At least next week is spring break. I just have to survive tomorrow, and then I’ll have a whole week to myself.

I wake up around 10:00 a.m. and stumble into the dining room, a blanket around my shoulders. Dadu frets over me for a few minutes but then leaves me to eat.

After I finish breakfast, I take my chai and sit down next to Dadu in the living room. I take a moment to light a cinnamon-scented candle before I open Netflix to find a Bollywood film.

Dadu lets me choose without complaint. I click on Kal Ho Naa Ho, in the mood to cry over someone else’s life. As the main character, Naina, starts her monologue about New York, I lean my head against my grandma’s bony shoulder and toss a second blanket over our laps.

“I’m not as crazy as Naina’s Dadi, right?” Dadu asks, glancing down at me as the grandmother character starts singing, horribly off-key.

“Not even,” I say, patting her hand. “You’re the coolest Dadu in the world.” I pause. “But maybe don’t start a singing career.”

Dadu laughs. “I see. Should I refrain from setting you up with strange men, too?”

“Please never do that,” I say, only half-joking. “There are enough strange men in my life.”

Dadu raises an eyebrow but thankfully doesn’t push the subject. If she did, I would’ve just mentioned Samir and my father, but she seems to know better than to ask.

Halfway through the movie, the doorbell rings.

I sit up, confused. It’s barely noon, and our mail doesn’t get delivered until three. It’s probably a solicitor.

I’m about to sink back into the couch when the doorbell rings again, followed by someone knocking.

“Do you want me to see?” Dadu asks.

I shake my head. I don’t want her to strain herself to understand English if I can help it. I stand up, keeping my blanket wrapped around my shoulders. “I’ll be right back.”

When I open the door, my grip on the blanket goes slack, and it falls to the floor. I must be hallucinating. The cinnamon-scented candle has to be playing tricks on my brain. “What are you doing here?”

Ace smiles at me from the other side of the door, holding a large brown paper bag. “I brought soup.”

“What?”

“Your friends told me you were sick,” he explains. “I thought I’d drop by.”

I shake my head, aghast. “What about school? You can’t skip class!”

Ace gestures to his side, and I realize he’s carrying a book bag. For the first time ever. “I brought my notes. We can study.”

My expression twists in disbelief. “You skipped school to study for school.”

Ace snaps his fingers, nodding. “Now you get it.”