Chapter 4 A Call From Home

Camille stepped out of the patient's room and exhaled, unaware that she, in fact, had been holding her breath. The encounter with Adrian had been unsettling in an ungraspable manner, and just as that thought entered her mind, she realized there was no time for such considerations. Not now.

She just needed a breath, a moment to herself.

Navigating back to the interns' station, she saw her phone buzz in the pocket of her coat.

She swiftly glanced at the screen.

Mom.

Furrows creased her forehead.

Why is her mother calling now?

For a moment, she could not decide; with a dismissive huff, she picked up.

"Hello?"

"Camille, where have you been? I've been calling you since morning."

She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Mom, I'm doing my rounds. I can't just pick up my phone every time someone calls."

Her mother did not pick up the slightest trace of sarcasm in her daughter's tone; instead, she proceeded with the matter at hand.

"You have to come home at the end of the month."

Camille frowned, already sensing where the conversation was heading. "And why is that?"

"Your sister is getting married."

Camille stopped in her tracks.

Shock, confusion, and an odd tightness in her chest whirled in an emotional vortex inside her.

Riya? Getting married?

Sure, her younger sister had always been the one to walk down the straight and narrow path: an obedient daughter who never argued, never rebelled, never defied expectations. Unlike Camille, who had spent years fighting against the rigid mold her mother had tried to place her in.

But marriage? Really?

Camille swallowed hard and fought to keep her voice steady. "That is... soon. When did this happen?"

"Last month. We have finalized everything with the boy's family. They are reputable, well-to-do, but most importantly, he is Indian. No nonsense about marrying outside our culture."

Camille gritted her teeth.

There it was, that ever-present tone of bated disapproval ever since she'd chosen medicine over the path her mother wanted for her.

"You could have told me sooner," Camille murmured, rubbing her temple.

"I'm telling you now."

She sighed over her breath and went on feeling tired. "Alright." I will be there."

Really, she had no option. Had she failed to go, her mother would have put the matter in her head forever.

For a moment, she imagined the conversation was finished.

But then her mother fell back into one of those honey-soft modes that always signaled trouble.

"Camille, you know..." she said, "if you had listened, you would have been married earlier than your sister was."

The hand of Camille tightened on her cellphone.

Here we go.

"You chose that cursed course," her mother went on. "You had so many good offers." A woman shouldn't spend her formative years buried in books. I told you."

Her chest was ablaze with frustration.

It was not their first argument.

For her, Camille chose this way, but her mother could never understand it. To her mother, Camille's ambition was a burden, something making her less of a woman; less desirable; and less... marriageable.

She had heard all that and more.

"Mom," Camille sighed and closed her eyes as if to patiently herself. "I do not regret my decision."

Quiet.

Then her mom's voice came, shrill and decisively firm.

"I need you home soon."

Need, not want.

And this time she used that name.

"Ishani."

Camille stiffened.

Her mother called her that almost never now.

Ishani was the birth name she was given, a name linked to the culture that her mother had always tried to keep alive in her.

It was not really just a call when her mother used it. It meant demand.

Before Camille could respond, however, the line cut off.

Camille simply looked at the phone where her heart beat heavily in her ears.

Years before, she had removed herself from her mother's expectations, from the idea that her worth was connected with marriage or with tradition or onto a path she never wanted.

And yet... It took one phone call and one name.

A name that sent her back to childhood, back to that in-between stage where she had been made to prove that she could choose her own path.

With a long exhalation of air, she tucked the phone back inside her coat.

Camille made her way toward the interns' station, her legs weighing heavily with each step.

By the time she reached her desk, she was just about collapsing into her chair, rubbing her temples.

And it was only morning.

At this point, she was just tired.

There had been nothing but havoc since she woke up- running late, humiliated at the hands of Dr. Carter, an encounter with Adrian, and now this.

Her head was pounding.

"You could use a drink," a voice beside her said.

Camille didn't have to look up.

Mia parked herself next to her, iced coffee in hand.

"Bad morning?" Mia said.

"The worst," Camille muttered.

Mia looked at her intently and squinted. "What happened?"

Camille sighed. "My sister is getting married."

Mia blinked. "Wait...... Riya?"

Camille nodded.

"Wow. Didn't know she was seeing anyone."

"Arranged," Camille shrugged. "Mom's ecstatic." And, of course, she had to throw in the usual guilt about how I should've been married before her."

Mia rolled her eyes. "Classic Auntie Meera."

Camille bitterly laughed. "Right. Classic."

They sat in silence for a while.

There was some uncertainty in Mia's voice when she finally asked, "So... are you going?"

Camille sighed, slinking back in her chair. "I have to."

Mia drummed her fingers on the desk. "And... how do you feel about that?"

Camille opened her mouth, then stopped.

How did she feel?

Tired. Annoyed. Frustrated. But also... something deeper.

Something she didn't want to name.

"I don't know," she admitted tenaciously. "I only know that it's going to be..."