The Henna Wars(12)

But I had that inkling of hope, and now I feel it wither away to nothingness.





5

I WAKE UP THE NEXT MORNING TO THE TRICKLE OF RAIN outside my window. It’s a pleasant sound on mornings when you can wake up lazily, listening to the steady hum of the rainwater beating against your windowsills. But when there’s a looming school year ahead of you? There’s nothing pleasant about it.

When I eventually get up from bed to get into the bathroom, Priti is already inside.

I rap my knuckles on the door as loudly as possible.

“HURRY UP!”

There’s a low groan from inside the bathroom and I wonder for a moment if maybe Priti fell asleep inside. That image makes me feel a little better about having to get up at seven o’clock.

“Maybe don’t scream at me in the morning,” Priti croaks at me a few moments later, peeking her head into my bedroom. Her hair is a right mess. Wisps of it stick up every which way, and her eyelids are still drooping with sleep.

“Sorry.” I grin.

Ammu looks at us with pursed lips when Priti and I finally stumble down the stairs and into the kitchen.

“Did you even iron your skirt?” she asks Priti instead of wishing us a good morning. “It’s all wrinkled up!”

“I ironed it, I promise!” Priti cries defensively, looking down at the plaid skirt and trying to smooth out the few wrinkles with her hands. “It just … got a bit wrinkled when I put it on, is all.”

Ammu doesn’t look like she believes her, but her eyes skip over Priti and her semi-wrinkled skirt onto me. She seems to take me in for a moment, and I wait for the criticism that’s custom in our house. But it never comes. She turns away instead and allows us to reach for our bowls of cereal and milk.

I’ve never felt so horrid for not being criticized before. It feels like a slap in the face—like the ultimate criticism is this sudden lack of criticism.

I feel a lump rise to my throat as I stuff spoonfuls of cereal into my mouth. It tastes like cardboard. For a moment, I wonder if that’s to do with the fact that we’ve spent all summer eating the breakfasts of Maharajas and now are back on a Western diet of cereal; I already miss waking up to the smell of porotas or khichuri, and eating all together in the kitchen like messy Desis, getting our hands down and dirty.

Now, I wonder if we’ll ever have that again. Not just because the summer is over, but because of my revelation.

Priti and I almost miss the bus, and have to run to catch it before it leaves the stop. We’re both panting as we slip onto a bus that’s full to bursting.

“Should we try upstairs?” Priti asks in a deflated huff as the two of us squeeze our way through the crowd.

“Priti …”

“I know, I know.”

We eventually manage to squeeze into a corner with a handrail within reach. The bus gives a lurch as it starts up and I almost fall onto the lap of the guy sitting in the corner seat. Priti grabs me and I give him a sheepish look.

“I’m so sorry.” He shoots me a sleepy glare before going back to staring at his phone.

“This is the bane of my existence,” I whisper to Priti as soon as the guy turns away.

“Buses? Falling on people? Crowds?”

“All of it!” I cry. “But … school. And getting there like this,” I wave my hand around, but only in a small circle because I’m afraid I’ll accidentally poke someone and I don’t need any more glares from strangers this morning. “I’m so over it.”

“We just started it, gadha,” Priti says.

“Don’t call me a gadha.” I shoot her a glare but she just rolls her eyes. Instead of replying, she edges closer to me and lays her head on my shoulder. Despite the fact that Priti had a weird growth spurt a few years back where she actually grew taller than me, I managed to outgrow her eventually. We’re still almost the same height but I have a few inches on her. I wear them with pride.

I’m tempted to push Priti off of me now since I’m not really in the mood to have 128 extra pounds on top of me this early in the morning, but knowing how Priti gets in the morning—cranky, like really, really cranky—I decide that I’ll leave her be. I make the mental note to not let this become a habit.

Instead I put my arm around her shoulder and lean back against the railing. I watch the trees and buildings and people rush by outside the window, trying my best not to think about the way Ammu seemed to avoid my eyes this morning.

Something like regret weighs heavily on me, but it’s not regret, exactly. It’s something adjacent to it. Shame, maybe? Or the regret that something didn’t happen the way I wanted it to, that things had to turn sour. Or in this case, silent.

As soon as we slip into school, Priti waves goodbye and runs off, no doubt to find Ali and fill her in on all of the wedding shenanigans. I watch her disappear down the hallway, weaving through crowds of girls wearing the same checkered maroon uniforms, her bag swinging behind her. Before I have a chance to turn around, somebody has wrapped me in a tight embrace.

“Nishat!” A familiar voice squeals in my ears. I turn around to find two delighted faces staring back at me. There’s Chaewon, with her dark black hair at least a few inches longer than I remember it to be. Beside her stands Jess, with brand-new bangs that cover half of her face. It feels like I haven’t seen them for an eternity, even though it’s only been a few months.