Luv Shuv In New York

LUV SHUV IN NEW YORK N. M. PATEL CONTENTS Author’s Note Part I Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Part II Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Part III Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Epilogue Acknowledgments About the Author Copyright © 2022 by N.M. Patel All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of a brief quotation in a book review. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Cover Designer: Bhavi Mehta Editor: Librum Artis Editorial Services Proofreader: Judy’s Proofreading Created with Vellum To everyone who needs a little push to start chasing their dreams. Do it. It’s not as hard as it looks like. AUTHOR’S NOTE I started reading romance when I lived in India. Four years ago, I moved to New York City for my Master’s degree. And it completely changed the way I read romance set in the U.S. I started expecting to see more diverse group of people being written in romances set in big cities like New York, Chicago, Boston. I started looking for Indians and Chinese to make an appearance, even as side characters, in the books I read. Because I saw and experienced that diversity all around me. It was shocking to see such a huge presence of Asians in the U.S., yet so under-represented in books. Every day I travelled in the subway, I saw so many interracial and intercultural couples having their little moments and living their normal life, and it warmed my heart. My need to read such romances increased tenfold. But I couldn’t find enough of them. So, I decided to write my own. A book where people from different backgrounds fell in love. I wanted to write a story that followed an immigrant student that adapted to a new country—its education system, its food, its culture, and its lifestyle. A story where an American fell in love with an immigrant who opened his eyes to a whole new world. A story that brings two cultures together and makes their love worth being celebrated, accepted and normalized. Yes, some of these experiences were my own, some were of my other Indian friends, and some were what I wish I had experienced myself. I wrote my culture the way I’ve experienced it. Everyone would have their own version of what makes them an Indian, what feels Indian to them, and I completely respect that. When it comes to Indian parents, not all Indian parents are the same. There are many PART I CHAPTER 1 “This isn't going to be pretty. Rules will be broken. Friendships will be tested. And huge risks will be taken. But they're small prices to pay for true love and freedom, right?” - Lisi Harrison Akira Ahmedabad, India Chaos was inevitable when my entire family decided to come. All fourteen of them. “Should we walk you to airport security?” “That’s not necessary, Mummy.” Everywhere around us, clusters of people were engrossed in their farewells and welcomes. The sharp tones of worried mothers and tense fathers, children screaming and running around, the sound of flights taking off and landing—and my own family talking over each other—had my heart pounding out of my chest. “Are you sure you want to go to New York? You still have time to change your mind.” “Pappa, check-in is in five minutes. And yes, I’m sure I want to go to New York." And my answer to this question has remained unchanged for the last nine months, since I began my application for a master’s degree in architecture. “Where is that brother of yours? How can he be late to see his little sister off?” Mummy looked around the crowds as she dabbed at her face with a handkerchief, pretending to wipe the humidity off her cheeks. Every now and then, she swiped away a stray tear. She thought she hid it well, and it was evident how much she was trying to keep it together. She was going to make me cry. I wrapped my arms around her shoulders and said, “Has Aakar ever been anywhere on time? Don’t worry, Mummy. He should be arriving any minute now.” The late evening rain had cooled the harsh concrete pavement of the airport, and soft wind helped soothe the heavy emotions in the air. All of us stood