Alexis shakes her head. “Never. I think what I love most about comedy is how it lets me take the hardest parts of my life, share them with people, and make them funny. It almost takes away some of the power from the shit that haunts me. Performing gives you a high, yeah, but it’s a temporary high. After it’s over, you have to deal with yourself. You have to embrace who you really are when you’re alone.”

Natasha pictures Alexis’s words floating above them in a bubble as if they’re in a comic strip. Embrace who you really are when you’re alone. Natasha’s spent so long being ashamed for who she is, she never took the time to reflect on the parts of herself she appreciates.

“Plus,” Alexis adds, “when I make stuff nobody else can make, there’s a good chance it’s going to help someone.”

That thought fills Natasha with a warm hope. If she can even help one person in pain, one person who also feels unworthy and not good enough, she will have succeeded. For years, she assumed she was drawn to comedy because she was funny and it seemed like the right fit. Now she realizes that there’s a greater purpose to it for her. She wants to use her potential to make sure people feel less alone.

“Natasha Joshi!” a nurse’s voice booms from the intercom. “You have visitors!”

“Hm, I wasn’t expecting anyone,” Natasha tells Alexis before she shuffles out of her room.

The ward is already in full frenzy. Two new patients, both at least ten years older than her, are brought in in wheelchairs. Nurses are administering morning medications to patients who are organized in a single-file line.

Natasha goes to the dining room, which for two hours a day is also the visitors’ area.

Ifeoma and Payal are at a wooden table in the back corner. It’s odd seeing them just sitting there in their summer dresses and sneakers, surrounded by patients in scrubs.

“Oh my God!” Natasha shrieks. “What are you doing here?”

Payal bursts into tears. “You’re okay! Thank God you’re okay. Anuj called us.”

Ifeoma nods. “We couldn’t wait to see you. How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Natasha says, relieved that she means it.

When she’s done filling them in on the past week, Ifeoma grabs her hand and says, “I just wish we could have been there for you.”

“It’s not your fault. I pretty much isolated myself. I’ve learned here that depression can make you do that,” Natasha says as she thinks back to the countless hours she spent on Suhani and Zack’s couch, ignoring texts and phone calls, drinking and staring at the television screen until her vision blurred.

But now she sees she could have trusted her friends. They’ve always been there for her.