Akira Mishra My father had one request—more like a condition—to allow me to leave our large, Indian joint family and move to New York to pursue my master’s degree. To not get involved with anyone who wasn’t a Desi boy. And I did not miss a beat before I agreed. Because why not? All I wanted was Freedom. To live away from my overbearing—but very sweet and supportive—family. To study hard. Find a job in NYC. And make it on my own, like millions of my fellow Indian immigrants. My plan was all set. So, of course, it’s completely ruined when I sit beside him on the first day of my class. Sam White. Sam White, my White American classmate. Sam, with his dark-as-sin clothes, a permanent frown etched on his face, and his perfect grades in class. Sam, with his total ignorance about my Indian culture but his determination to understand it better. So what if he makes me feel a little more at home in an unknown country? So what if he looks at me like I’m the only one he sees? I will not fall for him. I cannot fall for him. I absolutely cannot break my promise to my father. So, of course, I do.
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