Nala had taken Dhara and Nandan to the temple for the Friday night poosai, leaving the house silent except for Ayah’s periodic scoldings to anyone who crossed her path. Rajan cleared his throat the way he did whenever he was about to say something important.

Priya had prepared a response for her father, but she struggled to remember the words she and Dhara had rehearsed. Dhara felt certain she would get the marks she needed. ‘I’ll help you,’ she offered. ‘We can study every day together for the next six months.’

‘We already study every day together,’ Priya had replied. Going to university with Dhara would be her only consolation, if she wasn’t able to convince Appa.

He cleared his throat again. ‘Mahal, I’d like to talk to you about something. Your university application form needs to be submitted soon. Dhara is applying for medicine. I’d like you to apply too.’

She said nothing. Snippets of sentences taunted her but she couldn’t piece any of them together coherently. Somewhere in her mind were full paragraphs that she wanted to tell him. They had been sitting there for days, some for years, waiting for an opportunity to be heard.

‘I’ve looked over your last few exam results and spoken to your teachers,’ he continued. ‘They think that if you work extra hard from now until the finals, you will make it. Your teachers have confidence in you, Priya; you’re a good student. They think they haven’t seen your best yet.’

She’d never heard her teachers—or her father—talk about her like that. Dhara was the more studious one. When she remained silent, he spoke again. ‘I think I haven’t seen your best yet, mahal. I think you could be more; I think you could do more in life than—’ he stopped short.

‘Than Amma?’ she finished for him.

‘No. More than me,’ he said.

No one was more than him. ‘Do you like medicine, Appa?’ she asked suddenly.

‘Like it?’ he asked, confused.

‘Yes, do you like medicine? Are you happy being a doctor?’

‘I’ve never thought about it, mahal—and no one has ever asked me that. I became a doctor because it was what my mother hoped for; what every parent hopes for. Medicine has given me a livelihood that is better than most, and because I have that livelihood, I can support my family. That’s enough for me and I’m grateful for it. Does that answer your question?’ he asked, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his serious mouth.

‘Yes, thank you, Appa,’ she replied, sitting up straighter in her chair. ‘Is it hard?’ she asked quietly. ‘Medicine, I mean.’

‘It is hard, but everything in life is hard, mahal. The Gita tells to try harder. My Amma told me to try harder. Is there anything else you’d like to know?’

She looked down and shook her head.