My Summer Fling Nirja Trivedi

This summer, I fell for someone. Her name? India. This is our story:

In line with the classic enemies-to-lovers trope, we started as haters. Growing up, I dreaded the trip my family took to India every five years. I hated how dirty it was. I hated how crowded it was. I hated how smelly it was. My favorite part of those trips was watching Scooby-Doo! Mystery Incorporated for 16 hours straight on the plane.

After deciding that I wanted to learn Hindi, I gave India a second chance. I signed up to court her, not online on Tinder, but in person through the State Department’s NSLI-Y program.

At first, she humbled me. Being of Indian origin, I thought I would blend in fairly well in my host community. Well, I was like a fish out of holy water from the Ganges River. On the first day itself, I touched my host dad’s feet out of respect only to find that unmarried girls aren’t supposed to. The next day, my host sister laughed at me for “crossing the road like an American.” Clearly, I had a lot to learn.

At the end of the first week, my host sister said I should get a henna tattoo. I hesitated, but she insisted. I hadn’t gotten mehndi done since third grade, when two of my Girl Scout troop mates made fun of me for “having rust on my...