“I don’t think you can compare the way I’ve been judged to the way you guys have,” Natasha says to her sister. “You had people who believed in you, revered you. All the aunties, teachers, and relatives told me how pretty and perfect you were and then how sweet and sensitive Anuj was. I knew what they were thinking underneath all that: Natasha’s the misfit.”

“I don’t think anybody thought that,” Anuj says.

“Oh, please. Some people straight up told me. You think desi adults keep their opinions to themselves?” Natasha challenges. Her brother can be so naïve. “Y’all just don’t understand. You guys get the compliments. I get the criticism.”

“Now, Natasha,” Dr. Eze holds up her hands. “Going off how you just said they don’t understand, I’m wondering if anyone in your family feels similarly, that maybe you don’t always understand them. Would anyone like to add to that?”

“I would,” Suhani offers. “Natasha, it’s hard to hear you say that you’re the only one who’s misunderstood. I’ve always felt like nobody else here gets what it’s like to have this constant pressure to set a perfect example, be everything all the time. It’s exhausting. So exhausting.”

At first, Suhani’s face softens. But then she straightens her shoulders and smooths out the folds in her emerald-green dress. It’s as if a neuron in her brain fired off and commanded her to go back to being poised Suhani. “My point is, we’re all dealing with something. And you’ve inspired me to be more open and honest. Bold.”

“Bold? I’ve inspired you to be bold?” Natasha asks, thinking back to what her friends said.

“Of course you have,” Suhani says. “Every time I’ve been worried about something at work or doubted myself, I’ve asked myself, ‘What would Natasha do?’”

“I didn’t know that,” Natasha whispers.

Even though she’s always wondered how many hours Suhani has spent studying and planning and caring, she never thought she played a part in any of it. During Suhani’s intern year, she once called Dad and said she couldn’t stop worrying about her patients even on her days off. Dad seemed surprised, but Natasha wasn’t at all. Her sister was always fueled by an endless supply of self-doubt, never convinced anything she did was enough.

“And I’m sorry you’ve always dealt with so much pressure,” Natasha adds. “You’re right. I don’t know what that’s like.”

“I never even get a chance to speak up with you two always talking,” Anuj says. “I have no choice but to be the quiet one because you both always have so much going on!”