Counting Down with You(102)

“They’re my parents.” My voice cracks miserably. “I can’t—I can’t...”

Ace reaches for me, but I move back unthinkingly.

“Karina,” he says, his own voice pained. “I want you to be happy. I want you to want yourself to be happy.”

“I am happy.” I blink back tears. “But I’d be happier if I made them proud.”

“You make me proud,” he says softly. “You make Nandini and Cora proud. You make Miss Cannon proud. You make your Dadu proud. Can’t that be enough?”

I heave on a sob. It’s not enough. It’s not enough, and I wish so badly that it was.

Ace reaches for me again but falters halfway. “Can I please touch you?”

Another sob tears its way out of my throat, and I nod. I need something to ground me.

He wraps his arms around me, and I bury my head in his chest, crying. I wish it didn’t have to be like this. I wish it was enough to have other people look at me with pride. I wish I didn’t feel like I owe this gigantic debt to my parents and the only way to ever pay it back is to succeed in their eyes.

“I hate seeing you so miserable,” Ace murmurs into my hair. “I’m sorry for bringing it up. I know there are no easy answers, but I’m worried about you. I don’t know how much longer you can do this before you burn out, Karina.”

I wish I had the breath to reply that I’ve already burned out. The fire he sees inside me is actually just the ember that remains from a once-roaring inferno.

Ace holds me closer, stroking my hair with one hand and wrapping the other around the back of my neck, squeezing gently. “Breathe with me. Come on.”

His chest moves under my head as he takes deep breaths in and out, and I try to copy him until my own breathing evens out. Tears still spill down my cheeks, saltwater stinging my tongue.

“Hey,” Ace says, leaning back so he can cup my face. His thumbs brush across my cheeks, wiping the tear tracks. “You deserve to be happy, Karina Ahmed. Your life shouldn’t be about making other people happy at your expense. Please believe that.”

“I wish I could,” I say, sniffling. I still feel the urge to rip out my heart and throw it somewhere far, far away, where it can’t bother me anymore, but I’m calmer. Ace is right in that I have to make a decision about my future career in two days. The question of which one to choose haunts my every waking moment. “But it’s easier said than done.”

Ace’s eyes are sad. “I know. This entire situation is the worst. But if anyone can find a way to come out of it on the other side, it’s you. My lionheart. It’s always going to be your decision, but I hope you know I believe in you more than anything.”

I close my eyes and lean into his touch, trying to soak in his warmth. “I wish I was as brave as you think I am.”

I am not a spark. I am not a blaze. I am not an inferno.

“You are,” Ace says, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead. “You are.”



47


T-MINUS 1 DAY

One day.

T-1.

My parents come back tomorrow. Everything is going to change. It’s back to constant supervision and intense lectures and watchful gazes I can never fully shake, even when I’m out of their sight.

It means goodbye to my dates with Ace, goodbye to having Dadu around, goodbye to my newfound happiness.

Goodbye to the indecision that plagues me constantly.

My motions are slow today. I wake up and brush my teeth. I eat breakfast and watch Dadu read the newspaper. I kneel on a janamaz and pray to Allah to help me find an answer. I lie down with a book in the living room but end up watching Samir play video games. I sit outside on the porch and attempt to do homework, all to no avail.

Ace texts me, more than once, telling me he misses me. My eyes burn when I read the messages, but my mind is somewhere else, fixated on a singular, terrifying thought. Should I defy my parents? Should I tell them I want to study English?

The idea has infested my mind like a disease. This past month has changed me. I can feel it in the marrow of my bones, something deeper than words can explain.

I’m different.

But I don’t know if I’m braver.

I don’t know if I can do this.

“Dadu,” I say. I’m sitting in her room as she packs for her departure tomorrow. Just thinking about it fills me with dread. “Do you think I’m a coward if I don’t tell my parents the truth?”

She stops folding a saree midway and her fingers clench around the material. “Of course not. Did someone tell you that?”

In that moment, I’m certain if someone had called me a coward—an auntie or a cousin or a random person on the street—Dadu would hunt them to the ends of the earth.

I wish that helped. I wish there was someone to blame.

“No,” I say, swallowing the lump in my throat. “But I feel like I’ll be one. It shouldn’t be this hard to tell them I want to be an English major.”

“No one has lived your life, Myra,” Dadu says. She loosens her grip and touches my hand. “So no one can pass judgment on you for your decisions.”

“I’ve lived my life and I can pass judgment on myself. I—I want to tell them so badly, but I’m afraid of disappointing them. I’m afraid they’ll say no. Then what will I have?”