She walked into my office with the awkward grace of a 16-year-old — lanky limbs, a schoolbag slung off one shoulder, and a smile that was equal parts shy and mischievous. Her mother followed, sari pleats in place, handbag clutched like a shield, her expression already rehearsed in worry.

“Doctor,” the girl said, before her mother could start, “my back is crooked.” Her mother sighed. “She complains of pain when she sits too long, and sometimes her friends tease her because her blouse doesn’t sit right,” I asked her to stand straight. She did, gamely. From behind, the curve was unmistakable; her spine swaying to one side like a reluctant dancer, pulling her shoulders and hips out of line. It was scoliosis — the kind that doesn’t just bend the body but also bends the confidence of a teenager learning how to occupy her own skin. She laughed when I asked her if she had trouble carrying her bag. “No, Doctor,” she said, “I just tell my brother to carry it for me.” It was 16 going on 60: she had already learnt the art of delegation.