I wait with bated breath for Nik to message back. The bottom of the messages say seen, but the dots to indicate she’s typing don’t show up. Five minutes pass. Then ten.
I take a deep breath and shake it off. I shouldn’t have expected Nik to come to my rescue—not when everything else is going belly up. Sure, last time we spoke Nik said—insisted—that I could come to her about anything. But we’ve never had a relationship like that, so why would I even dream Nik would help me now?
I’m about to put the phone back on my nightstand to get back into bed for good when my phone buzzes with a phone call. From Nik.
I take a big gulp of air before answering.
“Hello?”
“Why didn’t you tell me all of this was going on?” Nik’s voice is high-pitched. There’s the sound of clacking coming from the other side of the phone call. I wonder what she’s doing for only a moment before she starts berating me again. “Why didn’t you tell me all of this was going on when you called me yesterday?”
I sigh. “All of this stuff … just happened, really. It’s been … a bad day.”
“The worst day, from the sounds of it,” Nik says. “Are you … okay?”
“It’s one o’clock in the morning and I’m wide awake, talking to you. What do you think?”
“Right … and it’s a school night,” Nik adds. “Look … I want to hear everything in excruciating detail. Maybe I can help?”
“Okay—”
“But not now.” She cuts me off, her tone taking on some of the harshness that it usually has. “I’m going to come over.”
“Nik … you live in another country,” I say. “You can’t just nip down.”
“Shut up. I’ve been looking up flights since you messaged me … I can get a flight out tomorrow morning—”
“Nik.”
“Ishu.”
“Nik.”
“Ishu.”
“Nik, how will you uprooting your life to come here help?”
“Because … it will,” she insists. “Look … I know what Ammu and Abbu are like. And I know what that school is like. So … I’m coming. And it’s not uprooting my life to take an hour’s flight to the island next door, you eejit.”
I roll my eyes but can’t help the smile that tugs at my lips. This is definitely more like the Nik I know. “Okay, I guess I can’t stop you.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Ishu. You’ll be okay,” Nik says. “You’re … kind of the strongest person I know.”
“Can you say that again so I can record it?” I ask.
Nik laughs. “Please. Get some sleep. Good night.”
I tuck the phone away and lie down on my bed, facing the ceiling with all of its chips and cracks. The smile on my lips widens. Yeah, everything is shit, but … at least this one thing is not as shit as it could be. At least Nik will be here soon. Maybe she can reconcile with Ammu or Abbu. Maybe she can help.
All I know is that it feels like I finally have someone on my side. Even if it’s my annoying older sister.
When I pretend to be ill the next morning to get out of going to school and facing everybody’s judgment, Ammu doesn’t even blink. Like she was expecting exactly this.
“We’re going to be at the shop all day, Ishu,” she says through a crack in my door. “If you need anything, you call.”
“Got it.” I roll over in bed, trying not to think about the fact that Abbu and Ammu won’t even bother taking a day off from work to make sure that I’m okay.
In all my years of school, I have never missed a single day. I have a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach about still being curled up in my bed midweek. It feels strange to be lying in bed when I could be studying. But what does it matter, anyway? It doesn’t feel like any of it matters as I stare up at my ceiling.
My phone pings with a text and when I pick it up, there’s a message from Nik: Are Abbu and Ammu out? I’m coming … on the road.
I type back a quick text before going back to staring at my ceiling listlessly: they’re at the shop … will be gone all day probs.
The next thing I know, the bell is ringing. I finally crawl out of bed, rubbing sleep out of my eyes and stretching laziness out of my body.
When I open the door, Nik looks me up and down with a frown. “God, you look awful.”
“Thank you.” I roll my eyes. “Exactly what I wanted to hear.” Nik follows me inside, putting down her backpack by the side of the door.