ARUSH

It isn’t until I’m deboarding in L.A. that I realize Julian isn’t with me. I look everywhere for him before realizing he didn’t come with me.

The already-sick feeling inside me over my sister doubles. Fresh tears sting my eyes. He didn’t come with me!

I know I shouldn’t be concentrating on that right now. The most important thing is getting to my sister. I refuse to say that I need to get to her to say goodbye before she dies. She won’t die.

It’s clear I’ve been moving in a daze because the second big realization I make is that my father didn’t tell me which sister was in the accident. Not that it matters which. Both would be equally devastating. But I’d at least like to know which sister I’m… not losing.

Wait, that doesn’t work. I refuse to lose either sister. That’s what I mean.

But as I board the next plane, once again in the little cabin room of super first class, I think of Julian. My sister’s life is hanging on by a thread—not that I know for certain, because my father wouldn’t tell me anything—and I’m thinking about Julian.

He sent me home, after all.

Admittedly, a piece of me has been waiting for it.

All kinds of stupid reasons in support that this was coming all along fill my head.

He never corrected anyone when they introduced me as his friend.

He didn’t get on the plane with me. He didn’t tell anyone in the building right that we’re not just roommates.

Did all these little things add up and point in this direction from the beginning?

But he told me I was important to him. He surprised me with the most romantic, most meaningful birthday trip ever. We were making plans for later this summer. He said if he was traded that I’d be moving with him.

He said that in front of the entire gym full of people. There were witnesses.

I don’t sleep much on this flight at all. Between the sick feeling over my sister and the tight feeling in my chest that Julian sent me back to India, I feel awful. Completely and utterly shitty.

I’m not sure whether I’m thankful or worse off, but Julian leaves my mind as soon as the plane is on the ground in India. Right now, the only thing that’s important is my sister. I’ll have to nurse my broken heart later.

I don’t recall talking to my father or even texting him my flight details, but he’s waiting for me at baggage claim. I can tell by the look on his face that there’s good news. I skip the carousel to join him first.

“You didn’t even tell me which sister!” I complain when I’m close enough.

He wraps an arm around my shoulders, pulling me in for a hug. “I’m sorry. It was a very stressful moment. Ishika. She is doing okay. Her eyes opened while I was parking the car.”

Relief floods me.

Julian White

Are you home? Was everything okay with your flight? How is your sister?

I thought ‘ home ’ was the condo in Chicago. Together. I close my eyes and try not to be hurt by this. None of those questions are meant to be hurtful. They’re supposed to be the opposite. I know this for certain.

Me

Yes. Sorry. I got wrapped up and forgot to text you. My flight was eventless. My sister is okay.

I think about typing more about my sister. That there was a long time—mostly when we were waiting for my plane—when no one thought she was going to make it. Her heart even stopped, not once, but twice.

Sometime while I was crossing the ocean, she miraculously took a turn for the better. Her eyes opened at practically the same moment the wheels of my plane touched down in Mumbai.

I want to tell him all that, but… was the question one of those ones that has an expected answer? Like when someone asks how you’re doing, you’re expected to tell them you’re fine. You’re okay. Anything else leads to an awkward moment.

Was that the kind of question he asked? Did he want the full answer or just to know that she’s going to live?

Why am I suddenly questioning the last three months?!

Because he returned me.

The thought is unbidden, and I’m not even sure it’s true. The only truth is that he’s not here. He stayed in the US.

I look up at where Ishika’s kids are playing with their cousins in the private waiting room of the hospital. I haven’t been allowed to see her yet. Only her husband and our parents have been. I’m sitting with my siblings, nieces, nephews, and in-laws as I wait for news.

The last update we received was that she’s not entirely out of the woods yet. She has a lot of internal injuries that could and likely will cause some complications in healing. But she’s awake. She’s conscious. She recognizes those around her, though she doesn’t remember the accident.

I’ve been assured that it’s completely normal not to remember an accident you were in. Especially when you hit your head. Interestingly, her head is the one place with few to no injuries outside of a laceration above her left eye.

So we’re told.

My phone pings again, and I look down.

Julian White

I’m glad she’s okay. How are you?

Trying not to panic over you sending me home! Okay, I won’t send that. These are the kinds of conversations one doesn’t have over text, right? Then again, I’m such a damn chicken shit that there’s a chance I might not say anything at all.

I’m going to end up stuck here in India because I let him put me on that plane without saying anything at all.

Never mind that I didn’t have the presence of mind to register what was happening.

My father made me think my sister was dead or dying while I was stuck on the other side of the world and might not get there on time to see her!

Of course, I wasn’t thinking of anything else.

Nothing else mattered.

She has a long, uncertain road, but she’s alive. Which means my brain thinks there’s enough comfort in that, so now I can worry about what Julian meant by not coming with me. I type my response over and over again, unsure of what I’m supposed to say.

How am I right now? Well, I’m exhausted. I’m sick to my stomach. I’m heartbroken. Which of those answers seems the least confrontational?

Me

I’m exhausted. How are you?

His response is immediate.

Julian White

I’m fine. Been worrying about you and your sister.

That means he’s thinking about me. I can take comfort in that.

Me

Are you still in Arizona?

Julian White

No. I went home.

Is he packing my things? Is he going to ship them back here? I close my eyes and try not to let the panic rise too rapidly. This is neither the time nor the place to freak out.

Me

Why did you go home?

His answer isn’t immediate this time. I see the little dots dancing as he types and then disappears. Over and over again until he finally sends a response.

Julian White

I don’t know. It felt wrong to be having a good time with my friends when your sister is in the hospital. You’re all I could think about, and I didn’t want to bring them down or disrupt their summer events, so I opted to go home.

That all means a lot. Right? Can I just ask him why he stayed? Am I allowed to do that?

My eyes rise as the door to the waiting room opens. Mom and Dad step inside. “The doctors will allow you in the room for a brief visit. She needs some rest.”

I turn the screen off and stuff my phone into my pocket as I get to my feet. As one big gaggle, we head into the hall. We’re not let in all at the same time, but in smaller groups of two and three. I go in with Kiaan and Navi.

The smell of antiseptic and the beep of the monitors she’s hooked up to have my heart in my throat.

Then I see her on the bed, and it feels as if my entire body goes cold.

Her legs are elevated under the blankets, and there’s a thick brace around her neck.

The blankets are pulled right up to the brace.

The laceration over her eye is the only injury I can see, and it’s sutured closed. There’s a bruise just under her hairline and on her jaw on the same side.

We stand over her bed, and her eyes open. There’s a moment when terror fills me, scared she’s not going to recognize us. But then she smiles, and I’m flooded with such relief that moisture stings my eyes.

“You came home,” Ishika says, her voice so low I can barely hear it.

I nod. It’s difficult to keep a steady voice, and I’m not sure I succeeded. “Of course, I did. There are many less stressful ways to get me home, though. You didn’t have to resort to this.”

Ishika smiles and I’m glad for it. “You know me. I like dramatics.”

She doesn’t. That’s a lie.

Kiaan touches her hair gently, and Ishika’s eyes move to him. Her smile remains. Our exchanges are short, and we only stay for a few minutes. Even a toddler can see how tired she is. I follow my siblings back into the waiting room and settle into the chair.

My mind wanders between Julian and Ishika. I’m unsure of how to respond, and unsure if I’m comforted by the way Ishika looks. Even if they have her external injuries under control, how many does she have hidden that we can’t see?

What do I say to Julian about having gone home?

Will Ishika be able to walk again?

Does he miss me?

Questions ping-pong back and forth in my head, unable to settle on which person is more pressing right now. Arguably, Ishika is. But her situation is out of my hands entirely. All I can do is wait.

Julian is a different story. How do I work up the… courage isn’t the right word, is it? It feels like a lack of courage for being unable to say things that bother me. But lacking courage makes it sound like I’m a coward. Is this cowardice?

Either way, this is something I’ve struggled with my entire life. I’d rather let something sit inside and eat me up than have a conversation and let someone know that maybe something they said or did hurt me. Is there a word for that? Is it cowardice?

Navi drops into the chair beside me. “Shitty homecoming, huh?”

I huff. “Little bit.”

“Where’s your man?”

Those words don’t make me want to scream at all. “In Chicago,” I answer.

Navi nods. “He still have hockey?”

An easy out would be to say that he does. I’m not sure they could call me on my bluff because they not only don’t know hockey, but they don’t follow American hockey.

Lying doesn’t feel good though and I’m far too tired to keep any lies I might say right now straight. I shake my head. “No.”

Navi nods again. “He’s waiting for you to go back?”

Is he? I chew the inside of my lip and think about it. Honestly, all the hours between receiving my father’s phone call and stepping off the plane in L.A. are a blur. Did he speak to me at all? Most certainly. But what did we say?

I sigh heavily. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything at all about the circumstances around my leaving. I was… scared and could only think about getting here to Ishika.”

Navi grips my arm for a second. “I get that.”

I’m sure he does. I have no doubt that any of my family would disbelieve that I was entirely caught up in getting here, that I wasn’t paying attention to anything else. Including why Julian didn’t get on the plane with me.

“Have you talked to him?”

I nod. “Yep.” I lift my phone as if that’s proof. “We were texting before Mom and Dad brought us to see Ishika.”

“It must be late there,” Navi says.

I glance at my phone. It’s three in the morning in Chicago. I frown. Clicking the phone back on, I send him a text that doesn’t comment on his previous message at all, since I’m not sure where to go with that.

Me

Why are you up?

Maybe he’s not now. It’s been half an hour since his text. But his response is immediate. He’s still awake.

Julian White

I miss you and I can’t sleep.

Then why did you stay?

Of course, I don’t actually type that out. Why would I do that? Force a conversation that I may not want to hear? Right now seems like a really bad time for that. Absolutely the wrong place for it.

Me

I miss you too.

That’s the truth, anyway. He doesn’t respond, and I hope he’s fallen asleep. I click the screen off and look at Navi, who’s been watching our text exchange. His eyes meet mine after a minute, and his eyebrow raises in question.

I don’t know what his question is, though, so I don’t answer it. I probably wouldn’t want to answer it even if I knew what it was.

Shaking my head, I hunker down in the chair and lean my head back. I close my eyes. Maybe I miss him a whole lot because I get a whiff of Julian. It’s strong enough that my eyes open and I wait for him to appear over me.

He doesn’t. Picking my head up, I look around the waiting room. He’s not here. Of course, he’s not here.

Sighing, I hang my head and realize I’m wearing Julian’s hoodie. One of the ones he wears often. I’m not sure when I put it on, but I’m not questioning it. I fold my arms over my chest so I can disguise the fact that I’m trying to hug this hoodie as if it’s Julian himself in it and not me.

Then I lay my head back and close my eyes again. Maybe tomorrow, when I’m more awake and the doctors tell us Ishika is perfectly fine, I’ll have the gumption to ask Julian the questions I simply can’t bring myself to ask now.

Or maybe I’m going to be stuck in India for the rest of my life with hundreds of what ifs and never see him again because I can’t find the courage to just ask a fucking question.

There are still questions I haven’t brought myself to ask Jash about how our breakup went down and it’s been six fucking years.

He’s my best friend. We talk all the damn time.

Knowing that about myself, I know exactly what’s going to happen. My story won’t get a happy ending.