Counting Down with You(105)

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?