I love my parents a lot. They've been some of my biggest supporters throughout my life. I mean, how can I not be grateful to the people that paid for me to become a doctor and insisted I don't take out a dime in loans? I like to think that the amount they paid throughout my 8 odd years of school is enough for a down payment on a house, but when you live in the Bay Area, that money will barely cover the cost of a cardboard box beneath an old lamp post.

Our relationship is not perfect, however. Sometimes, they just don't get me. It's natural with all parents, as that whole notion is what is defined by our teen years. But even as I'm several decades past my teen years, trying to discuss something with them is like trying to speak Finnish to a newborn and expecting them to understand.

As I'm walking to their house, I'm conveying silent prayers that they won't completely judge me for how I'm feeling. After I ring the doorbell, even somehow, I find that slightly hard to believe. It's not that they judge us completely, it's just that sometimes they look like they want to smack the shit out of us for being so stupid at certain points.

Thankfully, I can prepare my concerns for lots of judgy looks when I see the door swing open to be greeted by my mom. Surely enough, even though she's approaching her elderly years, she still gives off the aura that she was a mafia boss back in her youth. With her thin lips always pressed together, her jet black hair pulled back elegantly, and her piercing brown eyes that could cut through a diamond ring, she never fails to make people within a mile radius shit their pants.

"Hi, amma," I greet, as I see her sharp brown eyes dull at the sight of me.

Her thin lips, creased with a few wrinkles around the corners, curl into a satisfied smile when she sees me. "Jaya, kanna, come in," she instructs, as she closes the door behind me. My eyes dart around the room in an attempt to find my dad, and surely enough, he's sitting at the table. In a stark contrast to my mom, his thinning salt and pepper hair is combed as neatly as it can be, like he's got a meeting to prepare for. His sunken eyes are scrolling his phone, probably to filter out the occasional bullshit spewing on WhatsApp.

I clear my throat a little bit, and say, "Hey, appa," I greet, and his gentler brown eyes dart up to greet me.

An even bigger smile explodes on his face when he sees me. "Jaya, kanna! Okkaru, (sit down) please," he says, like I wasn't planning on doing so eventually. I gently pull out a chair that's right there so that I can listen to what my dad's doing. "How's work? Tough?"

I give a vigorous nod, while the thought of "That's kind of a stupid question," stings my mind. I mean, I'm a doctor. I don't just sleep at work and the medical problems don't work themselves out. "Well, of course. I'm an ICU heart doctor. Although I wish, it's not all sunshine and puppies and rainbows."

My dad snickers, as the realization of how much of a stupid question that was dawns upon his dusky eyes. "Fair, fair," he replies, as my mom trots over to bring the food. She brings out a spoon to serve it to us, and I look over to my mom to get it answered.

"Ananth isn't here? Usually he's here."

My mom shakes her head, as she pulls out a chair to sit in. "No, apparently he had work to do at the office. But appa and I know that's bullshit, and he's probably sitting at home, eating popcorn, and binge watching Parks and Recreation."

I erupt in a fit of snickers, as I know that description is wrong. Ananth would probably have several Coca-Cola cans next to him as he's watching so that he could use the caffeine to watch even more seasons.

"But enough about that. What about you? I know work can be bad, but what's going on outside of that? How's Jen's wedding planning with Anwar going?"

A little smile curls at my lips, as the slight excitement of the whole thing bubbles inside the depths of my stomach. Flashes of her beautiful Tunisian wedding dress and of Anwar's dapper sherwani cause the smile to stretch a little bit wider on my face. "Wedding planning is going great. Karim Uncle is pretty excited, and Salim is still raiding Anwar's fridge while this whole thing is going on."

My mom herself bursts into a fit of giggles, as I see a flash of nostalgia and memories glisten in her keen eyes. "Like father, like son. Whenever Karim Uncle used to come over to study with Vikram mama, your thatha used to joke that he ate so much that he would burn through mama's college fund buying extra groceries."

The entire table bursts into a fit of laughter, as that is something that I would pay to see. Not just to see my thatha again, who is hopefully enjoying his time in heaven, but to also see the pure look of terror every time Karim Uncle walked towards the kitchen.

Once my mom is done giggling over the memory, the glistening nostalgia fades away to keep on shooting questions at me. "What else? How's Manish doing?"

Immediately, a wave of emotions starts to drown me, and not in a pleasant way. It's mostly a stinging mixture of pain, guilt, and a slight amount of anger that starts to suffocate me. Despite this, I try to take a few breaths and I say, "We haven't been talking much."

My mom, like the human lie detector she is, raises an eyebrow at me. Anyone who has known for at least a year knows this means, "I sense a giant amount of bullshit." She leans in towards me to hear me out more, and says, "I know that's a lie. You were so eager to keep on talking to Manish. You wouldn't have let the conversations die out even if there was a bomb strapped to your chest. Now tell me, what's going on?"

I let out a huge sigh, while my dad is just sitting there, waiting for me to give an honest answer on this whole situation. I put my hands on the table to start narrating because I know this is going to be a doozy. "Well, I'm just scared. The last time I got too close to Manish, I got hurt. Badly. I don't want to go through that."

My mom's eyebrows scrunch together with even more confusion pumping through them. "Manish wouldn't have hurt you intentionally. There's got to be something else involved."

This time, I just blurt it out. I don't leave any room for processing before I just spit out, "I met Isha again."

This time, my mom's face falls like it was pushed off a cliff. My dad's eyes widen with realization, as my mom's jaw also falls open. "Oh, now I get why you're so scared. Was she mean to you?"

I shake my head, and reply, "No, but I can't trust this. What if I get closer to Manish and she gets jealous again and she tries to ruin us?"

My mom tries to croak out a cohesive answer, but I know she can't do it simultaneously while trying to condense all her thoughts. My dad is trying too, but he ultimately knows that the best course of action is to let my mom do all the work regarding this one. "Jaya, I get that Isha plays a big part in this. But I think you should give this a shot. What can Isha do? Manish is old enough to make his own decisions. Also, I think you still have feelings for Manish. You just don't want to admit it."

This time, I'm the one raising eyebrows at her and asking the questions. "What makes you say that?" Without hesitating, my mom fires, "You never took off your necklace."

My eyes widen a little bit as I glance down at the locket resting on my chest. The golden sun form is reflecting the light from our room gently, and it allows me to really grasp what I'm seeing. Huh, I never did, did I? I gulp a little bit at the realization.

"Jaya, do you still love Manish?" my mom asks.

Ah, the big question. My mom skipped the little firearms for questions and finished it off with a giant assault rifle. Now, she's staring at me, with several deadly bullets for questions and responses ready to be loaded up and fired. Meanwhile, I'm trying to just form a cohesive and honest thought.

And when I do, I spit out, "I don't know." My mom lays down her assault rifle for questions, and just sits down to close off this firing practice.

"Well, I think you should just give it a shot. You never know."

I nod a little bit, as I swallow back the confusion that's buzzing in my mind at this moment. As I'm trying to focus on one thought and emotion, my phone buzzes in the midst of all this. I pull out my phone to see what's going on only to be greeted by a message from Manish. "Just checking in, Jaya. Hope everything's good and we can talk soon. Do you want to meet up again for some coffee at my place? You can choose a movie for us to watch."

A slight smile curls a bit at my lips, but an even bigger sense of guilt and fear drags me down into its deep pits. My lips purse together a little bit, as I let out a slight sigh to alleviate some of the pressure that my fear and guilt are weighing down on me.

I push my phone back into my pocket, as I can't bring myself to deal with that just yet. A part of me feels like it's safer to just stay at the sidelines and wait for this entire thing to blow over.

And my only hope is that I won't be forever choked by my fear and guilt.

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You know, I feel Jaya. It definitely isn't easy to talk about things like this with your parents. What do you guys think? Do you think her guilt will last?

I hope you guys liked this chapter! As always, don't forget to vote/comment/message/share/follow (both here and on my Instagram [svts.writes]) for updates and announcements regarding my works! See you in the next chapter!

Love you guys,

Shree