A A R A H I

Fairytales have always felt out of reach for me. Life has been a series of strange surprises, and every day feels like a battle—not just against the world, but sometimes against myself.

When I was 15, my father left my mother and me in India. He said he was moving abroad to give us a better life, or at least that’s what I told myself. But after two years of silence, he disappeared from our lives completely.

My mother? She left too to search for him leaving me here don't know why—but not in the way it was supposed to happen. Her addiction took over, and now she’s in rehab, trying to piece her life together.

The past three years, I’ve had no one to lean on. I learned to survive on my own, working day and night just to keep going. It’s made me who I am today—strong, maybe, but also tired.

Then, last week, I got a call that turned my world upside down. My father is alive.

I had no reason to stay in India anymore, so I scraped together every penny I could and went to Las Vegas. Now, I’m here, standing in a city of bright lights and endless noise, hoping to find answers—and maybe, just maybe, a piece of the life I’ve always dreamed of.

After hours cramped in the seat, I couldn’t wait to get out.

Las Vegas suburbs passed by—perfect lawns, sprinklers running, and mansions. These weren’t the neighborhoods I belonged to.

The bus rattled on, moving toward the cheaper side of town, where $9.99 which is around eight hundred rupees buffets lined the streets. Even that was out of my budget.

I grabbed my backpack and slipped into my flip-flops, waiting until most of the passengers had left. As I stepped off, the dry Vegas air hit me. It was cooler than Jaipur but still far from cold.

Being away from my mom already felt like a relief, though I still held onto the stupid hope that rehab would work this time.

“Aarahi ?” a deep voice called.

I turned to see my father. He looked older—bigger around the waist, less hair on his head—but it was him. I hadn’t expected him to actually show up. His promises rarely meant much.

He stubbed out a cigarette and walked over. “The one and only,” I said, smiling.

He hugged me awkwardly. I didn’t mind the smell of smoke or sweat; it had been so long since anyone hugged me. “You’ve grown,” he said, stepping back. “And your pimples are gone.”

“Thank God,” I replied lightly.

He looked nervous, shoving his hands into his pockets. “You sure you want to stay with me?”

My smile faded. Was this his way of saying he didn’t want me here? “Of course,” I said. “I just need a place while I save for my education.”

He hesitated. “It’s not that I don’t want you here. I’m just worried. This isn’t a safe place for someone like you.”

I laughed. “Dad, I’ve been through worse. I can handle myself.”

His uneasy expression stayed. “Vegas is different. Trouble finds people here.”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ve been avoiding trouble my whole life.”

He took my backpack, sighing. “All right, but be careful, okay?”

“I will,” I said, though his words stuck with me. Something about the way he said it made me uneasy.

Dad lived in a small, shabby apartment in a quiet, forgotten part of the city. The glamour of the Strip felt like a distant dream.

He led me to a tiny room with just a mattress on the floor and a mountain of old boxes stacked up to the ceiling.

The air smelled strange, like a mix of dust and cat, though I don't know what it really was.

“It’s not much,” Dad said, scratching his head awkwardly. “I don’t have extra sheets. Maybe you can buy some today?”

I hesitated. Most of my money had gone toward the  ticket to get here. The little I had left was for buying a dress for job interviews at nice restaurants.

But when I looked at the dirty mattress, covered in old stains, I knew I couldn’t sleep on it like that.

“Do you at least have a pillow or a blanket?” I asked.

Dad nodded quickly. “I think I have an old wool blanket. Hold on.” He left the room, leaving me alone with the dusty mattress and the tower of boxes that seemed ready to fall over me.

I sat down carefully on the mattress. It sagged under my weight, sending up a puff of dust. At least I didn’t own much—I’d learned not to get attached to things. Growing up, Mom had sold everything we cared about to buy drugs.

When Dad came back, he handed me a worn-out blanket full of holes. It smelled strange, like smoke and something sour. I laid it on the mattress, already deciding I’d have to buy new sheets.

I took out the last of my money—thirty dollars. Dad’s eyes lingered on the cash, and I saw something desperate in his expression.

“Business is slow right now,” he said. “Could you spare a little? I need to buy food for us.”

I didn’t ask what his “business” was. I’d learned not to dig too deep.

I handed him ten dollars. “I need the rest for sheets.”

He nodded, pocketing the money. “Sure. I’ll get food while you go buy what you need.”

Something about how quickly he wanted me to leave felt off, but I grabbed my backpack anyway.

“You can leave that here,” he said.

“No, I’ll need it to carry my stuff,” I lied. I didn’t trust anyone with my things—not after growing up with a mom who’d sell anything, even if it was worthless.

Outside, the hot Las Vegas air hit me as I walked to the store. The apartment complex was noisy, with a few guys splashing in the dirty pool. One of them whistled at me, and I hurried away.

At the store, I spent almost every penny I had on the cheapest pillow, sheets, and blanket I could find. By the time I got back to the apartment, my wallet was empty.

Dad wasn’t home, and the fridge was almost empty too. Just a few cans of beer and a jar of mayonnaise. My stomach growled, but there was nothing I could do.

Hours later, Dad came back smelling like smoke and alcohol. He avoided my eyes. His hands were empty.

“No food?” I asked quietly.

He froze, looking guilty.

“It’s fine,” I said before he could come up with an excuse. “I’m not hungry anyway.” My stomach churned in protest, but I forced a smile and kissed his cheek. As I headed to my room, I saw him grab a beer from the fridge.

In my room, I set up my new sheets and blanket. They smelled like chemicals, but it was better than the musty mattress.

I changed into an old t-shirt and lay down, staring at the ceiling. My stomach was still growling, but I tried to push the hunger away and focus on falling asleep.

*****