Palindrome

Thirty-Eight

Chapter 38

If anyone tells me everything happens for a reason today.

I might actually stab myself with something.

Or end up in jail for first-degree murder.

Yeah, because the way I'm feeling is for a reason.

Waking up with images of death and people walking away happens for a reason.

Being depressed and numb and being trapped by your own thoughts and drowning in your own anxiety while the world crashes around you into shards-

Happens for a reason?

What's more, is that Ma staring at me with daggers in her eyes is most definitely for a reason, isn't it!

I'm in the study with my laptop in front of me and AP American History book sprawled all over when she walks in, slamming my SAT book on the desk. Flinching, I look up at her; she stares down at me with her arms folded in expectation. Snatching my phone, I turn off the playlist Paxton has me listening too and take off my air pods. My palms are sweaty from the effort, and my phone slips from my hands.

Ma makes a disapproving click with her tongue while I frantically grab my device, setting it down to the side.

Clearing my throat, I nod, "Hey."

"What's your goal in life?" Ma demands skipping past the formalities.

She hasn't talked to me for the past week, and this is how she leads?

Drumming my fingers on the wooden surface of the table, I say, "I don't know."

"You don't know?" she drawls out.

"I don't know," I confirm, pointing two finger guns at her.

Not my best move.

Probably also wasn't the answer she was expecting given the expression of utter disgust on her face. Her eyes are narrowed on me while her lips are tugged downwards in a frown.

"Okay, how about we start with this year, what are your goals?" She questions her tone patient while her body language indicates anything but. 

"Uhm," I say, thinking about it for a while.

It shouldn't be that hard, dammit.

"A decent GPA and a good score, I guess," I tell her.

Ma's eyebrows shoot up. "You guess? Aarohi, do you know anything?"

I don't.

If I'm being honest, I don't see anything beyond today or even this moment. In my head, nothing is worth looking forward to. Because then at least I won't be disappointed. I turn it all off, numb myself to myriad dreams that are castles in the air. Crumbling foundations, blocking out any sort of hope I'm capable of.

There was a time when I would scribble my dreams and goals out in red pen. Now I don't even see myself beyond high school. A college version of Aarohi, a twenty-year-old, an adult- none of that fuses as an idea in my brain. So I don't know, and it should be easy to come up with standard goals for her.

The absurdity of it causes me to smile.

"I'm sorry, something funny here?" Ma says.

Yeah, I just realized how utterly messed up I am.

Chewing on my lower lip, I try and steel my gaze, but it doesn't seem to work. My lips are still twitching up because god fucking forbid I do something right for once.

"No, I'm sorry," I say, resting my hand on my chin to meet her stark black eyes.

"Tell me, Aarohi, what score do you want?" Ma asks sharply.

"A fifteen hundred plus," I state plainly off the top of my head.

She pinches the bridge of her nose, "Is that the score you want, or you're just saying it?"

I don't know.

I open my mouth to utter those words, she shakes her head as if she knows what's coming, and I decide it's best to shut up. Sorting through the flurry of thoughts in my brain, I choose my words carefully.

"It's the score expected out of me, Ma," I answer.

She laughs dryly, "Expected out of you? By who? We've already told you, you decide what score you want to get. A year ago, when you started prep classes, you set the score for above a fifteen hundred, not us. There's been no standard set by your father or me."

Iron-hot anger courses through my veins. Over so many things, my failures, my hypocrisy, my problems. It's always me, isn't it? Take the blame for everything. Try to be the perfect princess for everyone's eyes. Be the strong one, yet also wear your heart on your sleeve. The fun one but also focus on your studies.

No pressure? No standard?

That's all a bunch of bullshit.

I laugh because I don't find it in me to cry anymore, and if I decided to scream, then none of us were ever walking away from this.

"See, you say all that," I say, waving a finger around the room in a little loop. "But I know there's no way you'll accept my current score or me for the way I am. Aarohi, kitna SAT prep kiya hai? Aarohi, there's a mock SAT tomorrow, please take it. Aarohi, we'll improve your score, don't worry."

Ma looks like someone might have slapped her. Her gaze goes to my hand, and I realize I've stood up from my seat, and my fingers are knotted quickly in fists. Releasing them, I sit down abruptly, waiting as she composes herself.

"We want you to be the best possible version of yourself. Nudging you in the right direction, so you don't lose focus is all we've been doing. Look at Nagi, at Avinash, at Paxton, at Javed. If I asked them what their goals were, they would give me a step by step walkthrough. First, you said you would do med, then law, now business. You need to decide soon, Aarohi, and a good SAT score gives you backup to everything, that's all."

Her tone shifts to a quiet one when she speaks this time. There's an air of importance around it that I cling to. At the same time, more frustration floods me. Everyone else has their life figured out. I still don't know anything. Success? Happiness? Sure, but how?

"So I'll ask again? What do you want me to do, Aarohi?"

"I don't know, Ma," I murmur softly. "And I need that to be okay."

"It doesn't work like that," she says.

"Then I guess we have nothing else to say," I tell her standing up from my desk and walking out of the room. My pace is normal, tears dry, and a smile on my face as I walk up the staircase normally like nothing ever happened. Then I enter my room and catch a glance of my reflection with that same grin on, and I stop.

The girl who stares back is smiling. She's got these wide eyes that used to be expressive and that glittered in the light. Now instead, dark rings of sadness characterize those same eyes. Hair that falls down to her way below her shoulders now. A thin grey streak runs down the side of the black curtain that frames her face. Still no acne. Instead, there are blotches of red on both her cheeks that you might mistake for blush if you didn't know better. She used to know her smile, the way it quirked up playfully, and she would always look caught between a laugh.

This.

This is different.

Unable to look at myself anymore, I flip my reflection off in the mirror before crawling into bed. I curl up in a ball, hoping to trick myself to a time when I was younger, and things were better.

And then I just start sobbing.