The last few months have been difficult, and both Nandini and Cora know it. We’ve never had a reason to keep secrets from each other. When Nandini decided during sophomore year that she didn’t want to grow out her hair anymore, Sikh or not, we were the first people she told. We took her to the hair salon ourselves and held her hand the entire time. When Cora realized last year that she’s bisexual, our group chat blew up my phone the entire night. We all showed up the next morning with matching dark circles underneath our eyes and smiled tiredly at each other in solidarity.

At the beginning of the year, I realized I didn’t want to be a doctor or an engineer or anything relating to STEM. It was the most terrifying realization of my life. It still is.

When I hypothetically brought up pursuing something other than medicine to my parents—I didn’t even mention being an English major—I received the worst lecture of my life. It went on for weeks upon weeks and stopped only when they began preparing their travel plans.

Their reaction was a horror story brought to life. Until then, I’d never realized I had anxiety. It was undeniable, though, when I found myself sitting alone in my room, struggling to breathe through my tears with an unknown pressure building in my chest.

In retrospect, I think I’ve always had it. It’s just never been as bad as it is now, with the future looming over my head, so impossibly far away and yet closer than ever.

Nandini and Cora still think I should push for an English degree. I think my parents might actually disown me if I try.

But this next month means I don’t have to worry about it. I’m free from the constant weight of their disapproving glares.

T-27 days. I’m going to try to make every single one of them count.

“How were your weekends?” I ask, leaning my elbows on the table.

Cora grins. “Okay, so I found the cutest pair of shoes at the mall. I’ll Snapchat you a picture when I get home, but they’re literally gorgeous. Perfect for junior prom.”

“Not the junior prom thing again,” Nandini says, leaning her chin on my shoulder. “Cora, that’s for losers.”

“You guys are so boring,” Cora whines. “Come on, it’ll be fun! We don’t need to go with anyone. It can just be the three of us. It’ll be like practice for real prom.”

“Good luck convincing my parents to let me go to any kind of prom,” I say. It comes out light, but both Nandini and Cora sober at the words.