Zealandia, 2030

I named her India.

No, it wasn't as much as my homesick heart trying to remember my homeland ― that country was erased from the planet in 2023. Seven years and today's the first time she's asked me why. 'You don't like that name, Indie?'

"It's a strange name, dad. My friends tease me."

"What do they say?"

"They think I too shall drown one day."

"You won't. I promise." I pull her cheek and rub the tip of her nose. "Sleep now. It's late."

"A bedtime story?"

"What does my princess want to hear tonight?"

"How about the story of India ― before it drowned and took mom with..."

I pull a blanket to her neck and caress her hair. "Where shall we begin?"

"How about the day you met mom?"

"It was India's last day on earth."

"How did you meet her?"

"It was 29th March 2023. I was stuck on a hill; everyone was. Something was weird about that day. The rainstorm ― it had never rained like that." I sit next to her, stretch my legs, and she shifts her head into my lap. "Someone came to me and did something I won't ever forget."

"Was that mom?"

I nod.

"But my teacher says a baby takes nine months to become a baby before it can be born."

"Really? They teach that to seven-year-olds?"

"Well?"

"Your teacher is right."

"But you said it was the day India drowned and mom left."

"It was no ordinary day."

"Tell me, tell me. I want to know."

"Alright. She said a prayer for someone, someone very close to me. I asked her name."

'"It's me... India,' she said. And that's how I met your mom."

"Not fair." Indie punches my arm. 'You have to tell me more.'

"I can't. Not tonight."

"But why?"

"Because tomorrow is 29th March. And I must fulfill a promise I made to your mom."

"What promise?"

"What happens to wishes and promise if we reveal them?"

"They disappear."

"Hush then. Sleep. Tomorrow is a special day."

She sighs. "Okay, dad. Good night."

"Good Night, Indie."

I watch her roll to one side and her breath calms as she snuggles into some dream. I pull the door softly and return to my room. In the lower drawer of my desk is the promise I made to India. I pick the diary, flip to a fresh page, pause and return to the first page—I want to start where it all started.

***