“I was forced into a marriage with your father.”

Not this again. “Thanks for sharing that. After overhearing your fights my entire childhood, you think I didn’t figure that out myself?” She had heard those words innumerable times. “You didn’t want Baba, you didn’t want me. I know. You got stuck with us, and you did what you had to do to make sure you didn’t lose yourself, to break the chains, to find your voice. All the things. Now look, Padma Shri! Boom! It all worked out. I’m proud of you and everything, but I’m not the ‘Economic Status of Rural Women.’ You can’t fix me by putting the right systems in place.” It was a little late for that.

Shobi just stared at her. Two women, strangers almost, separated by an expanse of black granite.

“You’re right,” Shobi said finally. “You’re not a problem. And I am most certainly not trying to fix you. Really, beta, I am not. But—” Of course there was a but, and this would be over faster if Ashna just let Shobi get it out.

“But I see how sad you are and I see that it’s my fault and I want to help. Is that so wrong?”

Ashna lined up the washed teacups. “First, I’m not sad. I have a good life. I like my work. It’s not ‘uplifting millions of lives,’ but it is mine. If you’re afraid that I’ll say something to the media—someone from the Times of India already sent me an email asking if she could talk to me about you—don’t worry. I know the drill. I won’t say anything that makes you look bad.”

Shobi rubbed her temples. Something like hurt flared in her eyes. “Thank you. But that’s not what this is about. You have the right to not just like your work. You have the right to know what it feels like to—”

“No! You don’t get to walk in here and stir shit up because you need some sort of closure or redemption or whatever one needs when all of one’s dreams are fulfilled.”

“Ashna, I’m trying to do the right thing here.”

“No, you aren’t. You’re trying to ease your guilt. And you want me to fall in line the way I always have. And I’m refusing to do that.”

Shobi turned away from her, temper flashing in her eyes even as she suppressed it, and grabbed another cup from a cabinet. She poured tea out of the kettle. Had she used one of Ashna’s blends without asking her?

The amber liquid splashed into the cup, half of it spilling onto the granite.

Shobi grabbed a paper towel and patted the mess like someone who hadn’t cleaned a thing in her life. “We’re done with this foolishness.”