By the time we get home, I’m feeling despondent. I want to lie in bed and sleep forever.
I head for my room to do just that when my mom calls me back. “Let me show you the gifts we brought.”
“I thought you were feeling sick?” I say but pause at the base of the stairs.
“Yes, but I missed you more. Come here,” she says, waving me over.
I hesitate, worrying my bottom lip between my teeth before I nod. Maybe Dadu was right. Maybe they thought about things and changed their minds.
I want to believe it’s true.
I sit down next to her. My dad is busy looking over his plants to make sure they’re still alive, inspecting their leaves with a careful eye, and Samir is watching videos of my baby cousins on my dad’s discarded phone. “What’d you bring?”
My mom takes out gorgeous lehengas and sarees and salwars and rolls and rolls of beautiful fabric. “Nanu insisted on these so you could pick and choose your own outfit design.”
“They’re so pretty,” I say, running my hand along a roll of pale blue chiffon with golden designs woven in.
“And I brought you some jewelry, too,” Ma says, pulling out velvet boxes and unlatching them. “Some tikkas and anklets and bangles. Oh, and some nose rings. I think I have some regular rings, too.”
My mom presents a row of shiny golden rings to me, and my first thought is of Ace. He’d love one of these.
I quickly discard that thought. My parents and Ace do not fit in the same sentence, even in the safety of my head.
“I love them, Ma,” I say, slipping one on. I study the sapphire stone, glinting in the light before looking back at my mom.
She’s smiling warmly. The look on her face makes my stomach clench uncertainly. “It looks good on you.”
I nod, turning back to the accessories. I can’t second-guess myself now. Dadu isn’t here to support me. If I tell them the truth, it’ll be by myself, and what if they don’t approve?
I don’t know if I could cope. I’m not as brave as everyone keeps saying I am.
By the end of the night, they’ve run out of things to show me. I retreat to my bedroom to light a candle and text Ace, still feeling out of sorts, when there’s a knock on my door.
“Come in,” I say, setting my phone down.
It’s my dad, and he’s holding a giant package. I furrow my brows. “What’s that?”
“Your pillow,” he says, shaking it around. His eyes are crinkled with amusement. “It saved me a fortune since your mom had to stop shopping. It was so big she couldn’t find any room to fit in more clothes.”
I laugh, reaching for the pillow. “Glad I could be of service.”
Baba sits on my bed, patting the spot next to him. “I wanted to talk to you about our phone call last week.”
My blood curdles. The ball is about to drop. I’ve been expecting it all night.
“I think we were a little harsh on you,” he says, scratching the side of his head. Wait, what? “Your Dadu told me how upset you were. Ma and I wanted to say sorry. We know you’re doing your best in school.”
Ma pops her head in. “Did you call me?”
“I was just telling Myra we’re sorry about how we spoke to her on the phone last week,” my dad says.
My mom looks a little hesitant, but then she sighs and comes inside, taking the seat on the other side of me. “Yeah, we’re sorry.”
I blink. They’re sorry? They know how hard I’ve been working? They recognize their faults?
Did I somehow die and go to heaven?
“It’s okay,” I say, my head spinning. I can’t believe Dadu convinced my dad to apologize. I can’t believe my mom somehow agreed to this. I can’t believe any of it.
“We’re proud of you for giving school your best effort,” Baba says. “We’re not happy you’re tutoring a boy, but it shows you have a good heart.”
“And you said it will look good on college applications, right?” Ma asks.
The mention of college applications causes my heart to race. I look between my parents, both watching me with earnest expressions. They’re apologizing.
My heart flutters nervously. Can I do it? Can I tell them the truth?
“Yeah, it’ll look good on college applications,” I say.
“That’s good, then. Before you know it, every college will be accepting you into their premed program,” my dad says, smiling.
Do it, do it, do it, a part of me whispers fervently, despite my sweaty palms, my prickling skin, my racing heart.
If I don’t do it now, I never will.
Being brave in this one moment might be enough to serve me a lifetime.
It’s time I take control of my own life and ensure my own happiness.
Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one.
Okay. Time to be a lionheart.
I brace myself.
“Actually,” I say, biting my bottom lip. “I’ve been thinking, and I don’t want to study medicine. I don’t want to be a doctor. I really love English, and I want to study that instead.”
I did it. I told them the truth.
Silence follows my proclamation, broken only by the sound of my mother’s laughter. “That’s funny, Myra. But be serious.”
Oh.
Oh no.
No, no, no.
“I wasn’t joking,” I say weakly. I fucked up. I’ve made a horrible, horrible mistake.
I shouldn’t have said anything.
My dad stares at me. “What do you mean you want to study English? Your whole life, you’ve wanted to be a doctor. Why would you change your mind now to study a useless degree?”
It feels like there’s a dagger twisting into my heart. “I never wanted to be a doctor. You wanted me to be a doctor.”
“What are you talking about? Are you saying we forced you to become a doctor?” Ma asks sharply.
I shake my head. I want to disappear, I want to run away, I want to be anywhere but here, in this situation. “No, but I don’t—”
“How can you be so selfish?” my mom asks, shaking her head. “You only think of yourself and what you want. Your dad and I have worked tirelessly so you could have a better future and you want to throw it away for an English degree?”
Ten, nine, eight, seven—
“I’m not throwing away my future,” I say quietly. Tears press against my eyes but I won’t let them spill. Not here, not in front of them.
“No, you’re being lazy. You want to study English because it’s easy. Because math and science are hard. What kind of daughter did we raise, Hussain?”
Six, five, four, three—
My dad’s expression is grim. He exchanges a look with my mom, and I see the moment all sympathy swings away from me. The moment he fully takes her side. “You will get nowhere in life with an English degree, Myra. You have to know that. I’m so disappointed in you for even thinking of doing something like this. How can you be so ungrateful for all we’ve done for you?”
Two, one.
Zero.
“I’m not—I’m not ungrateful,” I say, because that’s so far from the truth. I know everything they’ve sacrificed for me to have a better future. But it’s my future. “I just thought—”
“That’s the problem with young girls lately,” Ma says, cutting me off. “You think too much, and yet too little. Back in my day, we would never say something so stupid. Don’t be silly, Myra. You will be a doctor. That is final.”
No.
Please don’t do this to me, I want to say, but I can’t speak. My throat has closed up.
“And get those foolish ideas out of your head,” Baba says, standing up. “This is what happens when we leave you unsupervised...” His eyes meet my mother’s, and he mutters, “Disgraceful.”
He walks out without
another word and I stare at his retreating back, breathing harshly.
“You should be ashamed of yourself, Myra,” my mom says, shaking her head as she also gets to her feet. “One day, you will learn. Until then, we are here to guide you. In the future, think before you speak.”
She leaves, closing the door behind her, and my heart finally collapses in my chest.
* * *
I wait until I hear their voices disappear down the hallway to let the tears flow, unrelenting as they are.
I don’t know why I expected anything else. I don’t know why I got my hopes up. I don’t know why, I don’t know why, I don’t know why.
I don’t know why they can’t let me have this.
I’m not asking a lot. I’m not asking them to do anything. I want this for me, for myself. For my future.
Because it’s mine, isn’t it?
At least, it should be.
I bury my face in my pillows and take ragged breaths as sobs rack my frame. Someone knocks on my door and Samir’s voice calls, “Myra Apu? Can I come in?”
I don’t answer, instead muffling the sound of my cries as best as I can. If Samir can hear, my parents can, too. I don’t want them to think any less of me than they already do.
Samir knocks again. “Myra Apu, let me in.”
“Go away,” I say, my voice cracking. “Please. Just go.”
The knocks subside. My phone lights up with a text from Samir, but I can’t make myself read it.
It feels like something is ripping me apart from the inside out. Some kind of monster that’s slipped inside my chest and decided to ravage my insides. No matter how many painful breaths I take, I can’t get enough air inside my lungs. I’ve never felt this much heartbreak.
Everything I’ve ever known feels like it’s turning on its head. Ace’s words echo in my head: If their love comes with terms and conditions, what’s the point?
I don’t have the answer. I don’t know what the point is. All this time I thought it was my own fault, that I wasn’t doing enough as their daughter—but what haven’t I done?
Don’t I deserve to be happy, too? Don’t I deserve a family willing to try?
I’ve never felt the sting of their disapproval like this. Not only does it burn, it’s blistering over. All I feel is constant, aching, writhing sadness.
Sad isn’t the right word. Sad doesn’t even begin to cover it. Devastated is better, but still falls short.
Destroyed.
I’m destroyed.
I wish for nothing more than my grandma’s arms around me, comforting me, but she’s miles and miles away.
I’ve never felt more alone.
Why can’t I have this? Why can’t I choose the path of my own future?
What am I supposed to do now? Paste on a smile and pretend I’m happy with the decision they’ve made for me?
Pretend that the world hasn’t stopped turning?
But the truth is that everyone else is living their life as they always have. It’s me who’s stuck in slow motion.
The thought of having to face anyone ever again makes me nauseated. I’ll have to explain that my parents don’t love me unconditionally—that their love comes with a million hidden clauses—and that I have no choice but to do exactly what they want. Even now, bile burns in the back of my throat. I’m choking on my own anguish.
I don’t know how much longer I can do this.
I don’t know.
I don’t.
I.
Is this what it’s like to have your parents disappoint you? This paralyzing devastation?
I don’t know what to do. I don’t know if there’s anything I can do.
I’m sixteen, and my future is out of my hands.
My head starts pounding so hard I have to sit up and tuck my head between my knees to keep from blacking out. Every breath I take is ragged and painful.
My hands are shaking. My entire body is shaking. My soul is about to vibrate out from underneath me, disappearing into the wind. Not my countdown, not my candles, not my prayers, not a single thing can help me now.
Unshakeable, I think bitterly.
I’ve never been unshakeable. I only fooled myself into thinking I was.
I don’t even try to count backward in my head. I don’t see how that can help me anymore.
I clench my eyes shut, as if that’ll stop the tears from burning the backs of my eyelids. The future that lies in front of me is bleak.
This is the end, I realize. This is the end of my life and the beginning of the life my parents want for me.
But maybe I never had my own life in the first place.
49
T-PLUS 1 DAY
Forcing myself to get up for school the next morning is the most miserable experience of my sixteen years.
There’s a strange numbness that’s slipped under my skin. It creeps closer to my heart with each passing moment. It’s as if there are shards of glass twisting inside me, tearing into my flesh and forcing me to become hollow.
I’m empty. I’m broken.
I’m alone.
Despite texts from my brother, from Nandini, Cora, and Ace, I feel completely and utterly alone.
None of them have ever been in this situation. None of them will ever be.
I wouldn’t want them to be. It’s the last thing I would wish on anyone, but it doesn’t help the fact that I have no one to turn to now who really understands how I feel. Maybe my cousins, but I can’t handle the thought of them knowing, looking at me in pity whenever we cross paths.
This pain is my burden alone.
Even the thought of trying to explain it to my friends feels impossible. How can I explain this bruising ache spreading through my entire body? How can I explain the crushing pressure on my heart, weighing me down to the bottom of the ocean?
How can I explain that I’m no longer the same Karina Ahmed I was just a few days ago? That I’m just a shell of her? Of her bravery, of her boldness?
I don’t know how to do it. I don’t know if I’ll ever know how.
And I don’t know how to be the person they’re expecting me to be.
Walking into school takes more energy than I have, but staying home would be worse. Not that my parents would let me in the first place.
“Karina!” Cora says as soon as I swipe my ID card. I look at her, with her sunny smile, adorable blond space buns, and bright yellow overalls, and my face crumples.
I can’t do this.
“Karina?” Cora repeats, her own face falling as she sees mine. She looks at Nandini in confusion, but I know Nandini doesn’t have an answer either. I haven’t been answering anyone’s messages.
“Sorry,” I mouth and duck my head, slipping into the crowd of students exiting the cafeteria, hoping to elude my friends if they follow me.
I spend my free period in silence, tucked away behind a row of lockers in the history hall. My mind is buzzing loudly with white noise and my eyes are glazed over. I don’t know how many students pass by or who any of them are. Time moves both too fast and too slow.
When the bell rings, I bang my head into the wall by accident, jarred. I rub the back of my skull with a sigh and head to my second period class.
Halfway through AP Physics, my nausea becomes too much to handle. I quietly raise my hand, ask my teacher if I can go to the nurse and slip away with a signed pass.
That’s how I spend the next two periods. Sitting in the nurse’s office trying to stave off an anxiety attack while she asks if she should call my parents.
It means I miss English class. My phone is buzzing in my pocket, but I ignore it. I don’t have an answer for anyone right now.
I leave the nurse’s office during lunch, mostly because if I stay any longer, I’m afraid the nurse really will call home, and that’s the last thing I
want.
For lunch, I sit on my own again, finding an abandoned stairway. I stare out a window and wait.
I wait for something to spark to life in my mind—some solution that can fix all this and get rid of the horrible pain infecting my heart.
Nothing comes.
Instead, after ten minutes of simply sitting there, I reach into my backpack and grab my journal, flipping through the pages for something to grasp on to.
if a whisper is all I have left of you
then I will never make a noise
I will live in silence
if it means your voice will sing in my ears
I turn the page.
never did I know a heart can ache
for a soul it cannot see
yet when an arrow slices me open
blood pours from my veins in the form of you
I turn the page.
the world swore to me
you would always return
this is the promise that echoes
in the abyss of my head
when I cannot find relief
It’s funny in retrospect. All these poems are a product of watching too many TV shows and reading too many books, sympathizing with characters to the point that they inspired words from me. Only recently was I able to put my own story on the page. But none of those poems fit right now.
I reach for a pen and force myself to think past the ringing in my ears, the heartbeat thudding too hard in my chest. My hands shake as I write in messy loops of cursive.
I’m drowning out of water, I’m burning out of fire
I was young and I was bold, I am different, I am cold
my heart no longer beats in tune to the universe
kept under lock and key, every step is a luxury
the ghost of my future haunts me at every turn
I miss the stars that used to live in my eyes
no longer do I dance under the moon
my knuckles are bruised and bloody from fighting
from surviving a battle I was destined to lose
a knife dangles over my head, on the precipice
I am h u n g r y
but I am scared of wanting ever again
Counting Down with You Page 32
