“They are,” I say in agreement, leaning my head against her bony shoulder. “I love them. Sometimes I wish I could read Bengali so I could read your books, too.”

Dadu squeezes my hand. “You remind me so much of myself when I was younger.”

“No way,” I say, shaking my head. “You’re way too cool.”

Dadu laughs but it’s a dismal sound. She must still feel bad from yesterday. I wish she wouldn’t. “You’re cool, Myra. And you’re so smart. You have so many books, I’m worried you’ll need a second room just to store them all.”

I nod seriously. “Let’s kick Samir out. His room can become a library.”

“Myra,” she says, exasperated. “We’re not kicking Samir out. I just wanted you to know I’m so proud of you. You’re becoming such an amazing woman.”

“Dadu, stop,” I say, cheeks warming. “You’re too nice.”

“I’m being serious. Every day, I grow more proud of you. You work so hard.”

It’s near midnight, but hearing her praise makes me feel like I’m basking in sunlight. “I don’t know about all that.”

“I do,” Dadu says. “You’re like Belle. Brave, beautiful, and smart. I’m lucky to have you as my granddaughter.”

“You have to say that,” I say, ducking my head. “You’re my grandma.”

“I’d be proud of you even if I wasn’t your grandma. I hope you know I’ll always support you no matter what.”

I look at her and think about the conversation we had last night. I think about the conversation we had just a little earlier, about Nabila. I think about all the conversations I’ve been having with my friends. I think about all the conversations I’ve had with Ace. About my past and my future.

Maybe...maybe if Dadu supports me, there’s hope. Maybe she can talk to my dad and he can talk to my mom, maybe, maybe, maybe. Just maybe.

“Dadu,” I say slowly, focusing on her lap, rather than her face. “What if I don’t want to be a doctor?”

She stops counting her beads. “You don’t want to be a doctor?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “I’m not good at science.”

“But do you like it? You don’t have to be good at it. Practice makes perfect.”

I shake my head. “I don’t.”

There’s a beat of silence and I tense, waiting for her to tell me I’m being immature and ridiculous. Except, all she says is, “What do you want to do then, Myra?”

“I don’t know,” I say again. “I really love English. Maybe I could be a teacher or something.”

“Oh. English. That makes sense,” Dadu says, her tone thoughtful. I chance a glance at her and find her staring at me in consideration. “Have you talked to your parents?”