Tower To The Stars

They say that destiny is never wrong. Of course, it can never be. Even when everything seems at stake and nothing is going the way you want it to, when you feel like your world is crumbling to dust and all you want to do is bury your head in your arms and cry. Despite that, eventually, you realize everything happens for a reason. Even an atom cannot move unless it has a purpose. Maybe that is why I have felt so alone all these years. That loneliness has been preparing me to appreciate the arms that will make me whole again. It has been preparing me for the blessed feeling of joy running through my veins when my body will relax against hers. And I will never lose her again because every broken memory and every uttered promise of the past that haunts me and reminds me of her has been building a tower.

 

A tower to the stars.

 

A tower to finally reunite with the one I love the most.

 

My sister.

***

Wrapping my hands around the coffee cup, I trace circles on the seat handle with my thumb. My eyes glance irritably at the plane's takeoff board. The frown lines in my temple deepen as I realize that my flight is still delayed.

I lick my lips and draw my legs closer, trying to coax myself into taking a nap. But between the passionate marriage of sounds and frantic excitement swirling inside me, sleep seems hours away.

 

I check what time I need to arrive in the files from my suitcase. My boss is counting on me to make this proposal a success. He even offered to pay me double. I didn't have a choice but to agree to travel to Moscow and meet up with a wealthy client who could make our business soar to the moon and stuff our faces with bags of cash. And it's up to me to make this dream a reality.

 I feel nervous about carrying such an enormous responsibility. But I know my boss saw something in me that made him choose me, a rookie fresh out of college, for this job. Even though there were qualified professionals with over 40 years of experience, he still chose me.

I gently tap the seat next to me as Ginger, my little Chihuahua, tilts her head a little but then lowers it back to her paws as she whines, much like a rat. I giggle and realize she isn't going to jump. She can't. My little angel has the appetite of a horse and the body of a mouse.

I rearrange Ginger's long leash in my sweat-soaked hands when she falls on her belly, coiling her legs in a tangled mess.

I pull my jacket tighter, feeling my body tremble. My lips quiver and turn blue. I don't know if it is cold outside, but I can feel the chill of the AC blowing through the vents. The marble floor isn't doing much to keep me warm, either.

But despite the bitter cold, people crowd in and out of the shops. They seem to be stocking up on supplies for the long flight ahead, or determined to find something special in any shop that catches their eye. A line has already formed outside the restaurants, bringing the delicious aromas of various international cuisines to my nose.

Even when it's lunchtime, and my stomach is snarling with hunger, I still don't think it's worth it to stand in line for hours just to grab a bite to eat. I decide that it's probably best to eat when I'm on the plane.

As I am making up my mind to either do some sightseeing or take a nap, I peek at the big clock just above the tram station.

It reads 11:59. I cover my ears, my palms pressing hard against them.

The Big Ben clock tower situated in the heart of London announces the noon hour with a deafening chime. The sound echoes throughout the airport so loud that my heart pounds against my ribcage and sends spikes of pain to my ears. For a few seconds I hear nothing, but soon it's over and the airport is once again filled with murmuring whispers and sounds made by departing and arriving planes.

Moments tick by before I remove my hands. It's the usual practice to wear earmuffs as Big Ben is loud enough to damage your hearing permanently. Too bad I forgot mine at home.

Tired of sitting in my chair, I stand up, dust the invisible dirt off my clothes, give Ginger's leash a solid jerk so it wraps around my hand, and reach for my bag with my free hand before strapping on the mini backpack that holds all my essentials.

The clicking sound from my high-heels echoes throughout the terminal. At first, I was taken aback by the sparkling design scheme that decorated the vast airport, shrouding every traveller in beautiful brightness. The windows are cleverly pointed to let in ample amounts of light to combat any bleak weather outside. There are people everywhere, walking from one location to another, others stopping at various shops and stores or hopping into restaurants for a quick bite or drink. All of it unnerved me at first, but now I think I'm quite used to the grandeur. It is just like any other day at the airport, but this time it is different; instead of only waiting in tense silence to board a plane that would take us away from our troubles and towards a new destination, things look much more lively today because the holidays are right around the corner!

I decided to walk closer to where all the shops are located. Ginger appears to be having the fun of a lifetime as she barks at passersby until they look back at us and look me up and down, scowls overshadowing their faces. I flush and feel the warmth blooming in my cheeks. I look down nervously at my red high heels, feeling like I've come overdressed.

I look at every shop, trying my best not to spend too much time in them and miss my plane at the last minute after such a long wait.

Just as I am leaving a perfume shop, my mind befuddled by strong, floral scents, my phone rings with a notification. Mom has sent me surges of annoying text messages in the last few hours, flooding the chat.

When are you coming? 8:20a.m.

We're waiting… 9:45 a.m.

BROOKLYN ANA DAVIS!!! Answer me right now, young lady. 12:09a.m.

Lowering my head, I rub my forehead in exhaustion. I have completely forgotten that I am supposed to be in Tallahassee right now, helping my mother prepare for her twenty-eighth-anniversary party that she told me about many months ago. I'll be forced to let her know I may not be coming after all. My boss had told me about this errand on such short notice that I had to say yes immediately. After all, I need promotion in order to help pay my parents' bills and my college loans.

But I also can't forget our last summer together as a whole family. 

My parents would always be relaxing in their easy chairs, tasting varieties of cocktails in tall glass mugs with those small Hawaiian umbrellas for decorations and weird carvings. 

I always loved visiting my parents in Florida. But those fleeting memories of family reunions dissipate when my vision blurs and my heart begins to thump rapidly. I realize now that my happiness has been nothing but a show, a spectacle. I usually smile, deep dimples gracing my cheeks, but there are irreparable holes in my heart, the scars left by memories. Every time I set foot on the sandy beach or tropical paradise, bubbling emotions of all those painful moments come rushing back like the ocean itself. I am once again reminded of a past I desperately want to forget. At the same time, though, I can't lose the happy memories I cherished so much. At this moment, I feel like even thinking about the salty beach air is bringing those bitter feelings to the forefront again, rubbing against an open wound in my soul that never really healed.

When I was younger, I always felt alone. Growing up with working parents was extremely tough. 

They were never home. 

It was more like I was living alone with total strangers that I never seemed to get close to. 

But it wasn't always like that. I didn't always feel alone…

Before my tenth birthday, I had my older sister who was always by my side. She was so good to me, almost too good. Once, when my parents could not buy a cake for my fifth birthday, my sister surprised me by baking one at home and even letting me lick off the excess frosting. Her bright eyes were always so kind that I thought of her as my hero. I did not have many friends, but she never failed to make up for it.

I constantly thought about her after she left. I wanted to call out to her, but I knew I wouldn't get a response. She and my parents were always arguing, and then she finally just…vanished. 

I was very young when my sister left, so I remember little about her. All my mother told me was that she had gone to another country with the help of a friend. I never saw her again after that day. When I was finally old enough to understand the situation, I encouraged my parents to find her. Some time passed before I gave up hope of finding my sister.

The wind caresses my neck, bringing me back to reality. Nervous to break the bad news, I message Mom why I can't make it and that I'm deeply sorry I did not inform her sooner. And with that, I decide not to look at her answer, because I can already guess that it won't be pretty.

As I pass the departure board on my way to Starbucks for another round of coffee, I glance at the airline names depicted and my heart leaps with joy.

There beside number 12 it reads: Lufthansa flight 201 boarding in two minutes. 

After seeing that, all I'm aware of is the air rushing past my face and the click-clack of my heels running with Ginger trudging right behind me.

Breathing heavily, fingers sprawling against my chest, I feel my heart pounding the way it does when I listen to really loud music.

The ticket collector guy is about to close the door when I rush over and slam my ticket down on the counter. "Please don't tell me I'm late."

The man smiles, pushing his glasses up his nose. "Not at all, madam. In fact," he glances at his watch, "you still have a minute."

"Thank God." As I hand him my ticket, a gust of wind blows it out of my hand and onto the floor. As we both try to reach for it, we bump heads.

"Ow." 

"Sor--sorry, madam." The man stammers while turning tomato red, and wastes no time in quickly scanning and stamping the ticket, then opens the door with a bright smile. "Have a safe trip, madam."

  ***

As the minute's tick by after I take my seat, a woman with black hair tied in a ponytail, about my Mom's age, sits down next to me with a bundled-up baby sleeping quietly in her arms. 

I am a little confused. When I booked the plane ticket, I thought I would sit alone. 

Just as I'm about to ask a flight attendant, the engine springs to life, and the wind brushes against the plane's sleek body.

I forget what I was going to say. It doesn't matter, anyway. I feel that this is my cradle in heaven, rocked by the winds of the heights. Even as the motors rev up, my mind drifts into serenity. There are thousands of miles ahead of me, and all I have to do is sit back and let this technological bird carry me there.

I lean back and relax, enjoying the scenery unfolding before my eyes. I never imagined experiencing anything like this, but the tantalizing sensation of being above the clouds allows me to just close my eyes and imagine myself sailing in the clouds, feeling the wind in my hair and the kisses of the air. I am so engrossed that I even forget the woman and her baby, who is just a shoulder away from me.

The dizzying and electric excitement of flying plus an unobstructed view of the sky makes it easy for me to get lost in time while I search for audiobooks on my phone. I finally decide on Beverly Cleary's "Beezus and Ramona." I'm surprised I found it still on my reading list of untouched books. I never got to read it. Maybe because I lost interest in books, or maybe it was too childish for me. I honestly don't remember. But as I listen to the first chapter, I realize why I didn't read this book, and flashbacks take me to a place I didn't wish to relive.

***

The bedsprings groaned as I jumped on Lottie's bed, like when you crack your knuckles. I always loved her room. Partly because it was tidier and more organized, but also because it displayed some of her incredible talents. Her whimsical paintings of nature adorned the walls, some depicting days with friends, others depicting lovely nature scenes from when she was young. It brought back certain memories whenever she pondered those experiences. But what a lovely room she had! The way the sunlight streamed through her bedroom window made it seem like she was the star of a music video. It was a place to practically bathe in lemonade every morning, the curtains wide open to let the light and fresh air bless the room. It was a place to cry alone over something that didn't really matter. And it belonged to the greatest girl in the world. Her light footsteps were as delicate as a cat's patting around its turf. Her mattress felt like I was lying on a cloud -- pulling me close and hugging me tightly.

A smile beautified her lips as she looked up at me from her book. My sister's dark brown hair matched her face beautifully. She had a slender build and a face that held more love than she could even express. Her wisps of hazel hair reflected the sunlight and waltzed with the wind as if they were as free as an Autumn leaf. She had beautiful eyes like our grandmother -- brown like bare earth, with specks of warm green like the first leaves of spring.

"Are you always this annoying, Brookelyn?" she asked.

"Oh, Lottie, don't be such a spoil-sport. Take it easy. I'm just having fun," I replied, rolling around her bed but accidentally losing my balance and falling flat on the floor onto my stomach. I saw that Lottie was trying hard not to laugh as she pretended to keep reading.

I mimicked her expression and sucked on my lower lip, scowling at her and folding my arms over my chest.

Lottie sighed, threw herself off the bed, and helped me up. "Are you alright?"

I pushed her away. "No!" I yell.

She draped her hand over my shoulder. "I'm sorry if I made you feel bad, Brooke. I'd never do that on purpose. You're my little sister."

I brushed the wild strands of my messy hair out of my eyes. "So you don't hate me?"

Lottie seemed shocked. "Oh, God... never!" She walked me over to the edge of her bed. "I wouldn't change a thing about you. But..." A pause ensued. 

I raised my eyebrows. "But what?"

She stroked my head, messing up my hair even more. "You can be a little annoying. Just like Ramona."

"Who's that? Your friend from school or something?"

She giggled, wiping joyful tears from her eyes. "Goodness, no! Ramona Quimby is a character in a book, and she's just like you."

"Really? Can I see her?"

"Sure." She pushed the book into my hand. 

I saw a figure with an innocent baby face that seemed to be jumping up and down, with bunny ears and pink cheeks. A similar but older-looking girl stood with her hands on her hips, rolling her eyes. 

Yup, that looked just like me and Lottie all right.

"She reminds me of you. Always mischievous and curious." Lottie tapped my nose playfully. "Which is why I love this book."

"Wow," I said, looking back at the book.

"Would you like to read it?"

I handed the book back to Lottie. "No thanks. I'd rather play with Michelle. Maybe someday when I'm sixty-seven!" I joked, sticking my tongue out and dashing out the room just as Lottie let out a frustrated sigh.

***

The smell of lunch tickles my nose, bringing me out of my reverie. I look around the plane and notice that people are opening up foil-wrapped meals. Some dive right in while others take time to marvel at the variety of delicacies.

I watch as the woman next to me also receives her meal, something resembling rice with a steaming reddish gravy. The warm, spicy aroma makes me want to lick my lips as I wait impatiently for my food, wondering why it's taking so long. I wish I could have eaten before boarding because now my hunger is almost insatiable.

As a flight attendant passes me, I politely ask, "Excuse me?"

"Yes, ma'am?"

"I haven't gotten my food yet."

"Oh, we will arrange that at once. Sorry for the delay," the air hostess says, noting my seat number and walking away.

Just as my stomach begins to bark like a dog, a warm plate is served to me with a smile. "Here you go. I'm not sure why your number wasn't on the list."

"Thank you!" I say.

I unwrap the foil and am instantly surprised by dishes I've never seen in my life. The only thing I recognize is rice, and even that is a strange pale yellow. I look over at the woman and see she has almost the same dishes as me.

"Excuse me?"

The woman looks up from her phone and shifts her baby to her left arm. "Yes?"

"Would you mind telling me what this is? I am not familiar with them." I point to my plate.

She smiles very gently as if she had been expecting I would ask. "This..." she points to the yellow rice, "... is lemon rice. And this brown ball dipped in sugar syrup is gulab jamun. That's a curry with cottage cheese that we call paneer tikka masala. This is roti; a type of flatbread. And finally, my favourite-- the drink! It's called mango lassi, made with yoghurt, mango pulp, sugar and saffron."

Since when did I order this food? I thought I had chosen the usual American cuisine. But this? Things I never thought could combine to form an edible meal are right here, waiting for me to savour its exotic tastes. 

I notice that the woman is wearing a very colourful dress with a peacock and floral patterns. "I love your dress, by the way," I add.

"Oh, thank you, my dear. And this is called a sari. It's typically worn in India."

"Ah, I've never been to India. So, are these dishes from there too?"

"Yes. And really? At least you're going there now. That must be exciting for your first time!"

"Huh? What do you mean?" Now I start going crazy. What is going on here? First not having my own seats, then the foreign food, and now this?!

"We are going to India. Where else did you think this plane was landing?"

Oh no…

I've made a terrible mistake. 

I am on the wrong plane, going to the wrong destination! "I have to… go to the… bathroom," I stammer, promptly excusing myself.

She nods, going back to her phone.

I fidget through the cramped walkway, dodging dangling feet and tiptoeing until I reach the kitchen. 

"How can I help you, miss?" one of the staff members asks me.

"Um… there seems to be a mistake. I should be on a different plane." I explain. 

The woman frowns. "I'm sorry, miss. There's nothing I can do about that now. You'll have to speak to the front desk at the airport."

Disappointed, I return to my seat, pretending everything is fine even though I am in big trouble.

I spend the rest of the flight playing games on the mini TV and wondering how Ginger has been holding up on the pet cargo.

"This is your captain speaking, we will be reaching our destination in a few minutes," the speakers announce.

Oh great. Now I have to figure out how to get home. And if possible, still reach Moscow in time.

As soon as the plane slowly touches the runway, I feel a contagious energy course through my body, sinking to the depths of my fingertips and settling at the base of my spine.

It's been so long since I've seen anyone wearing shorts, t-shirts, and sandals, even in London in the summer. I finally remember what it feels like to touch my face and feel the damp sweat on my skin. I have to remind myself that this is normal and not a sign that something is wrong with me.

The humidity outside is foreign to me. I am so used to covering up at home in London. Though it can get very hot during peak summer, it is still pretty cool most of the time.

The woman sitting next to me walks up as I gather my luggage and head out. Ginger chases her tail, pleased to stretch her legs and fill her lungs with fresh air.

"Hello. It's me again. Welcome to Mumbai! Since you are new, I figured you might need help to get started," she says. Then she taps her head. "Oh-ho. I totally forgot to introduce myself. My name is Tejasvi. And this is my daughter, Anamika. She's going to turn one year old in a month! Pray, tell yours, my dear."

"I'm Brooke. Thank you? And it's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs Tejasvi." I ensured to pronounce her name correctly as we shook hands.

"Very nice. I remember an old friend of mine also had a sister named Brooke."

"Oh. Fascinating."

"Yes." Tejasvi shifts Anamika to her right shoulder and grips the handle of her suitcase. "Talking to you reminds me of her."

"Really? Why do you say that?"

"I'm not sure. It's strange, though. I have not talked to Lottie since she got here."

I blink as confusion strikes me. "Wait, can you repeat that?"

"Um… talking to you reminds me of--" she begins before I interrupt her.

"No. After that."

"Oh. I haven't talked to Lottie in a while."

"Lottie...is that her name?" I ask again. Perking up my ears, I make sure I'm not hallucinating.

"Yes, but why do you ask?"

I ignore her question. "Is her last name Davison?"

She looks confused. Little wheels seem to be turning in her head.

"Why, yes. How do you know that?"

"Because she's my sister!" I practically scream, causing a few heads to turn to me. Heat consumes my cheeks as I look down at the floor.

"You're Brooke Davison?" She raises her eyebrows, and a smile of recognition spreads over her thin lips. "No wonder you looked familiar!"

"You're Lottie's friend, right?"

"Yeah, from college."

"You said she came here. What did you mean by that?"

"Don't you know? Lottie moved here after she finished college."

"What?" I yelp. "All these years I thought she had disappeared. No search party came back with a clue to her disappearance. One detective who was famed for making each of his cases successful practically lost his reputation when he gave up. "

Tejasvi looks stunned, her mouth wide open in shock. "You don't say. I thought her parents knew she was coming here. That's why I helped her get here."

"You helped her get here? Does that mean you know where she is?" My heart is pounding and I can feel my pulse in my ears. I have wanted to hear those sweet words for the past eight years!

"I think I know where she lives. But it's an hour away from here and the only way to get there is by train," Tejasvi says, looking at the time on her phone. "The last train leaves at six. It's already 5:34 pm. We should get going if we want to take it."

The heat suffocates me. Taking another step feels like a challenge as dozens of people cram into the railway station, waiting for the next train to arrive. Tejasvi looks for a gap in the crowd and thankfully finds one near the exit that leads to the platform in the shade. We stand there and wait. The heat subsides only by a bit.

"Is it always this hot in India?" I ask streams of sweat pouring down my face and neck, wetting my clothes. 

"Apparently."

When the whistle of our train blows, we hop on board. The seats are all occupied so we stand dangerously close to the opening, almost inviting a trip or a fall. Even the slightest stumble could seriously injure someone.

Our train starts with a loud hiss and a jerky movement. A strange smell fills the air, reminding me of the time we experimented with sulfur in our science labs.

Closing my eyes, I cling on to the metal bar for dear life for what seems like hours. After rocking back and forth for a few moments, I feel someone tap my shoulder. My eyes crack open just enough for me to see Tejasvi point outside.

The view of the forest is breathtaking. We are surrounded by tall trees of all sizes and hues. The trunks protrude from the ground like toothpicks, sprouting in all shades of green. Birds and small mammals scurry around undisturbed as the train chugs along. I observe our surroundings as if I was exploring a tranquil island that still has its beauty protected from outsiders. The smell of pine and rain washes away nausea and motion sickness.

"How are you feeling?" Tejasvi inquires, as she feeds Anamika some mashed bananas.

"I have a slight headache, but the view is great," I answer, pressing my fingers against my temple.

"Oh! Wait here," she commands, walking away.

I go back to watching nature unfolding and the sun sinking down when Tejasvi returns with a bottle of ochre liquid.

"Here, drink this," she orders. "But you should hold your breath..." She's too late, however. I'm already gulping it down when I realize how bitter it tastes. There is a horrible splintering pain in my brain. Ugh, I've made a terrible mistake. Tejasvi hurriedly unscrews a bottle of water and urges me to drink. After the third round of the bottle, I wipe my mouth, desperate to get rid of that aftertaste.

"I tried to warn you. This is fenugreek water; it helps cure headaches. It can have a peculiar taste but believe me, it helps a lot to maintain a healthy body."

"More like toxic medicine! Gosh, you drink this stuff?" I scrunch my face into a disgusted look.

"Sometimes. My grandma told me about this recipe and its benefits when I was a little girl living in my village."

"Oh. You were born here, then?"

"Yes, but I was schooled and raised in the US, most of my life. Later, I moved to London after getting married."

"Does your grandma…" I start with a hint of hesitance.

She shakes her head. "Sadly, she passed away during my first year of college."

I take her free hand and squeeze it. "I'm so sorry to hear that. You two seemed pretty close."

"We were more than you can think," she whispers before we move aside when more passengers hop into the train. Her eyes go blank for a few seconds, as if she too had painful memories, too hard to keep locked inside but too precious to lose. "We were two peas in a pod. Grandma raised me as a child, to what I am now." Tejasvi holds my hand tighter. "I don't know where I'd be without her." She sniffles, but I can tell she is trying hard to hold back tears.

I shake my head slowly. "Hey, it's ok. Breathe."

She fans her face with her hand and plasters a fake smile. "Sorry. I get a bit emotional talking about her."

"Maybe we should talk about something else," I suggest, trying to dissolve the tension in the air. She nods in silence. The train wheels churn gently against the tracks outside as birds soar overhead, gently gliding on invisible currents around them. But inside, it is filled with murmurs—sweet whispers filling my head, making me feel warm all over.

I am finally going to meet my sister!

The train stops right at 6:50 pm. We step off the train and onto solid ground. I am relieved to finally get away from the mass of people. There was barely enough room and I was boiling in there. The condensation on the windows also made it hard to see out into the world beyond your own reflection. But frankly, I enjoyed the view. It was like a silver lining, perhaps. 

Not that I was planning on doing it again.

As Tejasvi leads me deeper into the city, I watch all kinds of vehicles dash by. Buses, cars, motorcycles, and even this yellow and black car-like automobile. I assume they are like taxis. The whole road is crowded and everything--from a small scooter to a big truck trying to get ahead of others, zipping past one another through narrow spaces, tires rubbing against the tar road. The colour drains from my face when Tejasvi says we have to cross the street, despite no zebra crossing in view. 

"Is it safe?" I squeak, clutching Tejasvi's arm as we take a few steps. 

She chuckles. "There's no need to worry. So long you take precautions, everything will be fine."

"I hope you're right," I whisper, mostly to myself.

I breathe a sigh of relief when we're across the hazardous roads. 

"We'll go on an auto the rest of the way," Tejasvi informs. Ah, that's what those yellow and black taxis are called!

While Tejasvi flags down an auto, I marvel at the city. A huge movie poster of a brunette woman with bronze skin, dressed in a pink and blue top and holding her hands in a dancing position, is displayed on the bridge overlooking the city. Across the street are small shops--a clothing shop selling clothes similar to what Tejasvi is wearing. Next to it is a snack stand. The crowd outside is busy eating something on small plates. Behind me is some people sewing on an old-fashioned sewing machine. I feel like I have stepped back in time. The roads are a mixture of pedestrians and traffic. Worrying about getting hit is only a myth. It seems to be the practice here for years.

Tejasvi yanks my hand, signalling at the auto that halts in front of us, as the man inside cuts the gas, and talks to Tejasvi in a foreign language that she reciprocates.

"What did he say?" I whisper, getting into the two-seater auto. It is rather open in design. On one side is the opening and on the other, a wall that reaches halfway up my body. Just out of caution, I choose the latter side and hold on to the long pole. We fly over the streets, braking abruptly, tilting left and right, accelerating as the wind lifts up my hair.

"He asked where we were going."

"Oh. Can you ask him how long it's gonna take?"

She nods, leaning forward. "Bhai, wahan pahunchne mein kitna samay lagega?"

"Kam se kam pacchish minat."

"He said about twenty minutes," she translates. 

"You're really fluent in the language," I say.

She blushes. "Thank you. I learned from my grandma. It's called Hindi."

"Nice."

I stare out the window. There is always something new to see. India has so much history and culture. Everything is so different, from herbal medicine that actually healed my headache, to never seen cuisines, and the wonderful skills of sewing those long silky dresses called saris. I can almost feel a smile warming my face. There is so much in the world to explore, and I haven't even seen a fraction of what it has to offer. I can imagine my sister living here. I can understand what caught her attention and curiosity when she first set foot in the holy land of India. It may look like a dangerous place and rather retarded in modern technology, but it certainly steals the heart of everyone who visits and makes sure they find something...or someone they love to take back home with them.

When the gas putters and comes to a stop on a busy street, Tejasvi and I grab our stuff, and when I come forward to pay for the ride, Tejasvi insists on paying.

"Besides," she tells me, "we use a different currency."

As we round the corner of a street named Little Chat Road, the sun merges with the sky, travelling to the other side of the world to light their mornings. I wonder what my parents would say if they found out they had not one, but two lost daughters. I ponder about my Mom's reaction, and how I am going to find an excuse why I couldn't come home or if my boss is furious that I disappointed him. He'd probably never let me have this golden opportunity again. And in the worst-case scenario, fire me. I shiver, fearing how I would ever get another job. A measly paycheck looks challenging, thanks to my overthinking tendencies.

But all my worries wash away when I look up at the golden sunset and feel the breeze against my face. I take a deep breath and meander away. My head turns up towards the sky as the honey sun begins to fade, turning to a dark blue with gleaming white stars scattered about like little pieces of heaven. I think back to what my grandmother once told me. 

"Sometimes when you lose something you really love, your path will be dark as the night, but if you suppress everything, the stars will guide you. So build a tower to the stars."

I force a smile, imagining her laugh. It sounded like the ringing of bells. Her pleasant caramel eyes spoke of love without words. Her hugs were always available when needed, her shoulder was always there to cry on, and she herself was always there for support. And I know exactly how Tejasvi feels when the only person in the world who truly understands you is gone, leaving you in the dark.

I realize that my sister disappeared exactly a month after she passed away. Whenever our parents and Lottie got into an argument, Gram would take her side. Her death broke her in ways I had never imagined. The second she found out Gram was gone, she lost herself to grief. The shield of love that stood before her…shattered.

Lost in my thoughts, I notice Tejasvi turn pale as she points at something above me, waving her hands in a comedic way.

My brows arch up in confusion.

"Look out!" she cries, and before I realize what has happened, something hard hits me at the back of my head, and I tumble to the ground, unconscious. 

***

As my eyes flutter open, the fluorescent light burns my retinas. I shield my eyes with the back of my hand. Groaning, I brace myself with my arm, but it feels like a giant bolt is going to crash into me, choke me, trap me. I fall back onto the pillow as it cushions my head again.

Looking around, my gaze falls upon the dull, dove-grey walls, interrupted with black and silver tiles. The floor is covered in marbled beige linoleum. On top of a portable table in the corner of the room sits a file folder, papers sticking out of it, with a yellow daisy and a lilac pot placed on the side. Its buds haven't bloomed yet, but I can tell they will look lovely when they do. I glance down at my body, which is connected to an IV stand that holds a bag of clear liquid. An odd heart monitor is positioned next to me, beeping every few seconds. 

A mild headache takes over my head. There is a painful throb when I press softly against the bump on my forehead. I wince as the pricking pain travels through my entire body. Tired, I try to relax and attempt at piecing together what happened and why I am strapped down in this room. 

A soft knock echoes against the door, and a moment later, a young man dressed in all-white enters the room, accompanied by two women. Perhaps a doctor?

"Hello, Brooke. How are you feeling?" he asks in a strange accent, sitting down next to me as he feels my head between his fingers and writes something on his notepad.

"Hmm. Hurts a little," I tell him.

He nods gravely and goes back to the two women, who are standing at the back with worried expressions. I can't make out their faces with my blurry vision.

"She'll be fine. It's nothing major. An aspirin will do the trick."

"Dhanyavaad, doctor," I hear one of them say to the man as he leaves, closing the door slowly behind him.

Just as another searing pain and goosebumps run down my spine, I hear someone hum a melodious tune.

My heartbeat thunders in my ears, and I feel tears prick my eyes. I swallow my ache and blink a few times to see who it is. The song echoing through the room sounds familiar. I try humming along, connecting the melody to the words.

"When the moon shines through the window

Darkness takes over

But the stars of midnight come to protect you

While you hide under your blanket

The jacket of light

Will shine upon you

And take those dark dreams from your memory…"

With tears streaming down my face, I smile as I hear this song again. It's been too long since I heard it last. I remember the first time I fell asleep hearing this song and the memories attached to it.

***

"Lottie, I'm scared. What if--" I complained, panicking. 

"Shh, it's okay, Brooke. You're a brave girl. When I'm around, the monsters can't get you," she whispered, pressing a kiss to my forehead and tucking a strand of my loose hair behind my ear.

"Lottie."

"Yes, Brooke?"

"Can you stay here with me?" 

A smile appeared on her face as I buried my head in her hair. The scent reminded me of peaches on an autumn morning when the leaves turn golden brown and the streets are littered with pumpkins and every house gives off the scent of fall.

Our fingers were intertwined as our eyes stared deep into one another. "I have to sleep in my room, but I can sing you a song if that helps."

I clapped my hands together. "Sing. Sing. Sing!" I chant.

She giggled and tickled me under the cheek. "All right, ladybug, I'll sing. But I warn you, I am not very good."

When she started humming the tune, it was as though I was transported to a whole new world. For a brief moment, the world seemed to be cleansed and perfectly pure. As the first words left her mouth, an invisible aura blossomed around us, protecting and sheltering us. My heart skipped a beat and all my fears were blown away as I climbed onto her lap and she continued to sing. The sheer power of her voice seemed to stop time itself. It was like everything else in the world faded into the background for a little while, leaving only her voice to be heard with its glorious melody.

By the time she finished, I was almost asleep. 

She managed a small smile and tried to get up from my bed, but my fingers got caught in her sleeve. She gently patted my head and attempted to untangle my fingers, but at that moment, I woke up and leapt up without warning, hugging her.

"That was beautiful," I breathed. 

She lifted me off my feet and laid me back in bed. "It was nothing, really. Now, get some sleep before Mom and Dad get here." 

I shook my head stubbornly. "Not until you promise to sing me this song every night."

She sighed deeply as if she was uncertain. But after a moment of pause, she agrees. "I promise." 

Satisfied, I dozed off, unaware that in a few years I would have to live with just the memory of that song.

"Brooke."

The air goes silent. The sunlight that was hidden behind the curtains now pours in through the open windows. The flowers that were mere buds moments ago now start to blossom right before my eyes. A spark of electricity enters the room; a ray of hope radiates through the atmosphere.

"Brooklyn," the feminine voice calls again, sounding tired, worried, and anxious.

My gaze lingers on her face. I still feel as if a fire is burning in my soul; one that cannot be seen with the naked eye, but only with a tangible heart. Something presses down on me like I am drowning in my sorrows. But when I feel someone's hands around mine, it's like someone has come back to save me from a cruel death and restore my faith in hope.

With the gentlest of touches, she leaves a soft kiss on my cheek. I gasp and my eyes meet hers. The same hazel eyes I have seen thousands of times in my dreams, the face I have seen a million times every day. And yet I cannot move a muscle. 

"I'm sorry," she murmurs, breaking away from me. She sits back on the bed and stares at the window outside. Her eyes are wide as if she is staring at some creature from outer space. Then, as if she has woken from a deep slumber, she looks at me again. The years of separation have taken their toll, but she seems to have weathered it all. Her skin is tanned now, her cheeks sunken and her dark auburn hair tied back in a French braid.

Tears stream down my face and I realize she has also been crying. I gather my courage, brace myself with my hands, and lean against the wall.

She covers her face with her hands. I never thought she'd be the one needing my support. It was always the other way around. I free her hands and wipe away her tears. 

"Charlotte!" I exclaim, using her full name, which I haven't in a long time. She nods happily and we melt into each other. All my tension dissipates into thin air as I wrap her in my arms. If this is a dream, I won't let go of her anytime soon.

She brushes my hair out of my face and takes my chin in her hands, forcing me to look at her. But she still looks empty, like a desert with a huge lake that could sustain an entire city for years but is guarded by a ferocious beast lurking in the deep, thick waters, waiting to attack.

I chew on my bottom lip. My sister has finally come home, returned to where she belongs -- to me. But a thought crosses my mind. Is it possible that if I had taken the right plane, I never would have found her?

Would her disappearance still be a mystery? Would I have just assumed she really hated her own family and left? Or if she was in desperate need of help and was injured, or in the worst case…dead?

I run my tongue over my lips, holding my breath, wondering whether to be angry or happy. But luckily, she is the one who speaks.

"Brooke, how did this all happen? Tejasvi came to my house and told me you were hurt. We took a car and brought you in immediately." Her eyes glisten with tears. 

I shake my head. "It... it doesn't matter. I --" I squint my eyes and wince as my tender skin burns like it's on fire.

She turns and gives Tejasvi a concerned look, patting my hand. "Does it hurt? Should I apply some ointment?"

I shake my head just slightly, enough for her to understand. "Wh-- Where have you been all these years? Why did you...leave?" my voice wavers and breaks.

Silence.

That's all the answer I get. 

From the corner of my eye, I watch Tejasvi incline her head at Lottie before heading out the door to give us some privacy. 

Just then a small, bear-like canine jumps up on the bed and starts to drown me in licks.

"Hey! How's my butter roll?" I laugh. "I'm so happy to see you too, Ginger!"

"So that's her name? Ginger?" Lottie asks, giving Ginger a tummy rub which she gladly loves, and barks as if to say don't stop.

I chuckle. "Yes. Although I should have just called her butter roll just based on her stomach."

She burst out laughing, flickering away from the tears. "Gosh, I haven't laughed like this since…"

"Since?" The tension fills up again.

She maintains a small smile. "It's nothing. Hey, if it makes you feel better and you're up for it, do you want to go to the Hanging Gardens?"

"From Babylon?" I remember hearing about it in Geography class as a High School Junior. Luckily, I paid attention. 

"No, silly! From Mumbai, the place we are in."

I shrug. "Is that a challenge, big sister?"

She grins. "Maybe, little sister," she says, winking at me.

"Challenge accepted! Just, can you help me get up?"

She rolls her eyes and holds out her hand to me. "I was hoping you'd ask that."

***

Hand-linked together, we skip through the garden bubbling with life. As we happily run across the green meadows, we admire the works of art that nature has created in this garden. The energy flowing in torrents seeps into my blood, and the high adrenaline makes me so hyperactive that I run around, pointing at the different flowers and plants. I feel like my childhood has returned.

But my head still stings. Tejasvi told me about how I fainted because of a football that hit my head when some children had played nearby. I regained consciousness this morning, so I don't feel tired. In fact, I am relieved that things haven't escalated. I have escaped death, kind of.

Turning to Lottie, I notice the black shadows under her eyes, as if she did not sleep a wink last night.

After an hour since we arrived, we finally settle near what Lottie calls a banyan tree, with branches snaking out in different directions and a wide trunk. It provides the shade we need, and the perfect picnic spot!

Lottie digs out two tinfoil-wrapped sandwiches from her backpack and hands me one of them. It is just the right temperature, warm and toasty as I chew slowly while the flavors spread through my mouth.

After we pack up our lunch, Lottie leans against the tree and I do the same. We stare out into the open. The various shades of green with tiny splashes of pink and blue make a beautiful landscape painting to behold.

Somehow our hands have found each other and are gently entwined like the twisty turney branches of the banyan tree.

We exchange unspoken words through the gaze as I take deep breaths and smell the roses and jasmine nearby. 

If she does not go first, I'll have to bring up the subject she's avoiding.

Clearing my throat to get her attention, I ask, "So...?"

She frowns, her face betraying hesitation. "So what?"

Annoyed with everything, I chew on my inner mouth. "Why did you... leave us? Mom and Dad. Even me. You did not think about us for a second, did you..."

"I..." she begins, but I raise my palm, stopping her in her tracks.

Confused by my feelings and anger at her... and even at myself, I feel hot tears running down my cheeks. "Do you even know how much I have missed you? Answer me, Charlotte! Do you know? I never had anyone who understood me. It was as if I spoke another language. A language only you could speak. What did I ever do to you to make you... leave me?" I scream, trying not to sugarcoat my seething emotions, but to speak the bitter truth.

She hangs her head in disappointment and finally gathers the courage to speak, "I thought you of all people would understand why I had to make a drastic decision. Brookelyn, did you really think I wanted to leave? I had no other choice. I was pushed to leave, Brooke. My life was hell. I repeat. HELL! Didn't Mom and Dad ever tell you that? Isn't it obvious that I have always been the outlier of the family?"

"What are you talking about?" I spit back. I forget that I am supposed to be happy right now. After all, I had found my missing piece of the puzzle. But no - I need answers.

She doesn't look at me. 

Anger takes possession of me. "Answer me this instant, Charlotte!"

"You don't want to know. Some things are better left undiscovered."

I wiggle my finger to say 'no'. "I am not leaving until I get my answers," I stomp my feet to emphasize my point. 

She looks up with defeat written all over her face.

"All of them. The truth," I clarify, growling.

She glares at me, clenching her fist so tightly it digs into her skin like she's being forced to do something she does not want to do. 

"Fine," she replies, "... but don't say I didn't warn you."

My jaw drops when she tells of all the thoughts that went through her mind that made her weaker. While she did her best to support me all these years by asking me what was wrong, I wish I had done the same for her. 

A lump forms in my throat, and the beads of sweat glistening in the midday sun sparkle like pearls from the sea with drops of water still clinging to them. 

I'm just a replaced child to be used and discarded. 

Her words sting me, even more than the sharp needle of a hornet that pierced my skin and gave me a lump the size of a tomato for months last summer.

Her gaze flits to the ground as she kicks a pebble when the silence deepens. 

It was my turn to speak. My voice came out quieter than a cat's purr and it took a special ear to listen, and I know Lottie has that. She's always been more of a listener than a talker. "And then you... how did you even find out?" I hold my breath, hoping she's not denying the truth.

"Grandma."

That one word conveyed everything I needed to know.

I had always been the favored child, the golden apple in my parents' eyes. Laughter like the song of nightingales on a Christmas morning. Coffee-colored hair that felt like the strands had been replaced with silk weaving in between. Eyes that searched for trouble, but meant no harm, and captured people's hearts as the sun touches them, it turns golden. My voice, light and airy. Yet sweet as honey. I walk as if I were on the moon, bouncing, twirling, dancing on my light feet. 

But the only person who preferred my sister over me was -- grandma.

I never had any reason to be envious of anything. I had everything a girl could dream of. From an attic full of stuffed animals to a lap I could sleep on. But my existence was unknown to my grandmother. Of course, I knew she loved me and brought me gifts when she visited on those long summer evenings. But as soon as she entered the house, she would always give me a kiss on the cheek, hand me a big box with a red bow, and go upstairs to Lottie. Often I'd hear them giggling and playing board games when it rained. Or playing badminton on the lawn. I try to play along, but when I play, it's like I am seeing double and accidentally hit something else instead. As the years went by, I began to think that Grandma never cared for me. And Lottie was her favorite granddaughter. 

Not me.

Lottie starts speaking again and the words that tumble out of her mouth make me flinch and take a few steps back as if I am unable to register what she's saying.

And then her words start to click into place as she begins with, "Here is the beginning of my story… how everything started and ended…"

***

Charlotte's POV

It all began on a frosty December morning. I throw the mattress off my body and jump out of bed. My feet soak up the cold tiles and I quickly search my room for my slippers. As I dash down the stairs after a quick shower, I see Mom and Dad whispering to each other. Something Dad said makes Mom's cheeks flush as she gently pats him on the shoulder and makes herself a cup of coffee.

"Mommy?"

She smiles, but it's not the usual smile that reminds me of a Jack-O-Lantern on Halloween, but one that holds mystery like she's trying to hold back some kind of excitement rising inside her. 

Suspicion makes my eyebrows twitch together. "Why are you smiling like that?"

Mom makes eye contact with Dad as he wraps his hand around her. Then I finally notice Mom's belly seems to be a bit bigger than I remembered. 

Did she gain weight or…

Before I have time to react, Dad hoists me onto his shoulders as if I weighed nothing. "We have a surprise for you, Charlotte!"

And before I know it, I'm sitting in the hospital chair holding a bundle of blankets that holds the most priceless treasure I could ask for.

My baby sister: Brookelyn Ana Davison… 

Her tiny fingers reach up and caress my face as she coos. Her sparkling eyes stare at me, and only me, while others admire her beauty and take pictures for a photo album. But for us, it was as if we were cut off from the real world. She has mother's soft, delicate hands and father's mesmerizing chocolate brown eyes. She even has grandma's little nose and the dimples shaped like tiny stars scattered under her eyes. 

And from that day on, I promised her that I would be the best big sister. And that I would always protect her, even if it was out of my hands. 

But my love for her was not admired by all, which separated me from my sister, like I am before this glass of water on the table beside me. The water is so tantalizingly close to my thirsty lips, but something about it keeps me from taking a sip. 

I started to isolate myself, slowly breaking apart, vulnerable, weak, but not completely hopeless... 

3 years later,

Brookelyn and I lay tangled in the back seat with a huge pile of pink cotton candy hair from Brooklyn's plush giraffe she'd won at a fair last year. Her tiny chubby hands clutch my finger and my grin is as wide as could be. I look into my little sister's big brown eyes and ask, "You ready for preschool, Brookelyn?"

Her eyes widen in surprise as she clings to my finger in shock and begins to cry. I can't help but laugh as I try to calm her down, but instead she lets out the loudest, most piercing scream I have ever heard.

"Shh, baby girl!" Mom placates her, turning around to watch us from the front row. 

I shoot her a panicked look and watch her eyes light up when she sees us approaching the school. Dad parks on the front lot just as Brookelyn's screams finally stop.

"There you are, princess! Have fun!" says Dad in a sing-song voice, completely ignoring the commotion.

I help Brookelyn out of the car seat and carefully set her down on the ground. With a proud smile, I take in her fiery red dress, shimmering with gold stars, and drapes over her body like a blanket. Around her neck hangs a sapphire necklace that shimmers as the sun casts its golden rays in her direction. Her curls fall freely around her shoulders, dancing as they move in the gentle breeze. I swear she could not have been more beautiful even if she tried.

Blowing her a kiss, I tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. She gives me a sad puppy dog look and hugs me tightly. I sigh deeply as the stray hairs over my face lift up. I remember my first day of preschool, when I was the shy little girl sitting in the back of the bus, eating lunch alone and feeling like a shadow that went unnoticed. I gently tug on her earlobe to get her attention.

I kneel down and stare into her deep brown eyes that captured my heart the first time I had the blessing to treasure them and whisper the words which set butterflies fluttering in my stomach, "We may be apart. Even if it's a few blocks or oceans apart..." I tap her chest where her heart is located, "you and I… we will always be together."

She purses her lips and nods at me. She straightens up, says goodbye to me, and mingles with the crowd of proud parents and other emotional children. I wave to her as long as she is in my sight, and when I see the last of her flowing red dress, I know she's overcome her fear. I cross my fingers that she'll at least find a friend. 

Dad honks the car, bringing me back to the sense that I am getting late for school, so I jump in the car and we drive off.

But just as I am almost dozing off, watching the dawn pierce through the creamy clouds and the sun's rays of light break through the darkness, the car comes to a sudden stop. The jolt makes my eyes flutter open with curiosity.

Rubbing the tiredness from my eyes, I ask, "Why did we stop?"

"Daddy and I need to get some paperwork done."

"What about school?"

"I already called the office saying that you'll be absent. Besides… the paperwork is for you," Mom's reply is laced with uncertainty.

I yank open the door and slip past the artwork of famous artists on the wall as Mom and Dad follow me. The hallways run in tunnels, with quick twists and turns, but soon we are in front of a door marked 'Mr. Jones'. And in the smallest possible letters are the words, 'Children's DNA Professionist' and as soon as the door opens I feel dizzy and darkness takes over my vision, clouding all my senses as the pain of the syringe injected in my body takes effect once my eyes are locked tight.

My eyes are wide, my hands are shaking up and down. I can not believe what's happening. I'm being chased by a shadow. It's getting closer and closer, and I am about to burst into tears. The darkness of the room penetrates me, making me feel claustrophobic and suffocated. But as my eyes adjust to the dark, I see that there's nothing there...

Suddenly I feel cold sweat on my forehead and small drops of sweat glide down my body with every move I make. The darkness now becomes a source of safety as it blocks out the shadows that seem to be seeking me. With every beat of my heart and every breath that escapes my lips, I shield my eyes from the blinding light that dispels the darkness around me.

A figure appears in the center of the light, hair braided into a French braid and eyes that give away her golden heart. Her steps dance across the floor as if she were a ballerina in the spotlight.

I knew who it was as soon as I saw her eyes.

"Brookelyn?" I called in a hoarse voice, but she didn't seem to hear me. I tried again, louder. She turned around. But this time her eyes were deep crimson like she'd been crying for years, and her hair was loose in raven curls. The light dimmed as I realized it wasn't Brookelyn, but my reflection... 

---

Gasping for air, I look around at the eyes staring at me in confusion.

"Are you okay?" Mom asks, feeling my forehead for signs of fever. 

I take a deep breath and exhale. "Can we just go home?" I request.

Dad nods and hands the car keys to Mom. But just as Mr. Jones approaches him, Dad's eyebrows draw together and they whisper something I couldn't hear as Mom carries me to the exit.

And from that day on my life became a vale of tears. Soon I was treated like an outsider, and the worst part is... I never knew why my parents started hating me. They didn't even let me anywhere near Brooklyn. So every day I sat beside my bedroom window and stared out at the bright sunrise and the glowing moon, imagining eating the cotton candy clouds or counting the stars, because no one seemed to pay any attention to me, except for a few birds that visited the balcony, or a squirrel I named 'Stella' that climbed up the trees and feasted on nuts. 

One night I huddled in the cold as the rain bathed the earth in their purifying glory. I could hear the patter of tears from the sky making music on the roof. The storm clouds made it difficult to see the stars, but when lightning flashed across the sky, the world seemed brighter for a second. Alone and actually afraid of the dark, I hug my knees tighter to my head and try to imagine the good memories buried somewhere deep in my brain because it's been a while since I have experienced one. I try to picture my first birthday. Of course, I didn't quite remember it exactly, but I heard Mom talk about it almost every time on my birthdays, so it was like I could witness it all. Then it was the time I got my first loose tooth. Dad had said that I was a good girl and that the tooth fairy would surely leave me a present under my pillow. 

I wiped away tears of joy, remembering how innocent and gullible I had been. But was not that the whole point? To let the imagination run wild, and every dream proved to be a reality. Just for these few years, your mind can only believe in happiness. And not think about how the harsh reality can scar you forever.

And then there was the most precious memory of all. The day Brookelyn showed up in my life and made the word loneliness wash away like writing on a beach. No traces were left behind. 

But slowly, ever so slowly, I feel abandoned by my own family.

A knock at the door startled me as my fingers brushed my chest in shock at the question of who it could be at such a strange hour. It couldn't be my parents and Brookelyn. They had gone to Brookelyn's school play on The 'Princess and the Frog' and wouldn't be back for another hour. Using the peephole, I feel like a weight has been lifted as I see a familiar oval face with gray topknot hair and gleaming coffee eyes. 

I yank open the door and run toward the one person I can feel safe and secure with. Grandma.

"Oh ho, be a little gentle, dear. Grandma's getting a little old," she giggles, but wraps her arms around me anyway. "But I have missed you too. My, how big my little princess has grown. The last time I saw you..." she tickles me under the chin. "You were half this size."

Then suddenly her eyes got so big I was afraid they would pop out. "Where are your parents and sister? Shouldn't they have come by now?"

I hesitate to tell the truth. Grandma and Dad never really got along, so she rarely comes to visit. The only reason to come here was to see her granddaughters, and she never stays more than a week. "Um... they... went to a party?"

Grandma gives me a doubtful look. "And Brookelyn? Did she go too?"

I knew I was cornered. "Yes. No, actually, no. She... went to her friend's house."

Grandma crosses her arms in front of her chest and frowns. "You expect me to believe that, young lady. I'm not that old for these games."

A sad frown settles on my face and I feel hot, like I have been boiling in steaming water for hours and it's quite suffocating. But grandma doesn't wait for an explanation, instead kneeling down to meet my eyes and squeeze my shoulders. "How about you eat some of my famous home-made brownies before you tell me. Sounds good?" Her brown eyes soften and her voice lowers a little. I tilt my head, but the sound of brownies won't make it any easier for me to tell the truth. 

Grandma's soft homemade brownies are the best! They're topped with a crunchy layer of nuts and have a gooey chocolate center that melts in my mouth. Mixed with honey and coffee for an extra kick of flavor - I am in chocolate heaven!

"Mmm, this is scrumptious and decadent," I compliment in my best French accent. (Grandma is 5% French and knows a few words in French too!). Just as I lick the crumbs off my fingers and set the plate down in the sink, Grandma walks up to me and says in a firm voice, "I think I know what's on your mind." 

She takes my hand and leads me into the living room, where we take a seat in silence. "You... -- you do?" I whisper hesitantly.

"Can I tell you a story?"

Confused, I ask, "About what? And does it have a happy ending? I hate stories without happy endings."

She laughs and pats my head. "It's about two girls and how they became sisters. And it's guaranteed to have the happiest ending you can imagine."

I pretend to be lost in thought and run my fingers over my chin, nodding. "All right, then."

And so she begins with a big gulp. But I felt like grandma was not herself anymore, more like a Rapunzel; a princess who has everything, but at the same time, no way to get it. Locked and forgotten. No one to share her feelings with - until now.

"Let us say that one of them is called... Luisa. And the name of the other is... Blossom. It was years before they were both born. Their fathers were best friends and their families were very close. But one day, Blossom's father got drunk when they were at work at night. The only other person present was Luisa's father. Luisa's dad tried to get Blossom's dad to sober up and help him relax, but Blossom's dad pushed him away because he was under the influence of alcohol. He was not in his right mind. But Luisa's father didn't give up. He kept trying to help his friend in need, but he feared something unfortunate might happen, but he persisted in aiding. But it only took one more push for Blossom's father to send Luisa's father down the twenty-foot staircase and straight to... death."

I swallow and feel a shiver run down my spine. Too scared to hear more, but too curious and eager to know what happened to Blossom's father I ask grandma to proceed.

"Obviously the case was filed and a week later everyone was summoned to court, including Luisa's mother who was grieving over the death of her husband and could only mumble a few words in her husband's defense. But in the end it was proven that Blossom's father was innocent and the whole case was dropped."

"But how, grandma? Didn't they have security cameras?"

She pauses. "No, my dear, the cameras were broken then. That's why there was no evidence pinned against Blossom's father."

"How could Blossom's father do such a thing to his best friend and get away with it?" I think out loud.

Grandma pats my head and gives me a sad smile. "Sometimes we will do anything to save our reputations. Don't we?"

I nod. "I guess so. Please continue."

"Where was I? Ah, but it did not end there. Luisa's mother was treated like a criminal after that, and people started to spread rumors about her and her whole family. This saddened Blossom's grandmother, who did not agree with her son's behavior of making his friend the center of hate. So every week or so she visited Luisa's mother and comforted her. Sometimes she even cooked her dinner and talked with her. But one day Luisa's mother fainted. She stayed there until Blossom's grandmother came and discovered that Luisa's mother was pregnant. Confused and concerned for the safety of the growing child, she made sure Luisa's mother was well fed and rested. She never let Luisa's mother out of the house so no one would know about the child. A month later, Blossom's grandmother learns that she too will soon have a grandchild, and she is overjoyed. But when happiness reaches its limit and the water in the cup has reached its peak, things begin to tip over when they both go into labor on the same day. Blossom's grandmother did her best to keep an eye on the two pregnant women. Until she learned from a nurse that her granddaughter had not survived the night due to some malnutrition. Blossom's grandmother was moved to tears at the loss of her first grandchild, and then she is even more shocked at the news that Luisa's mother died in childbirth. Two deaths in a single day were impossible for her to cope with. She was an emotional wreck as she let her face drenched in tears for a few seconds, praying that the souls of her deceased may rest in peace. But then she remembered her promise to Luisa's mother."

"I will take care of your child as if it were mine. I wouldn't let anything happen to your baby until my last breath. I promise."

"So she asks a nurse to see the child. And the moment her eyes fell on that innocent little face, her heart leapt, as can only happen when a grandmother holds her grandchild in her hands for the first time. And at that moment, she knew everything was going to be alright."

"How, grandma?" Grandma seems to have been so engrossed in the story that she is startled when she hears my voice. It's as if she has seen the story with her own eyes.

"She switched the place of her granddaughter with Luisa's baby."

"Did the parents know about this swap?"

"No, not even a whiff of it until..." She is at a loss for words and tries to stand up. "That's enough story-telling for today. Good night, dear Charlotte."

But after a few seconds of running the story through my head, it all falls into place. "Grandma? 

"Hmm?" She turns around. "Yes, dear?"

"I'm supposed to be Luisa, aren't I?" 

Grandma bites her lips and the blood escapes her face, but she nods hesitantly. "Yes. Yes, you are, Charlotte. And I'm the one who brought you into this family." With that, she closes the door behind her, leaving me in a puddle of confusion and holding so many unanswered questions.

***

Looking back at Brooke, I see that her jaw is hanging open and her face is pale. Her eyes are not as bright and alive as usual, and she looks like a zombie from an apocalypse movie I saw last year. She just is not herself.

I shake her as she regains consciousness of her surroundings again. But before I can even blink, she runs to me and protectively wraps her arms around me like I was going to vanish in thin air if she had not.

***

Brookelyn's POV

Ever since Lottie began, I felt like I was drowning in my own sorrows by how my parents had lied to me all these years. I was a fool to believe their games. They made me believe that Lottie had never cared for them nor me, that she was an unworthy sister, a fraud, a traitor, a stranger. But all this time, it had been them and their stupid games that tore me away from the truth inch by inch, leaving scars that, no matter how much I covered them, would always reappear. 

I only come back to my senses when Lottie shakes me awake. Frustrated and tired of running from my fears, I start to embrace them when I wrap my hands around Lottie and cry out the well of tears that never seems to stop overflowing.

"Shh, Brookelyn. It's alright. I'm used to it," she comforts me. I snap my head out from underneath hers. 

"But I'm not!" Red spreads across my cheeks, and my tears trickle down my neck like lava. "I will get to the bottom of this," I shout, which triggers a murder of crows to take flight, creating ruckus along the way. Annoyed, I'm about to grab my phone from my purse when Lottie locks her hands around mine, as if to stop me from committing a huge mistake. 

"It's not worth the fight, Brooke. Believe me, I've tried and it's only doubled the problems," her look betrays her words because I know she's just trying to get me to reconsider breaking my bonds with my parents, the only family I have besides Lottie. "I know it's really hard for you to get used to the truth. It was for me too, when grandma told me. But you know what else she said?" 

"What?" I ask, trying to resist phoning my parents and yelling at their faces.

Lottie taps her forehead with her index finger as if trying to recall something. "Families come in all shapes and sizes. And sometimes, even if they aren't related by blood, they are still family. Not because of the same blood, but because of the same love that runs through their veins and knowing that they belong in a place where they are happy."

"And your point is?" I ask, twirling a fallen leaf's stem between my fingers. 

"I don't care what happened in the past. And even if I am angry at... Mom and Dad, it doesn't mean I will not stop admiring them. Every day I pray that they are healthy and safe. I never hated them for what they did, in fact I understood why they did it. And then I realized they did it to protect you. They wanted you to not turn your back on them like I did, because they love you, Brooke. They didn't want to involve you in their mistakes. That's why when they found out I knew about my past, they cut me out of your life completely, and that's why I moved in with a friend. Not because of Mom and Dad's reasons for separating us, but to keep you out of all of this," she explains, holding out her hand as if to make her point.

"If you mean friend, is it Tejasvi?" I ask, trying to deflect from the topic.

Lottie nods, "I've known Teja for a long time. Until we lost touch when she moved back to the States and I stayed here. Then I started working and then got married and..."

My eyes widen in shock. "Did you say you got married?!"

"I think that's what I said. Didn't Tejasvi tell you?" she asks, furrowing her eyebrows in confusion.

"NO!" I practically scream. "Since when has that been the case?"

"Four years, actually. Not too long ago. I didn't realize I'd ever see you again or I would have invited you too. I'm sorry, Brooke, that you have to deal with so many new things."

"It's okay," I whisper with solace in my voice. "I'm happy you're happy."

A smile curls her lips and her eyes soften. "Thank you, Brooke. I was afraid after you knew the truth, you wouldn't love me like you did when you thought we were related by blood."

"Are you kidding?" I twisted my mouth into a grin. "I don't care what kind of blood we have in us. I just want my sister back. The one I adored as a child, the one who stood by me through thick and thin. You're my lifeline and all my hopes and dreams are nestled between your fingers. And I am lucky enough to call you my sister."

I could tell Lottie was touched, and her eyes were misty like she kept repeating my words over and over in her head, trying not to forget that I had actually said them.

"Oh Brookelyn, I should never have doubted you. I knew you would still love me."

I smile. "Okay. Enough getting emotional all over me. You know I hate it when you cry."

She beams like the sunrise, her pearly white teeth glistening and her eyes twinkle. "I should add one more thing. You know, before you find out for yourself."

Shadows crawl up my spine and my face twists in concern, raising my eyebrows and propping my hands on my hips. "Am I going to have more surprises until I am eighty?"

She pouts and chews on her bottom lip. "No, I swear this is the last one. And I'm sure -- it's nothing you need to worry about."

I tap my foot impatiently. "So, is mom an agent of the CIA? Did dad find out where I am? Am I adopted too? Was..." I started making things up in a childish way. 

She shakes her head, grabs me by the shoulders and shakes me. "Listen, Brooke! Don't get ahead of yourself."

"Okay."

"Thank you," she begins, "As for the news... you're an aunt."

I still wasn't able to digest this news. First I learned that Lottie was not related to me by blood, then discovering she had married, and now this... she's a mother?!

Blood drains from my face. "Wh-what?" I couldn't get the proper words to come together. There was so much I wanted to say to her, but I didn't know where to begin.

"I have a little boy. He's 2 years old now," she begins, and her eyes look at me so longingly that I can not help but picture my nephew, who probably has the same aura as Lottie. Same hazel eyes, chestnut hair, and a joyful laughter that makes the world stop spinning just to enjoy it.

But then she turns her face away from me, but not before I see her face contort with sadness. "But he also has -- a grief disorder. And we don't know what it is or what it's capable of. I -- I've seen how lifeless he is, like he's someone else's child," she mutters, turning on her heels. "Brookelyn. I'm scared. I didn't have the best childhood or relationship with Mom and Dad... but my baby is just barely hanging on, even though he hasn't seen the world. I haven't even seen him laugh or smile, or utter his first word, lose his first teeth, take his first steps, or..." she begins to cry. "...call me Mom. The only word I've waited so long to hear."

This time it was Lottie who seeks my hug, as for the nth time, one of us is crying while the other tries their best to help them. 

***

I know all the words to say and what she needs to hear. That this is a difficult time and we will get through it together.

I want everything to be better for her. I want her son, my nephew, to wake up and open his eyes. But he may never. The doctors tell us that there is, at most, only one percent hope that he will come out of his vegetative state. A medical diagnosis they know nothing about, but I kind of do. Because I know what it feels like to have shadows blind your vision, your mouth fill up with the metallic taste of chemicals, and just stare at everyone, the way a deer freezes when it sees the headlights of a car because of an unknown fear coursing through its veins. But even if it knows it can safely run across the road, an animal that challenges the biggest predators like the lion can feel helpless when faced alone with an entirely new challenge.

The walls of the hospital are a peacock blue, while the floor is sapphire gray. Styrofoam tiles are in a grid-like frame above the ceiling. The light is too bright for my eyes after it was so gloomy outside, and I find it irritating, perhaps to the point of giving me a headache.

Next to Lottie stands a tall, muscular man. His sleeves are rolled up unevenly and I can make out a snake tattoo on his left arm slither all the way to his biceps. He has hard-set black eyes, chiseled cheekbones and long hair combed back darker than the night of a lunar eclipse.

As Lottie introduces me to her husband and the rest of her in-laws, I can see that while their greeting and smiles are genuine, behind each one of their faces hide their deepest fears of losing someone they loved; a child they yearn to play with and watch him grow with the greatest of values and an ocean full of love.

And then as Lottie and her husband Eswar take me to see their son, I am left with my mouth hanging open.

Lottie's son, who she named Dhruv; meaning the Polar Star raises his arms in the air as if fantasizing about cuddling the mother standing so close to him. As the baby sleeps, I slip my pinky finger in his open palm and watch his tiny fingers wrap around mine. I can feel his gentle breath on the back of my hand, slowly evening out as he relaxes under my touch. 

I feel my mouth tugging on a smile as I unwrap his fragile fingers from my pinky and gently place them back down. He seems to have inherited his father's dark hair, which sprouts from his head like needles. But his face reminds me of Lottie's. Radiant and calm. Even when a storm is brewing in his body and he is fighting for his life, he still carries peace. With his dark gold eyes, a mix of his parents', he's absolutely stunning.

We stay in that same room, watching the baby sleep lifelessly. The doctor had come in twice with shots and a nurse had provided us dinner. But neither of us sisters had the appetite to eat. How could we? Our hearts race with anxiety, while imagining our lives without this innocent baby to bring us happiness.

***

Evening turns into night. The rest of Lottie's family are all sleeping in the waiting room but Lottie didn't budge one bit from her seat near Dhruv. 

"Charlotte," I call into the empty, low-lit room. I wasn't expecting her to answer.

"Hmm?"

"Aren't you sleepy? I can watch Dhruv if you want," I offered. True, I would shut my eyes the minute I hit the sack but it seems like Lottie might faint if she doesn't rest. Or worse.

"No. It's fine."

"Ok."

Another few minutes tick by and the silence is killing me. "Hey Lottie. Do you want to go outside for some fresh air?"

She signs quietly and softly kisses Dhruv's forehead. "Hmm… sure."

***

Stars shone like sugar over a black marble sky. The distant, twinkling lights always seemed magical when the sun sets, and each time one of them rises again after dark, it was as if it was returning for a secret visit that only I could see before slipping away once more at dawn's arrival. The sky was sometimes almost wistfully blue during the day, full of memories and surprises under the spell of its mesmerizing beauty, but at night it was something else. While I could still hear traffic sounds, people selling food, children kicking a ball around, I still feel like everything comes together at night. Forgetting their stressful lives to come out of their houses and see the city in lights.

Just as I am spellbound by the beauty of the night, I hear someone sniffle a cough behind me. Worried, I turn around and watch Lottie sit on the only wooden bench in the balcony. As I approach her, I can hear her slow breathing as if her chest is carrying a burden of weights and she just wants to get rid of them but can't. Her nose reminds me of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. Damp and red-tipped. Her eyes are puffy as she rapidly blinks and prisons her head between her hands.

Silence is in the air, except for a gust of wind that shakes my body in warmth. Not cold. Warmth. I still can't believe it. Just two days ago, I had been sitting in Martha's Cafe, sipping coffee and waiting for my flight to Florida. But fate played its game and I became a player. It wasn't all bad. In fact, I think fate brought me here not just to see my sister or explore a new place... but something else I can't put my finger on. I can't shake the feeling that I am supposed to be an important piece of this puzzle. I was the missing piece. But how can I trust myself? I barely trust anyone. Even myself, after Lottie left me because I got the impression she didn't care about me.

Suddenly, something Lottie said yesterday evening at the park strikes me. "Lottie… when you said Dhruv has a grief disorder, do you mean someone close to Dhruv died recently?" 

Lottie seems thoughtful for a few seconds, as if mulling over her responses. "Not that I'm aware of. Wait! Actually, yes… grandma!"

"You mean to say grandma Stella? As in our gran?"

"Yes. She had come here when Dhruv was around 5 months and stayed for about a month. She and Dhruv got really close but Mom and Dad didn't know though." Then she shakes her head sadly, and glazes up at the stars. "Then gram died a few weeks after her departure."

I chew on my lip. "It was a shock for the entire family." Lottie nods at that statement as I continue. "We were the branches and gram -- well she was the root that held us in place. And after she died… I haven't been much in touch with Mom and Dad."

"Do -- do you think Dhruv misses her?"

"I don't know. I never thought about it that way. But how could he? He's too young to make connections so soon. Especially with a time frame within a month."

"Ah… that's where we adults fail to witness true love. You know… grandma was just more than what we valued her for. She gave us good morals, became our teacher and guide, lifted us up from the ditch and spread more love than every hurtful word she'd had to hear with Mom and Dad."

"I guess you have a point. But what can we do? Gram's not here," Lottie states, pointing out the obvious.

"No. But she is in our hearts. And her every word is still in here," I say, pointing to my head. "Tucked away whenever I need a reminder to keep going and survive another day."

"What are you trying to say?" Lottie questions, as she wraps her hand around mine. "Does Dhruv… have a chance?" she says, breaking out the last words into a faint whisper. 

"If you and I are still here, alive and safe… then grandma's words never go wrong," I say as Lottie beams. Only I'm hesitant to say 'yes' because while my faith in gram is pure, I don't know if the magic would work without the magician.

Lottie admires me from afar as I prep up my voice to sing. She sits beside Dhruv who has an oxygen mask tapered to his face and his eyes are shut tightly, but only one of her fingers is wrapped around Lottie's thumb while he sleeps quietly. And then I start to sing Grandma's song. The same one Lottie sang to me when I was a child, the little girl who feared the monsters under the bed and the darkness swooping around now sings to her nephew to stay alive and keep fighting till the end.

"When the moon shines through the window

Darkness takes over

But the stars of midnight come to protect you

While you hide under your blanket

The jacket of light

Will shine upon you

And take those dark dreams from your memory…"

 As I'm almost finishing the song, I try to end it with my own lyrics. My contribution.

"Shine bring, little one and keep your head up high

The world has yet to hear you laugh

And I'm waiting to hold your hand 

And share my love..."

I feel like a frog is stuck in my throat as a lump forms and I swallow it down. Wiping my silent tears with my sleeve, I stroke Dhruv's forehead and whisper the words. "Portez-vous bien, petit." That's French for 'Be well, little one' and left Lottie sleeping on the floor next to Dhruv. The sound of their restrained breaths filled the room with what can only be described as a lullaby. In the night, it was so quiet that I could hear every soft breath. The cool air filling my lungs made me smile and relax as I slipped into the guest room to sleep for a few hours.

I know it's the next morning when I hear the whimper of a baby and the sun pierces through the curtains, casting a golden glow into the room. I yawn and stretch, pull on a robe that was lying next to my mattress, and run toward the baby's wailing.

Turning the knob of Room 192, the same room where Dhruv was. I was choking on the air as I caught my breath from running so quickly down two flights of stairs. "Wh-whats wrong?" I ask Lottie breathlessly, leaning on the doorframe. "Everything ok?"

Lottie's eyes soften and all the puffiness from her eyes are gone. Her dry lips are slowly shaping into a grin. In fact she's starting to look like the same Lottie I knew. 

"Where's Dhruv?" I ask, trying to peek at the bed behind her. "I thought I --"

Before I could get the words out, Lottie runs over and hugs me. Her tears stain my clothes and her hair falls in my face, which I blew away, but I didn't mind because for the first time Lottie seems happy. Her smile was just hidden under false assumptions, lies, and sadness. But at last, at last, she seems to be breaking free of it, just as the sun has escaped the clutches of the dark storm clouds and is finally beginning to shine its light into the world.

As she pulls away from the hug, I look quizzically at her. "May I know the reason for your happiness?"

"Dhruv… Dhruv…" She starts, looking jumpy and hyper just as Eswar enters the room with a paper cup containing coffee and a cookie in his hand. 

He shakes his head at Lottie, and approaches me. "What she means is she woke up to Dhruv crying."

"Oh. Is that good?"

Eswar takes his place beside his wife and says, "Yes. The doctor was also here and said that this is a sign that Dhruv will get better." Then he raises his brows. "But how can that be, I am unaware of. Did something happen last night?" He looks first at his wife and then at me, waiting for an answer. 

Lottie speaks first. "No. Nothing special."

I was about to agree when I remember the song I sang last night. "Lottie, do you think that song has something to do with this miracle?"

Something clicks inside Lottie as she rushes over to the bed Dhruv is lying on. He actually looks much better this time than the last time I saw him.

"Could it be?" murmurs Lottie as she scoops up Dhruv into her arms as he coos and his tiny fingers brush against her face. "Brookelyn, you're a hero. You saved my child." 

I feel butterflies in my stomach. Not the ones that upset me, but the happy ones that glide across the meadows and add color to nature. "I didn't, Lottie. Grandma did."

We walk slowly toward each other and Lottie places Dhruv in my open arms, who have anticipated this moment and were eager to hold my nephew. As soon as he's in my arms, Dhruv breaks into the smallest, yet sweetest smile, small, yet still there. I look up to see Lottie and Eswar staring at each other in awe as they watch the magic unfold between us: me and my nephew.

And from that moment on, I knew everything would be alright because I'd got what I really wanted.

My family…