My Nani. Suhani clenches her fists and presses her tongue against the roof of her mouth, her go-to moves to ensure she doesn’t cry. The truth fills her like water in her lungs. Despite everything she and Natasha have been through, Suhani wasn’t able to stop her from getting to a place this low.

That can’t really be her sister right here, in the psych ward where she works. No, it has to be someone else who happens to have the same unruly hair and chipped nails. Her sister belongs in her apartment. Suhani would give anything to find Natasha on her couch, wearing her clothes, drinking her wine. It’s funny how when things fall apart, all you want back are the parts of someone that used to annoy you.

As Suhani leaves the ward, Shelly calls out to her from the nursing station. “Dr. Joshi! You doin’ okay?”

Suhani shrugs. “Taking it one day at a time. I’m so grateful Natasha has you as her nurse.”

“Oh, she’s just wonderful!” Shelly smiles. “And popular! She’s already had people drop in to visit. Your parents, brother, her friends called and asked when they can come and oh! That new neurologist, the Indian one, I forget his name . . . he stopped by to see her, too.”

Suhani freezes. There must be some mistake. But then she knows there’s not. This is exactly the type of thing Roshan would do.

“Dr. Shah?” She asks, thankful Shelly is oblivious to her reaction. “He saw Natasha here?”

“Ah, yes!” Shelly nods. “Dr. Shah. He had a consult here and said he wanted to check on her.”

Before Shelly can say anything else, Suhani says she has to go. She takes quick steps out of the ward and lingers in the quiet hallway. She presses her palms against the wall as a knot of panic forms behind her sternum. Her hands start to shake. Deep breaths. She has to take deep breaths. There’s an ice machine at the end of the hallway and she’s reminded of a grounding exercise she’s suggested to patients but never tried before. She presses the green button on the machine. Once the frozen pebbles fall into her hands, she closes her eyes and focuses on the cold feeling taking over her. The temperature and tactility of the act pull her back to the present.

Before she can talk herself out of it, she types the text to Roshan that she should have years ago.

I know we went through a lot. But none of that matters anymore. I’ve moved on and you need to do the same. That means staying away from me and anyone I care about. I wish you all the best.