If we could bridge the expansive generational and cultural gap between us so effortlessly, maybe the wrongness Papa saw in me wasn’t something innate to me. Maybe it didn’t mean I was not Indian enough or too American, and maybe, just maybe, I didn’t need to meet so many conditions or work so hard to be worthy of love. Maybe love was simpler than I thought: Maybe it was a willingness to witness someone, to be curious and empathize with them, as they are.
