I woke up feeling exuberant; this was one of the best mornings in recent times. With daybreak setting in, I did some quick stretches, brushed my teeth, and ran downstairs to have breakfast. The typical breakfast somehow tasted way better today, I guess happiness just makes everything rosier. I went back upstairs, showered, and got ready for my first day at the new workplace. I looked at the appointment letter one more time, as it sent some more beams of happiness at me. This letter was my gateway to travel to the city, every day.

As a child, I had always heard stories about the city, from my classmates, whose parents used to travel there for work. As years went by, I had this entire city mentally mapped out – its colorful streets, the majestic buildings, and the clear straight roads. I have been itching to visit the city for so long... But every time I broached the topic at the dinner table, I could sense my parents becoming uneasy. Eventually, I stopped talking about the city; I didn’t want to see that dreadful expression – that haunting look in their eyes.

We were a small family – a mother who looked after the fourteen farm animals: some cows, buffaloes and goats, and a father who worked in the prettiest fields of the area – full of colorful fruits. Fruits from our farms were pretty well known, trucks after trucks would be loaded and the produce would be transported to the city. I would sometimes look at the crates of oranges as the truck drove away and wonder which part of the city would they be delivered too.

But before I head out, there is one big thing that needs sorting; informing my parents about the appointment letter. I had gone through this scenario multiple times in my head – how they would try to persuade me to not go to the city and continue my local job here, and how I would say, if I want to grow in life, I need to capitalize on opportunities as they come. I know I shouldn’t have kept this conversation for the last, but I just could not bring myself to talk about the city in front of them.

I get ready and rush downstairs swiftly, skipping alternate steps on my way down.

“Moooooom…” I shout.

I look for her in the hall and then the kitchen. I can’t find her. So I run out of the main door and enter the barn thinking maybe she is looking after the animals. The cows give a welcoming moo, but I don’t see her anywhere.

‘What do I do?’ – I think to myself, I don’t want to be late on my first day of work. I try to look through the lines of grapevines for dad. How are both of them missing at the same time? I was cursing myself for not bringing up this topic at dinner last night. Should I leave a note? But that look of dread in their eyes...No I can’t. So I picked up my bag and rushed to the vacant bus stop reaching in time for the bus’ arrival.

I have traveled on this bus before, to move from one village to another, sometimes for work, sometimes with friends, but never to travel to the city. Even though sneaking inside the city without informing my parents was easy, it just never felt right. Yet here I am today, riding to the city for the first time in my life, and my parents don’t know about it.

The bus arrived, about five minutes late, I get on it. It was sparsely filled; I took a seat somewhere in the middle and paid for the ticket. Usually, I would sit on the back rows – a habit I had developed at school, but that can be a rocky ride thanks to all the nasty bumps on the road. And there are many, at least till we get closer to the city. Oh, how I can’t wait to feel the smoothness of the roads! I peer outside the window, letting the breeze caress my face, heavy with the smell of the watered farms, and slowly doze off.

I wake up to a loud screech. I open my eyes to a sharp bright light shining in my eyes; a weird smell hangs in the air. I feel terrified. I look around me; everyone is seated calmly on their seats. The bright light is from the cars coming from the opposite direction. I give out a slight laugh – it’s the city. The city woke me up.

I marvel at the tall buildings that can’t be sized from the bus’ window. Not even sunlight can penetrate through. It reminds me of the evergreen rainforests I had learned about in my geography textbooks. Trees would grow so tall that sunlight would seldom reach the jungle floor, making it hard for vegetation to survive at the ground level.

Had someone told me that the lights are always on in the city, I wouldn’t have believed them. But here we are at 09:40, with every headlight and streetlight switched on. People are rushing on the sidewalks, and my bus is dawdling. There’s a lot of traffic in front of us. The road is smooth, but we traveled faster when it wasn’t.

I keep peering outside the window, trying to match this city – the real deal, with the mental map I had built up over the years. It was colorful and joyous, it made me happy, yet it wasn’t perfect, it has way too many people. But it makes sense, everyone would want to be a part of this beautiful thing we call ‘city’. And why shouldn’t they, the people are the city’s life.

The bus passes by a flower shop where the lady is spraying water on the flowers – they look bright and beautiful.

Still thinking about the flowers, we finally arrive at my stop ‘Wellness Mall’ – conveniently named after the landmark mall just beside the stop. I am to work in one of the assembly workshops as a manager, looking over most of the machines and people working there.

The address on the letter simply read ‘Shop 204, Wellness Mall’.

I got down at the bus stop – the smell grew weirder.