The Henna Wars(20)

Instead, I let the silence wash over us, reaching out and grabbing Priti’s phone from beside her. I start to scroll through her phone again. She shoots me a look over the top of her book, and I return it with a cheeky grin. Neither of us comment.

I’m still scrolling through her photos when Priti shuts her English book again and says in a bright voice, “What about Bengali sweets?”

“What about them?”

“You could sell those. That would be fun, right? Jilapis. Mmmmmmm.” Priti might as well have started salivating right there, right then. The look in her eye at the thought of jilapis is totally dreamy.

“I don’t think so.” I have to stifle a laugh. “Can you imagine the girls at school eating jilapis? They would be turned off just looking at it.”

“What are you talking about? Jilapis are beautiful. They’re all soft but not too soft. And golden and sweet and yummy and … I really want some now.”

“And they’re sticky and gooey and some people never want to venture out of their comfort zones. Plus, I can’t make jilapis myself.”

“Ammu can …” Priti says, before seeing the way I raise my eyebrows at her. She sighs and says, “Okay, I’ll keep thinking about it.”

“Thank—hey!”

“What?”

I perk up until I’m sitting straight and hold out Priti’s phone toward her. There’s a photo that she took of our hands joined together before Sunny Apu’s wedding. We’re both weighed down by rings and bracelets, but the most important feature of the photo is the deep red floral henna weaving up our arms, palms, and fingers.

“That’s a photo I took?” Priti asks hesitantly.

“No, not …” I sigh. “The henna!”

“What about it?”

“It’s good, isn’t it?”

“I mean, it’s okay, it’s definitely not the same caliber as Nanu’s but—”

“That’s what I could do.”

“What?” Priti’s face is blank as ever. For a smart person, it takes her a very long time to catch on.

“The henna!” I exclaim.

“Yes … it’s nice, but Nanu’s is still miles better.”

“Oh my God, Priti,” I groan. “I could start a henna design business.”

“Oh my God.” Her eyes widen as my idea finally dawns on her. “You could do that. The girls at school would kill for that. I mean, did you see the comments that everybody left on my Insta when I put up that photo of my hand?”

“No?” I just remember the comment Flávia left on the photo from the wedding.

“Look!” She shoves the phone in my face. I remember when Priti took this photo, though I don’t remember actually seeing the photo itself. It was right after I finished her left palm. The henna paste hadn’t even hardened properly yet.

I look under the photo. 148 likes. 30 comments.

“Whoa.”

“Read the comments!” Priti says. I scroll down.

Where did you get this done???

Is there a place in Dublin that does henna designs?

How much was it?

Love the design!

Gorgeous!

“Priti!” I can feel a huge grin tugging at my lips. “Why didn’t you show me this?”

“Well, I didn’t want you to get a big head. I mean, the design is only okay.” But she’s grinning too as she puts her phone away.

“Do you really think I could do it though? I mean, I’ve only been practicing for a little bit. And I’ve only practiced on you and me. What if I mess up?”

Priti gets a serious look on her face, which causes creases between her eyebrows and makes her nose get all pinched.

“You can totally do this, Apujan,” she says. “You’re great at it. I mean … come on, look at all those comments. Some of them even came from Desi people. And they know their henna.”

I smile. “You said it was only okay.”

“Well, someone has to keep your ego in check,” Priti says with a dramatic sigh.

“Well, can I still practice on your hands?” I ask. “And can I use your pictures to advertise?”

“Sure!” Priti’s face breaks out into a huge grin. “And you should start doing your own designs, you know.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah, it’ll make your business so unique, don’t you think?” she asks. “People can get Nishat originals on their hands. They’ll be queuing up in front of your door … or your stall, or whatever.”

I laugh because I can’t imagine anybody wanting a “Nishat original,” but it’s a nice thought, I guess. The kind of thought only my sister could have and be excited about.

But the idea also fills me with a kind of excitement I haven’t felt in a long time. So after shooing Priti off to her bedroom to finish her studies, I settle in with a blank piece of paper and my pencil in hand, trying to put together a henna design from my head.

It’s hours later when I’m finished, and the page in front of me is filled with patterns of flowers, mandalas, and swirls. A mishmash of things that weirdly seem to work.

I pick up my phone from the bedside table and quickly draft a text to Chaewon and Jess about my idea. But my fingers hover over the send button. I read the message over and over again, feeling my heart beat hard in my chest.