Riya's POV

Author's note: Most of these Riya's POV threads were written by an anonymous contributor. After adding the pictures and a little editing I posted them under my own name - at the author's request. If any other writers want to contribute to the story feel free to submit.

Tears sting my eyes and flow down my cheeks, and I throw my smartphone onto the bed. Hands balled into fists I punch the pillows before I fall onto the mattress.

Life had been pulled from beneath my feet sending me into a spin of doubt and fear.

My father had just been charged with defrauding the Indian state of eleven million rupees. It might be half the world away, but it won't be long before I feel the effects here in the US.

My father is not squeaky clean, no self-made man is. But Baba isn’t a criminal. Never.

Spurious charges, from a bent politician. That’s all it is. But that’s India. Corruption is rife. To my father to negotiate, the state has frozen his bank accounts, and will tie him up in litigation until he comes to a financial settlement out of court.

Bad for Baba. But it’s also bad for me. It means his payments to me have been cut off. I have no income. The line of credit set up for me was frozen just like all my father's other accounts and I needed money now.

This couldn’t have come at a worse time. My next instalment for my course is due and so is the rent on my apartment. I'm facing losing everything. I shake in rage, and curse in Hindi. Then switch to English and use an American term. I’m fucked.

Up until the phone call I had lived a privileged life. Grew up in an affluent suburb in Mumbai surrounded by famous actors and tech gurus. I went to a private school full of expat children and had access to all the latest fashion.

I had maids at my beck and call and access to Baba’s driver. He would drive me to college, the shops, or to collect me and my friends from the library.

I had the perfect privileged life.

That life continued here in Connecticut where I had a penthouse apartment in Middletown just off the campus at Wesleyan. All the student bars were on the next street, but I never stayed out too late, I was here to take advantage of the first-class education. A boyfriend would be a bonus but not a necessity. I wanted a career before marriage. And kids only in my mid-thirties.

But all my dreams were now at risk.

My extended family wired me money, but it was nowhere near enough. I booked myself into the student crisis centre. But all they did was confirm the bad news. They’d sanction an emergency loan that would allow me to complete my end of year exams, but I’d have to leave the apartment at the end of the month and live in emergency housing. With hookers, addicts and god knows what else.

I left the crisis centre a broken woman. Once again on the verge of tears. My vision blurred and my world began to spin. My life was unravelling at the seams. I don’t even see the man and walk straight into him almost knocking him to the ground. To make matters worse the poor old man is on crutches, wearing a neck brace and a cast on his leg. The collision causes him to spill a handful of flyers.

“Oh Sir! Pardon me.” I kneel down to pick up the flyers. “I'm so sorry, Sir. I wasn't watching where I was going, are you alright?”

“No worries, my Dear.” He takes my hand and lifts me easily back onto my feet, giving my hand a light squeeze with a smile. “After my accident, bumping into a pretty little thing like you is almost a pleasure.”

I felt my cheeks warm, I’ve never been comfortable with compliments. My eyes drop to the flyers in my hand. HELP WANTED. Light chores around the house. $20 per hour. Now along with embarrassment, I feel a glimmer of hope.

“You're looking to engage someone?” I ask trying not to sound too eager. “Maybe I can help you out? What would you need me to do?”

“Well, it's mostly light cooking and cleaning, and I need help bathing.” He looks towards the Health Sciences building. “I thought maybe one of the nursing students might be interested ... ” In spite of his injuries he looks to be in pretty good health, I doubt he needs a nurse, I can do this.

“I'd be ever so grateful.”

“I don’t know…” He seems dubious. His voice layered with doubt. “Do you have any experience with this kind of thing?” Well let's see, light cooking - does toast and eggs count? Cleaning - that I can do, bathing? The flush on my face must grow even brighter as I picture myself sponging down this man's body, but I'm - how bad could it be?

“Well, not on my CV, Sir, but I was always helping my mum around the house. I'm sure it would be no trouble.” That was a lie, but I need this job.

“Do you live on campus?” He points towards the town centre. “My house is a couple blocks that way.”

“I'm a little in between places at the moment.” I have but to plead, “But it will be no problem, I promise.”

He shakes his head. “In my condition, I need to have someone reliable...”

“Oh Sir! I am very reliable. I have excellent grades ... I can get you references.”

“You would have to be.” His voice raises by an octave and his stare pierces me., “I need someone who will do as I say, with no complaints… I can get pretty grumpy, especially when my meds are wearing off.”

“I'm used to grumpy men, Sir.” I feel a little better now, as I finally feel him warming to me, “I had to put up with my father for years before he finally let me come to the States for Uni.”