Konny’s voice brings Suhani back to reality. “I know it’s especially tough in Asian American families to discuss these types of things. I’ve actually been looking into it for my residency research project. There are so many barriers to treatment, but so far, the data I’ve found shows that many Asian Americans don’t go to therapy because of the stigma.”

“Oh, definitely,” Suhani agrees. “But I guess with both my Dad and me, we thought we were doing a better job.”

The moment the words come out, she’s compelled to take them back. She should be professional. Pretty soon, she’ll be Konny’s chief. She should be guiding her, not sharing something so personal.

No, it’s fine to be open and real, she tells herself.

Every time she’s vulnerable at work, something in her mind tells her to dial it back, make sure that she’s not doing anything that could risk her being taken seriously.

“I’m sure your family has been doing a lot,” Konny says. “Really. My parents won’t even tell people I’m a psychiatrist because they’re so embarrassed. Some of my aunts still beg me to consider becoming a ‘real’ doctor.”

“Ugh, I’ve heard that before,” Suhani says. “I know my dad did all the time in India and here.”

“Gotta love that immigrant mentality, right?” Konny laughs. On her end, Suhani hears residents typing and talking. “We still have so much work to do as a community when it comes to openly discussing these types of things.”

“We really do,” Suhani says. “I think there’s so much of this idea that having to see a mental health professional means parents have failed in some way. And that really isn’t the case.”

Suhani thanks Konny for everything. After they hang up, she checks her text messages, then her e-mail.

Still no response from Zack.

A few hours later, in between her therapy cases, she goes to visit Natasha. Even as she’s using her key to get into the ward, a part of her still can’t process that her own sister is in one of these rooms, rooms that she’s been in dozens of times.

Natasha’s room is at the end of the hallway.

It’s going to be strange seeing Natasha in the gray scrubs and nonslip socks Suhani’s seen on patients for years. She braces herself for all of it and commands herself to stay calm.

But when she peeks inside Natasha’s room, the first thing she sees is her sister asleep under the thin covers, her chest rising and falling.