“It’s not just one time.” I don’t know how he could have failed to notice it over the years. It feels so obvious to me. “It’s all the time. Part of it is because you’re a boy. They let you have all the unchecked freedom you want but don’t—won’t do the same for me. The other part is because you’re...perfect. You love math and science. You want to be an electrical engineer and go into robotics. You’re charismatic and good around others. They constantly brag about you. They always put you first. No matter what it is, they always take your side.”

Samir looks shocked. “That’s not true, Myra Apu.”

“It is,” I say, looking down and fiddling with a loose string from my pajama pants. “I’m the odd one out. I love books and reading. I care about things outside their realm of understanding. I’m shy and don’t talk to anyone I don’t already know. I constantly disappoint them. If they could have two of you, they would do it in a heartbeat. They’re so hard on me because of that. Sometimes, I can’t even breathe around them, because I’m worried they’ll tell me I’m doing it wrong.”

“Since when?” Samir asks, biting his lip. “How come I’ve never noticed?”

“Because you never had to,” I say, trying not to let my bitterness taint the words. It’s not his fault our parents treat us differently. “I know they’re not doing it to be cruel. They just don’t...understand me. You fit perfectly into all their boxes. I don’t. I always have to watch myself for missteps, because everything I do wrong gets scrutinized. If you do something wrong, they’ll move on within five minutes. It’s just how it is.”

Samir sits there for a long moment, grappling with the information. I wait it out even as my hands start shaking. I shove them underneath my thighs to keep Samir from seeing them.

“How can you live like that?” Samir finally asks. He makes a move as if to reach for me before seeming to think better of it. “Why don’t you say something to them?”

“What good would it do? They’re not going to change because of me. At this point, all I can do is try to meet their expectations. Maybe one day they’ll be proud of me. I’ll wait until then.” Even as I’m saying the words, they sound desolate. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one.

My stomach is tied into painful knots, but Samir is reacting better than I hoped. I expected more denial. Maybe a little ignorance. But he’s listening to me.

It’s a relief, even if I’m nauseated enough that I feel like running to the bathroom.