The Henna Wars(40)

“That’s okay,” I say, not at all sure if it is okay.

“Just … we did it.” She’s beaming. Her eyes are bright like stars and it’s too easy to get lost in them.

“I know.” My heart is about to burst out of my chest again but this time for a completely different reason.

“Do you think we can put our differences aside? Just for now?” she asks, sheepishly. I nod, despite myself.

She brightens—which I didn’t think was even possible.

“Are you coming to the party this Friday?”

“There’s a party this Friday?”

She smiles, like she can’t believe I haven’t gotten the memo—though obviously it shouldn’t be surprising at all.

“It’s Chyna’s party but it’s at our place. For everybody in the year. You should come.” She pauses, the light diminishing from her eyes slightly, her smile fading somewhat. “You can, um, bring your sister if you want?”

“I’ll think about it,” is all I say, though I already know that if I go, there’s no way I’m going to bring Priti.



“I guess you’re putting effort into this party.” Priti leans against the door frame of my bedroom as I’m applying a coat of mascara onto my eyelashes. I accidentally stab myself in the eye with the wand and smear some of the black liquid on my cheek.

“Knock, maybe?” I say.

“Your door wasn’t closed, gadha.”

“Okay, chagol.” I rub the mascara off my face.

“I’m surprised you’re really going through with this.”

“I’m going to a party, Priti. Not committing to a marriage.”

“I know. But you didn’t exactly enjoy yourself at Chyna’s last week. You left early.”

“Yes, well. This is different.”

“How, exactly?”

This is a perfectly valid question, because nothing really is different, but something feels different since Flávia called a truce. Even if it’s for only one day, should I not make the most of it?

Because I am eloquent and amazing at expressing myself, to Priti I say, “Because it’s just different, okay?”

She comes over and stands by me so we’re both reflected in the mirror. After tucking a strand of hair away, she rests a hand on my shoulder.

“This is like a scene in a Bollywood movie,” I say.

“What Bollywood movie does this happen in?”

“I don’t know! But I feel like there’s been one!”

I can see her rolling her eyes in the mirror. I stifle a smile as she says, “It’s more like a Hollywood movie, really. It’s your wedding day and you’re getting married. Your sister—bridesmaid comes over to tell you how beautiful you look in your wedding dress, etcetera, etcetera.”

“So …?”

“So …”

“I’m waiting for you to tell me how beautiful I look, obviously.”

“Wow, Apujan, you’re so beautiful,” Priti deadpans. Her face and voice are so devoid of emotion that I burst into a fit of giggles. She joins me a second later, and soon we’re both bent over laughing.

Priti wipes a tear from her eye and I blink rapidly, trying to keep my tear ducts in check.

“You’re going to make my makeup run,” I say after the giggling has finally stopped.

“You started it!”

She catches my eye in the mirror and I’m surprised by how alike we look, even with my face full of makeup and hers without any. I am a shade darker, but we both have the same wide eyes, inherited from Ammu, and the too-round face inherited from Abbu. Perhaps the biggest difference is Priti’s button nose, compared to my longer, slightly arched one.

After a beat of silence, Priti says, “You’ll be careful at the party, right?”

“Yes.” I’m not sure if I’m telling the truth or not. When matters of the heart are involved, it’s difficult to be careful.



Even from the outside, Flávia’s house is already far different from Chyna’s. It’s a small, narrow brick house wedged between two other strikingly similar buildings. When I climb the small steps and ring the doorbell, it emits a hollow sound.

Chyna, surprisingly, greets me with a smile and a hug when the door swings open. I can smell beer on her.

“I’m so glad you’re here!” she exclaims, brushing back wisps of her thin, blonde hair.

“You are?” I ask, but she doesn’t seem to hear me—or care.

She grabs my hand and drags me inside, through a pair of double doors and into a sitting room that’s full to bursting.

“Last one!” She shouts loudly at the room full of people. They glance up, some utterly nonchalant, some with broad grins on their faces. They all let out a cheer that drowns out the beat of the music. I catch sight of Chaewon and Jess in a corner, and turn away. I’m not in the mood to face them tonight.

Flávia strolls up to me once the crowd has turned back to itself and Chyna has disappeared somewhere among the throng.

“I guess our entire year is here?” I shout over the music, by way of greeting.

“Yeah,” Flávia shouts, a sheepish smile on her lips. “She’s pretty excited that she was the one to do it.”