Chapter Thirty-Six
KIRAN
“You look like hell,” Akash noted before his bottom hit the chair.
“Thanks,” mumbled Kiran, five minutes early to their chai date, even when she was miserable.
“Have you been eating?” Sonam’s eyes were full of concern as she studied Kiran’s pale skin, thinning wrists, and blank stare.
“A little.”
Payal watched them, her arms crossed with one hand under her chin. “Have you spoken with Aunty or Uncle?” she asked.
“I tried.” Kiran’s voice cracked. “I called them this morning. My mom answered—then my dad shouted not to talk to me. He said he didn’t have a daughter. Then she hung up.”
Kiran had jumped at the bellow her father had let out at her mother, even from across the planet. Ma had been curt—not the kind of stern one used at an incessant telemarketer but the kind of coldness one used with someone they deeply loathed. Kiran had only heard that tone once—when their aunt had greeted her after Kirti’s wedding as if nothing had happened and asked how Ma was doing.
All of them jolted like they’d been hit. Kiran couldn’t imagine them having blowouts with their families—Sonam, so close to her parents and her brother. Akash, with his baby boy status. Payal, with two parents who were distant emotionally but never ceased to give her what she needed.
“We have each other.” Baba kissed her forehead. “We’re richer than most. And I have my ray of sunshine in you.”
We had each other, Kiran thought angrily at the memory of her and Baba visiting the mandir and discussing all they had together.
But an equally powerful memory slapped her in the face.
Tenth standard—in America, they called them grades—exams were rapidly approaching. Eight days were left when Kiran’s skin began to flush. The fever set rapidly after that. If she didn’t take the examinations, she would be considered a failure—not by her family’s standards but by the school and government’s strict no-exceptions rules.
Typhoid or not, she had to sit for the tests.
Baba had sat quietly by her bed, as she drifted in and out of her delirious state, with a cold compress on her forehead. He stroked her hairline through her worst phases of the illness until she had finally opened her eyes and slowly begun to swallow water. Then plain yogurt and rice. Then mango. He fed her carefully, not even allowing Ma to come near the bed, relegating her to standing by the doorway instead.
When she’d finally grown strong enough, after five days, to sit up straight and read the newspaper, Baba had told her that he’d tried everything to get the school to postpone her exam but that in three short days, she would have to sit anyway.
“I will help you,” he promised a tearful Kiran. “You won’t give up. I won’t let you.”
For three days, if Kiran wasn’t sleeping, she and Baba were reciting historical facts, mathematical equations, and physics principles to each other.
She’d finished second that year—the only time she’d ever dropped from first. But she wore that badge of honor proudly, because she and Baba had earned it together despite him not having more than a high school education and she being fever-ridden.
“We are a good team,” he said and laughed. “Maybe I should have had you to get me through my exams too.”
Now, they weren’t even speaking. The man who had nursed her back to health wished she never made it.
“They told me I was dead to them,” Kiran repeated for what felt like the millionth time in the last few weeks. No matter how many times she said it, the unforgivable, painful accusations of betrayal and impropriety burned her. “Maybe they meant it.”
“It was a violent reaction but they didn’t mean it,” Sonam said with certainty. “They’re upset. Parents speak out of turn as much as we do when they’re angry.”
“My dad asked if I knew what would have happened to me if I lived there.” Her eyes welled again.
“What do you mean?” Payal’s brows furrowed.
“An honor killing?” Sonam’s voice rose an octave, her outrage evident now. “They wouldn’t.”
Kiran shook her head. “They wouldn’t. I know that. But that they could even threaten me with something so extreme…even mention something like that.” She shuddered.
“Kiran, I want you to know something. Whatever happens with Nash going forward, we’ll be with you, and we will support you.” Sonam put her hand on hers.
Kiran attempted a smile at the solidarity.
“But I’m not sure being with Nash is the right move for you at the moment. I think you did the smart thing.”
The way her voice became soothing but firm, her eye contact unbreakable, and her typically forceful demeanor transformed into an unnaturally negotiating one… Suddenly, Kiran had become a patient to Dr. Sonam Joshi.
“I love you. We all do. But your family has given up so much for you. I was thinking about what your mom said—we may not get where they’re coming from. But honor killings and acid attacks? They gave up their daughter and were willing to cut her out, to prevent any chance of that kind of harm coming to her. The sacrifice, in their minds, is that they proved their honor and followed their elders’ word by cutting Kirti out…which may have saved her from all the things they feared. People forgot she existed rather than seeing her do what they thought was dishonorable, and maybe your parents saw that as the better option. They’re terrified of feeling their circles of loved ones put pressure on them again, afraid of the consequences that come with defiance, and worried about having to give you up the same way. Maybe there’s nuance we don’t understand or even agree with. I’m not saying you had to sacrifice your love in order to pay them back, but the risk may not be worth the damage it’ll do to them, especially with Uncle’s health. You’ve always talked about providing them the opportunity to relax and enjoy their lives. I don’t want to see you lose sight of that, even if it hurts.”
Kiran nodded.
The entire world seemed to be telling her she was doing the right thing…but why was it so damn hard?