes, well technically. It’s the first time I ever tried to write and perform my own music so it’s probably not that good but—”

She practically flung herself over the table to hug me.

In the beginning, the two of us were like a lunar eclipse, the entire world stood between us and we couldn’t be further apart. Now we were a solar eclipse, connected by a red thread and closer than ever, standing in front of the world.

Chapter 15: Lunar New Year

Emma invited me to come with her to see the Lunar New Year parade. I was excited to go but then realized it would be on the day of a New Moon. The last New Moon I remembered still haunted me, which made me apprehensive. I agreed regardless because I was excited to see it.

My family and I spent much more time together than we had in a while. We visited many different attractions in the city that were on our list. Tensions overall had simmered from a boil to steady water. The general rule of thumb was just to avoid talking about my feelings for Emma. That was something I could manage. I knew there was still progress that was to be made but I was still happy. 

A few days before Lunar New Year, Emma and I sat on her balcony and looked at the moon. 

“Sometimes,” she began, “I wish I could just escape to the moon. I’ve always loved it ever since I was a kid. A calm, peaceful place where the god of soulmates lives. If we lived there, we wouldn't have to worry about what our parents or other people think or say.”

“Yeah, that seems nice. But won’t it get boring up there? We’d probably get sick of each other also. And we would miss our families.”

She pondered for a moment. “That’s true. It’s probably for the best that we live on Earth.”

“Also the fact that it’s the only planet where we can survive.”

She laughed. “That too.”

Back at home, my mom and dad were still practicing English and had improved significantly with mine and Prisha’s help. I was excited for Indian holidays that were coming soon as well, like Holi. My culture and complexion is so beautiful and I was almost ashamed that I ever felt embarrassed of it. I was no less beautiful than a pale girl with European features.

At school, I apologized to James and explained that I actually was like Sappho and didn’t even realize. He said he was similar to me and our friendship grew closer that day, creating a secrecy pact and also having someone else to talk to. 

I began to bring in any Indian food I wanted for lunch, no matter how strong it smelled. It felt like people had stopped giving me funny looks or maybe I had just stopped noticing them. 

When Lunar New Year came, I invited my family to come along with me. My mom and Prish were apprehensive at first but agreed. The two of them ended up enjoying the parade along with Revan and Dad.

I stood by Emma, holding her hand for warmth. looked up at the sky and saw the absence of the moon. I didn’t fear it as much anymore. I didn’t need the moon in the sky for a day to be a good day. The New Moon was just as nice as the full moon.

Sources:

Ancient Greece’s greatest popstar - Diane J. Rayor. (2021, September 20). [Video]. TED-Ed. https://ed.ted.com/lessons/ancient-greece-s-most-intriguing-erotic-poet-diane-j-rayor

If Not, Winter: Fragments of Sappho. (2009). United States: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group.

Papadimitropoulos, L. (2017). Sappho Fr. 16: Love and war. The Classical Journal, 112(2), 129. https://doi.org/10.5184/classicalj.112.2.0129

Red thread of fate. (2023, September 27). Wikipedia. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Red_thread_of_fate

Sappho. (1855). The Metropolitan Museum of Art. https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/11678

Swan Lake. (2023, December 11). Wikipedia. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Swan_Lake

Yue Lao. (2023, September 28). Wikipedia. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yue_Lao