Page 1 of The Story Of Us

PROLOGUE

VIOLET - SIX YEARS AGO

“You can still change your mind.”

Mum has said this multiple times on the drive here, but as we approach the iron gates to the school, this is the first time I’ve actually considered it.

When the old building finally comes into view, it hits me that I’m going to a boarding school nearly an hour away from the only place I’ve ever called home.

She slows down as we pass through the gates and reaches the car park, looking left and right to find an empty space amongst the hubbub of slamming car doors and parents fussing over their children. We finally park up in a quiet corner, choosing to walk a further distance to the school instead of clamouring for a closer spot. When it takes her a few tries to get into the spot, I start to think that my mum might be as nervous as I am about this whole thing.

When I first told her I wanted to go to Coates Academy, of course, she was hesitant. It’s always been just the two of us for the past ten years, and she’s been protective of me that whole time. But there’s always been a little voice in the back of my mind that dreams of escaping, and I can’t help but think it’s one of the only traits I got from my dad, who did the same thing.

I don’t have any memories of him because he left before I even turned one. I wouldn’t change my relationship with my mum for the world, but as I’ve gotten older, I’ve wanted more freedom and independence, and boarding school seemed like the right place for that. It took a couple of months to wear her down, but eventually, she gave in, and that’s how we ended up here now, sitting in the car facing the place I’ll call home for the next seven years.

“I want to go here. I think it’ll be a good place for me,” I tell her as she turns to face me. We’re a mirror image of each other with matching long hair, mine a slightly lighter brown than hers, and dark brown eyes. There are more lines on her face, though, deep smile lines that are permanently etched there, and a few on her forehead, too. My skin tone is slightly lighter than hers on account of my dad being White, but there’s no doubt that I’m her daughter.

She takes my hand in hers and squeezes it three times, something she’s done ever since I can remember, and I do the same to her. It’s become our silent way of checking in with each other: three to ask and three to confirm.

“Okay, meri jaan.” Her free hand comes up to stroke my hair, knocking the little butterfly clips she put in earlier out of place but fixing them before leaning forward to kiss my forehead. “Let’s go in, then.”

After collecting my schedule and other paperwork from the office, Mum stayed to help me set up my room and we’re nearly finished. We put the sheets on the single bed together and then organised the rest of my things. I line up the books on my shelf above the desk as Mum clatters around in the ensuite bathroom, placing my toiletries in the shower and above the small shelf on the sink that sits under a mirror.

I sit on the bed as I wait for her to finish up, and as I look around the small room that will be mine for the next few years, I have to hold back tears. I wanted this-still want this-but reality seems to finally be hitting me. I don’t want my mum to go.

“Your bathroom is all done, meri jaan.”

She exits the bathroom and comes to sit next to me, wringing her hands together. I place mine over hers to stop her, tangling our fingers together instead and squeezing three times. She squeezes back, and when I look at her face, I can see she’s trying not to cry, too.

“I’ll call you every day, Mum.”

“I know. But I’ll still miss you.”

“I’ll miss you, too.”

We don’t speak for a while, our hands folding together as we try to process what this moment means. We’ve never been apart, and I know we’re both holding out until we’re alone to break down.

“Thank you for letting me do this.”

“Of course, meri jaan. I’ll always support you.”

She kisses the side of my head, and I lean on her for a second, soaking up her familiar smell before she leaves. She stands without saying anything, and I copy her, wrapping my arm around her waist as hers comes around my shoulder. We leave my room to go to her car, and when she gets in and closes the door behind her, I can feel the lump in my throat growing bigger.

She rolls the window down, taking my hand in hers once again, and we squeeze three times.

“I love you,” she says, and I can see the glassiness in her eyes.

“I love you, too.”

She gives me a tight-lipped smile before pulling out and driving away.

When I get back to my room, I sit on my bed and cry.

It feels like all the emotions I’d been holding in while she was here are flooding out, a combination of nerves and excitement that has me completely overwhelmed. The fact that I won’t see her every day feels strange, and I had to push away the thoughts of calling her and asking her to come back and get me.

My stomach rumbles, and when I check the time, I realise I’ve missed the opening dinner for new students. If I go now, I might be able to get some of the leftovers, so I wash my face and hope that no one will be able to tell I’ve been crying.

As soon as I leave my room, a girl my height with short blonde hair drifts past me to the room next to mine. She enters it before popping her head out just a second later.

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