By Neena Grewal, TIWP Student

I met god in a river off the coast of India. I was young and naive and never said hello back. Her hair tickles my collarbone, breaths soft and paced against my neck. Beside me, the Atlantic Ocean passes through a layer of glass and 35,000 feet of turbulent air. On the screen above me the dot marked London crawls closer. For the first time, I am impatient.

We wait six hours in England. Every apology slipping from the flight attendants mouth is punctuated with a baby screaming and an old man’s snores. When we get our seats and complimentary sip of water, we’re bleary eyed and cold. Our hands are twisted together under blankets crackling with electricity.

They let us into the house with warm smiles and prying eyes. They wonder why my fingers graze a girl’s arm, my lashes flutter at a girl’s glance, my toes brush a girl’s leg. She says we’re married. They blink, but I’m still family.

We leave together: skies gray, streets loud, eyes clouded. An elephant shambles down the street, painted with holy powders and chirping bells. A dog sniffs the hand of a dirt-faced child. A rickshaw putters past. We kiss. The world does not stop.

I meet god, then, and I finally say hello.