Apparently, Grandpa Raj had cut my dad out of the will after some family dispute I’d never heard about. But he’d quietly set up a trust in my name. I guess he’d been keeping tabs on me through one of his old friends. He saw how Dad treated me after Mom died.
“You’ll be receiving a payout annually, and you now own a 30% stake in a small commercial property in Bakersfield. There’s also a letter he left for you.”
Inside was a short note:
“Saira, I didn’t always do right by your mom, but I see her in you. Keep going. Don’t let your father define your worth. With love, Nana Raj.”
I cried for twenty minutes straight. Then I called Yuki and screamed.
With the annual payout, I didn’t have to work through my senior year. I got to study abroad for a semester in Seoul. I started volunteering for a nonprofit that helped first-gen college students. Life wasn’t just happening to me anymore—I was shaping it.
Now, here’s where the karma really kicks in.
Graduation day rolled around. I didn’t invite Dad. But my aunt, my mom’s sister, came all the way from Hyderabad. She wore a sari in Mom’s favorite teal and cried as I walked the stage. My diploma shook in my hand, but I stood tall.
A few weeks later, I ran into Lila at a bookstore downtown. She looked… stressed. No makeup, chipped nails, wearing the kind of clothes that screamed, “I just gave up halfway through an outfit.”
“Oh my god, Saira?” she blinked. “I didn’t know you were back.”
“Just visiting. I live in Oakland now,” I said. “Got a fellowship up there.”
