Damn. I wasn’t even trying to change the subject. I guess we’re having this conversation then. “It’s just...my parents want me to be a doctor. I don’t really want to be one, but I don’t think I have much of a choice at this point. It is what it is, I guess.”

Ace turns his entire body toward me, his expression uncertain. “What do you mean you don’t have a choice?”

I play with a loose thread of my blanket. “It’s complicated. I don’t want to let my parents down.”

“What do you want to do?” Ace asks.

“It doesn’t matter,” I say.

“If it matters to you, it matters,” he says softly. “What is it?”

I lean my head against the back of the couch and loll it to the side to look at him. “English. But my parents don’t think that’s a real degree.”

Ace’s gaze is heavy. “Why not? What do you want to be when you grow up?”

I laugh hoarsely. “I’m sixteen. I don’t have the answer to that. Do you know what you want to be?”

Ace hesitates oddly. “No,” he says, and it sounds like a lie. Before I can press, he follows with, “But you’re so hardworking and focused. You must have some idea what you want to be. A teacher? A journalist? A lawyer?”

I bite my bottom lip, the tiny seedling of a dream eagerly sprouting to life between my ribs. “I think being a teacher would be cool. But I don’t know. There are so many options.”

“That’s a real career, Ahmed. What about that isn’t a real career?” Ace asks, his thick brows furrowed in genuine confusion.

I sigh, wishing there was an easy way to explain. Even Nandini and Cora often grow frustrated with me when it comes to this. They insist my dreams of pursuing English are just as valid as any other. I don’t know how to say I know, but who’s going to tell my parents that?

Even now with Ace, I’m empty of words. He’s asking because he cares, just like my friends, but at the end of the day, none of it matters.

“It’s just not in the cards for me,” I say quietly. “Can we continue the movie?”

Ace observes my countenance for a moment before he presses play.

Ten minutes later, I’m bawling as Shah Rukh Khan’s character, Aman, runs for his life.

Ace silently passes me three tissues, and I nod gratefully. His phone buzzes and, this time, he flicks the side of the screen, switching it to silent.

Five minutes from the end of the movie, I look over to see that Ace is crying, too. He’s not bawling like me, but there’s definitely a tear sliding down his cheek.