“It wasn’t some big romance or anything,” she continues. “Your Abbu and I shared a class together, so we started talking, even though both of us knew we weren’t supposed to. I wanted to tell your Aarti Khala about it, but I didn’t think she would have understood at the time. I think she would have tried to talk me out of it, and I probably would have let her talk me out of it. So we used to sneak around, knowing that what we were doing was wrong. That your Nana and Nanu would be horrified to know that I had been defying the request they made of me—to not have a romance, not fall in love.”

“But why?” I croak out. Ammu’s eyes snap to mine. Only for a moment, and then she’s back to looking at her blue and white wool scarf. I wonder who it’s for, if it’s for anyone at all or just something to do while she’s recounting this tale.

“Because there’s shame in it, Nishat. I didn’t realize it then, everything that your Nana and Nanu had to go through because of my mistake. How they had to listen to people talk about me and what I had done. I brought shame on them. That’s something that lives with you forever, that follows you around no matter where you go.”

“So you regret it?” I always thought Ammu and Abbu were proud for defying tradition, not ashamed of it. Can you be both proud and ashamed at the same time?

Ammu shakes her head. “Regret isn’t the right word.”

“The right word is … ashamed?”

“For doing that to your grandparents, yes. For tainting our family, yes. Shame runs deep in our lives, Nishat. It can taint you forever. Do you know what people say about us living here? That we moved to a country where people are immoral, where the gays are allowed to marry. Where a gay is the president and—”

“He’s the prime minister,” I mumble, even though that is definitely not the point and I feel like Ammu is physically stabbing me in the heart with a knife of her own making.

“That’s a choice we’ve made. We’re living with it. Now, you’ve made a choice—”

“It’s not a—”

“And when people find out, that shame is going to be on us, Nishat.” She’s finally looking at me, pleading with me. “Your Abbu and I need you to make a different choice.”

I swallow down my words about how none of this is a choice. That I can’t change the way that I feel. How do I make her see that? How can she not see that?