Sameer Kapoor was everything Elena had been raised to want.
He arrived with a neat bottle of wine wrapped in gold foil and a respectful smile that never lingered too long on her face. He touched Priya’s feet when he greeted her. He complimented Richard’s bookshelf. He spoke about his surgical rotations with practiced humility never boasting, never dimming.
The kind of man aunties prayed over.
Throughout dinner, Sameer sat across from Elena, his posture straight, his questions thoughtful. He spoke about his studies, about eighty-hour weeks and the quiet satisfaction of saving lives. His Hindi was polished, affectionate in a way that made Elena’s gradmother clasp her chest dramatically from her framed photo on the wall.
“It’s exhausting,” Sameer said with a soft laugh, glancing at Elena.
