Chapter Nine: New Roads, Old Fears
(Zaria's POV)
The last week of summer slipped away like sand between my fingers.
Sunny Scoops started running out of their best flavors, Maya's library hours got shorter, and Lia began talking about schedules, IDs, and morning alarms as if she were already the manager of our lives.
And just like that, school season had arrived.
Alderbridge High — our new beginning — looked nothing like the schools back home. The building was wide and modern, walls covered in student-made murals, the flag out front swaying gently in the cool morning air.
And SO pretty.
I remember standing at the gate that first day, clutching my bag like it was armor.
Lia had already left early for her college orientation across town. Maya stood beside me, wearing her favorite denim jacket, pretending she wasn't terrified.
"You think they'll like us?" she whispered.
I forced a smile. "We'll make them like us."
Inside, the halls buzzed with energy — lockers slamming, sneakers squeaking, laughter bouncing off the walls. Everyone seemed to know where they were going. We didn't.
When I finally found my locker, the combination refused to open. I tried again. And again. The metal clanged loud enough to draw attention.
A boy passing by slowed down, grinning. "First day?"
I nodded, cheeks burning.
He spun the dial with ease and the locker popped open. "Welcome to Alderbridge. Don't let it eat you alive."
I laughed awkwardly. "I'll try."
My first class — English — smelled like paper and coffee. The teacher, Ms. Lang, smiled warmly when she saw my name. "Zaria Rahman," she said slowly, making sure to pronounce it right. "Beautiful name."
Something in me loosened.
By lunch, I'd already learned two things: cafeteria pizza tastes like regret, and small talk is harder in another language, even when it's English.
Maya found me at a corner table, balancing a tray of fries. "I already got shushed by the librarian for asking directions too loudly," she said, rolling her eyes.
I burst out laughing. For the first time that day, it felt like we belonged again — even if just to each other.
After school, the sun was softer, and the streets of Alderbridge glowed gold. We stopped by a bus stop, watching kids run ahead, shouting about soccer tryouts and after-school clubs.
Lia texted:
College orientation is insane. Everyone's so tall. Send help.
Maya laughed. "She's fine."
"Yeah," I said quietly, looking at the sky. "We're all fine."
But that night, when I got home, I lay on my bed staring at the ceiling, exhaustion humming through me. My mind drifted back to our school in Dhaka — the cracked windows, the smell of rain-soaked books, the sound of our old friends calling our names down the corridor.
Everything here was cleaner, brighter… but emptier, too.
I turned on my fairy lights, their glow soft and familiar. Maya hummed something from her room — an old Bangla tune our mothers loved.
For a moment, the walls didn't feel foreign anymore.
Lia burst in a little later, hair messy, holding two takeout boxes. "We survived our first days," she declared. "That deserves noodles."
We ate cross-legged on the floor, laughing over stories from our new worlds — Lia's awkward coffee spill on her professor, Maya's silent panic when she couldn't find the "exit" sign, my battle with the locker.
The city outside hummed like a faraway song, strange but steady.
I realized then — maybe home wasn't a single place anymore. Maybe it was the sound of our laughter echoing through a new room, the warmth of familiar voices after long days.
When I looked at Maya and Lia, I saw it — the courage we didn't know we had.
The next morning, as I tied my shoelaces for another school day, the sky outside was pink with dawn.
"Ready?" Lia asked, slinging her bag over her shoulder.
I smiled. "Yeah. I think I am."
We stepped out together — three girls chasing the same sunrise in a new world.