I laugh, reaching for the pillow. “Glad I could be of service.”

Baba sits on my bed, patting the spot next to him. “I wanted to talk to you about our phone call last week.”

My blood curdles. The ball is about to drop. I’ve been expecting it all night.

“I think we were a little harsh on you,” he says, scratching the side of his head. Wait, what? “Your Dadu told me how upset you were. Ma and I wanted to say sorry. We know you’re doing your best in school.”

Ma pops her head in. “Did you call me?”

“I was just telling Myra we’re sorry about how we spoke to her on the phone last week,” my dad says.

My mom looks a little hesitant, but then she sighs and comes inside, taking the seat on the other side of me. “Yeah, we’re sorry.”

I blink. They’re sorry? They know how hard I’ve been working? They recognize their faults?

Did I somehow die and go to heaven?

“It’s okay,” I say, my head spinning. I can’t believe Dadu convinced my dad to apologize. I can’t believe my mom somehow agreed to this. I can’t believe any of it.

“We’re proud of you for giving school your best effort,” Baba says. “We’re not happy you’re tutoring a boy, but it shows you have a good heart.”

“And you said it will look good on college applications, right?” Ma asks.

The mention of college applications causes my heart to race. I look between my parents, both watching me with earnest expressions. They’re apologizing.

My heart flutters nervously. Can I do it? Can I tell them the truth?

“Yeah, it’ll look good on college applications,” I say.

“That’s good, then. Before you know it, every college will be accepting you into their premed program,” my dad says, smiling.

Do it, do it, do it, a part of me whispers fervently, despite my sweaty palms, my prickling skin, my racing heart.

If I don’t do it now, I never will.

Being brave in this one moment might be enough to serve me a lifetime.

It’s time I take control of my own life and ensure my own happiness.

Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one.

Okay. Time to be a lionheart.

I brace myself.

“Actually,” I say, biting my bottom lip. “I’ve been thinking, and I don’t want to study medicine. I don’t want to be a doctor. I really love English, and I want to study that instead.”

I did it. I told them the truth.

Silence follows my proclamation, broken only by the sound of my mother’s laughter. “That’s funny, Myra. But be serious.”

Oh.

Oh no.

No, no, no.

“I wasn’t joking,” I say weakly. I fucked up. I’ve made a horrible, horrible mistake.

I shouldn’t have said anything.