US - A Journey Back Home

A Cold Windy Morning..

Starbucks in my neighborhood had never seen such a crowd. The chill wind whipped around us, making the queue outside shiver. The shopkeeper, with a contented smile, was clearly pleased that the billing machine was easing his workload, but the employees struggled to maintain their forced smiles as they hustled to keep up with the morning rush.

Pari, who was serving coffee, looked both dizzy and surprised. I never imagined a green Starbucks apron could look so perfect on someone. Pari, whose name means fairy in Hindi, had an aura of enchantment. I always dreamed of taking her out, spending time together, perhaps even more.

As soon as I saw Pari in Starbucks, my mind drifted back to our first encounter. It was a chilly morning, much like today. I was descending the stairs of my apartment building, bracing myself against the biting wind. My neighbor, the bully who took pleasure in my misfortunes, saw an opportunity and tripped me. I fell hard onto the icy pavement, pain shooting through my limbs. Just as I was gathering myself, a pair of gloved hands gently helped me up.

"Are you okay?" she asked, her voice tender and soothing. I looked up to see Pari's concerned face, framed by a woolen hat that barely contained her long, dark hair. Her eyes sparkled with genuine kindness, a rare sight in my world.

"Yes, thank you," I managed to reply, more stunned by her presence than the fall. This was the first time I saw her up close, and I instantly felt a warmth that had nothing to do with the layers of clothing we both wore.

From that day forward, I noticed Pari everywhere. At the grocery store, she carefully selected fresh produce, her eyes attentive and discerning. Once, I spotted her at the library, engrossed in a book, her expression serene and focused. Another time, I saw her helping an elderly woman cross the street, her gentle nature shining through as she guided the woman with care.

One evening, we both ended up at the same theater, watching an indie film. I saw her lean forward, completely absorbed in the movie. Each instance deepened my admiration for her, even though she never seemed to remember our brief encounter.

---

My name is Leo. My friend calls me Smarty, but most people call me Shorty. My parents died when I was a child. Born a dwarf, I grew up in a shelter home for 15 years. Now, I'm in college, living alone in a small apartment. All I have is a picture of Jesus passed down from my mother.

I yearned for companionship, for people with whom I could laugh, cry, and share my life. The opportunities to find such people always seemed out of reach, leaving me to retreat to the only open door—my apartment—and confide in my friend, the picture of Jesus. Despite the hardships, I never regretted my life. I believed that everything happens as it is written, and I couldn't blame anyone but the author of my fate—God.

But God was also my only friend, so I accepted my circumstances and moved on.

---

Every night, I slept in the corner of my room, far from the windows. Bullies would throw stones at my windows every morning, shattering the glass. That day, the sound of breaking glass jolted me awake. A single ray of sunlight pierced through the broken window, striking the picture of Jesus on the wall.

Despite the cold and the bleakness, that ray of light seemed to carry a message, a fragment of hope. I took courage from it, as if my friend was telling me to face the day with strength. I got ready, taking extra care to patch up the window temporarily, and headed downstairs.

---

I stood in the long line at Starbucks, feeling conspicuous to everyone except the one person I wished would notice me. The tall man in front of me blocked my view of Pari. His cheerful demeanor stood out among the irritable customers braving the windy weather. Even if he were to ask her out, I hoped Pari would tell him, "Get in line."

As I approached Pari, my heart raced. She looked breathtaking that morning. I prayed for the courage to ask her out. She was busy, mechanically fetching coffee, packing it, calling the next customer, and repeating the process. It was clear she was faking her way through the day, just like me.

Nervously, I stepped closer. She called the next customer, and I stood before her. She smiled at me, a genuine smile that felt just for me. I smiled back, feeling a flicker of hope.

"Good morning, what can I get for you?" she asked.

"Hi Pari," I said, her name rolling off my tongue awkwardly.

She looked taken aback. No customer had ever called her by name. Even the tall man beside me waiting for his coffee glanced over, surprised.

I gathered my courage and stammered, "Mai… Aapko… Bahut… Pasand… Karta… Hu. Kya aap… mere… saath… date pe… chaloge?"

I had practiced those words for two days.

Pari and the tall man exchanged smiles. "You are so sweet, but I am engaged," she said gently. My eyes caught sight of matching rings on their fingers.

Devastated, I thought, "Hell to my sweetness."

---

I returned to my apartment, feeling a surge of anger. The neighbor downstairs tried to push me again, but not today. I landed a punch right on his jaw. He looked stunned, and I felt an unfamiliar sense of power.

Slamming my apartment door, I went straight to my friend. I wanted the comfort of the glowing hands in the picture of Jesus. I needed consolation.

Suddenly, the power went out. My anger and frustration surged. I lit a candle and placed it before the picture, seeking solace.

"Why me?" I asked, my voice breaking. There was no answer. This time, I couldn't accept the silence. I demanded a response, but none came. Despair overwhelmed me. I went to the window and opened it, letting the cold wind rush in.

The candle toppled, setting the picture aflame. Panicking, I tried to save it, but it was too late. The image burned to ashes.

Crying and shouting, I gathered the charred remains. Among the ashes, a teardrop extinguished a tiny red flame, revealing a hidden date and place on the picture.

Surprised, I wondered if this was a sign, a lead to my people.

The power returned, and I took it as a sign from my friend. Though the picture was gone, it led me forward. I couldn't hold onto him anymore, but I could follow the lead.

---

I traveled by boat and train to the place indicated on the picture. Nestled between the hilly slopes of the Himalayas, on the shore of the river Brahmaputra, I found a magical place where most people were short like me.

I discovered my ancestors' house and learned about their legacy. They were revered as true inspirations. For the first time, I felt a sense of pride.

As days passed, the community welcomed me. There were no pitying or angry eyes. One day, as I wandered the streets, I entered a café.

Inside, I saw a beautiful girl. She looked at me shyly, and I felt a spark. Approaching her, I introduced myself.

"Hi. My name is Leo. What's your name?"

She smiled nervously and replied, "Pari."

---

The cold wind howled outside, but inside the café, it was warm. I had found my place, and perhaps, just perhaps, my people.