Ever since Dad started his own Chats Over Chai group with the uncles, he’s become much more communicative. He recently told Natasha that men were often encouraged to keep their emotions to themselves and that led to so many different types of problems. He then mentioned that Bipin Uncle was likely never taught how to express himself in different ways. Natasha makes a mental note to discuss this with her siblings later.

“You are a badass,” Suhani says. “I know that’s also the title of your favorite self-help book, but it’s true.”

A few minutes ago, Suhani posted a picture of Natasha on her Instagram page with the caption, My sister is so brave. She inspires through her art and makes all of us around her feel a little braver, too.

“Oh, being here with everyone is just so . . . It’s too . . .” Natasha’s voice cracks. “Nice.”

Tears start to collect in the corners of her eyes. She’s not sure if it’s the residual high from her performance or the awareness that she’s leaving Atlanta soon, but she’s been on the verge of tears all day. Not just sad tears, but also tears of release and restoration. When she was working on tonight’s routine, she sifted through her family therapy notes. There, on Suhani and Zack’s wooden living room floor, she cried for the woman her mother couldn’t become and the woman her sister felt pressure to become. She cried for the dreams her father deferred and the words her brother doesn’t say.

She doesn’t say any of that now or dwell on it further. One of the things the medication has helped her with is coping with her emotions. Now, when they wash over her, she can manage them. She used to hope that one goal or person or event would cure her. But she knows now that only she can heal herself.

“But I’m not brave,” she tells Suhani as she pulls up the post. “You all are.”

Brave is leaving a country with a partner you don’t know well and coming to another one that isn’t sure it wants to quite accept you. Brave is working your ass off, day after day, to take care of people. Brave is keeping a sense of calm even when everyone around you is falling apart.

Just as they’re getting ready to leave, Natasha feels someone’s hand on her shoulder. She turns around. At first, she thinks she must be in a daze. But then she takes another look at the buzzed hair, the sky-blue button-down shirt, and the navy sweater.

“Karan?”

Karan gives her a lopsided grin. Natasha used to see that grin every day, and now it takes her several seconds just to process it. If this was a Hindi serial, the camera angles would start spinning and some ominous music would be playing.