“She just said to call you. She’s in her room. Do you … do you want me to come?”

I mumble, “no,” even though I want to say yes, yes, a thousand times yes. But if Ammu does want to do something drastic, I don’t want Priti to sit there and take it all in.

“I’ll be okay.” I try to make my voice as reassuring as I can, but it still wavers. Pushing past Priti, I walk toward Ammu and Abbu’s room. It feels like the longest walk ever, even though the corridor takes only a few steps to cross. I actually begin to pray during the walk. Which is probably hypocritical, but I don’t care. I keep thinking, Ya Allah, if you are there please please please please please let my parents still love me.

“Ummm …” I poke my head through the door. Ammu is sitting on her bed and there’s a half-knitted scarf in front of her that she’s slowly stitching together. She looks up at me for only a moment before bowing her head again. Like she can’t look at me for too long.

She reaches out her hand and pats the empty space beside her. “Come, sit.”

My heart is hammering so loudly that I’m surprised Ammu can’t hear it, that it hasn’t somehow burst out of my chest. I gingerly walk to the bed and sit down, peering at her hunched form. It’s the closest I’ve been to her since that day at the breakfast table. She’s just had a shower—I can tell because her hair is still slightly damp and she smells like coconut oil.

“Did I ever tell you the story of how me and your Abbu met?” she asks. This is the last thing I expected her to ask. I’m so stunned that I only keep staring at her. I want to say something. Words! Where are my words? My tongue is dry and my mind has gone blank.

Ammu doesn’t need me to prompt her, though. With the knitting needles in her hands weaving up and down on the scarf, she heaves a sigh and starts speaking again.

“It was summer and I was studying at university. I had traveled up to Dhaka to study, and I was living with your Aarti Khala and Najib Khalu. Your Nanu used to worry about me all the time. She still lived in our house in the village back then, and your Nana was still alive. They would call every day, even if it was just for five minutes, to check up on me specifically. They were worried that, well … what happened would happen. That I would meet someone, fall in love, shame the family.” She pauses and sits up straight.

For a moment I think she’ll look at me, finally.

I will her to look at me, but she doesn’t.