Whenever Leela had a difficult decision, her grandmother asked two questions.
The first was: “What are you afraid will happen?”
The second was: “What will you wish you had done?”
Leela found both questions annoying.
When she was invited to sing alone at the school program, she feared forgetting the words. She wished she could say yes without feeling sick.
When her best friend copied an answer during a test, she feared losing the friendship. She wished she could tell the truth without becoming cruel.
“Your questions do not give answers,” Leela complained.
Grandmother rolled dough into a circle. “Answers that belong to you must be carried by you.”
Leela sang at the program. She forgot one line, hummed until she found the next, and finished to loud applause.
She also spoke to her friend before speaking to the teacher. Her friend cried, then admitted what happened. Their friendship became quieter for a while, but it did not end.
Years later, Leela had to choose between a safe job and opening a small bookshop. Her grandmother was no longer there to ask the questions.
So Leela asked herself.
She feared failing, losing money, and disappointing everyone who preferred guarantees.
She would wish she had tried.
The bookshop struggled for two years. In the third, it began to succeed. On the wall behind the counter, Leela framed two questions.
Customers thought they were advice about books.
They were advice about doors.