Illustrated by CJ Tulong and written by Grisha Chawla
The buckle on my seatbelt is ice, and I flinch, a chill coursing through my veins as I touch it. Next to it lies my sketchbook, small and silent. Three hours in this car have not made me accustomed to the perpetual movement and waves of motion sickness. I exhale softly, watching my breath immediately form a small cloud, and vanish just as easily.
That’s where I will be living now.
That’s my name. My mother says we are bonded through our name, that is why the city will be kind to me. But names are just floats bobbing on the surface.
I hold my sketchbook close to my heart, turning over the page to a blank one.