The Henna Wars(49)

And then it’s over. As Priti and I shuffle out of the hallway I can feel everyone’s eyes peering at us, curiosity flickering in their gazes. I hold my head up high, even though their stares make me want to curl up into myself or, at the very least, pick up my pace.

But I don’t. Priti links our fingers together, like she knows exactly what’s going on in my head, and the warmth of her—her presence itself—carries me out of the hallway.

“Where have you been?”

Ammu and Abbu are standing at the entrance to the main hall, with Principal Murphy right beside them.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, even though everything is already piecing together in my head. The text went out to everyone at school. Of course Principal Murphy found out. Of course she decided to call my parents.

“Your Principal told us.” Abbu begins, before trailing off and shooting Principal Murphy the angriest glare I’ve ever seen. I’ve never seen Abbu so angry before. He’s usually the calm and collected one; Ammu is the one who is freer with her rage. But now, it seems like both of them are emanating anger, feeding off each other’s fury. Though Principal Murphy towers over both Ammu and Abbu in her high heels, she suddenly looks small next to them.

“Nishat, why didn’t you come to me immediately?” she asks urgently.

I shake my head, unsure what she wants me to say.

“Why didn’t you go to her?” Ammu turns to glare at Principal Murphy, who visibly shrinks under her gaze.

“Come on, Nishat, Priti. We are leaving.” Ammu turns, the urna draped around her neck dramatically turning with her and almost hitting Principal Murphy square in her face. She looks both taken aback and impressed as Ammu walks away, heels clicking against the tiled floor of the hallway. Abbu casts a long look at Principal Murphy before following Ammu.

Priti links her fingers with mine and gives my hand a squeeze as the two of us hurry behind our parents.



The car ride home is completely silent. Abbu doesn’t even put on Rabindranath Sangeet. Priti keeps glancing at me like she’s worried that I’m going to break down into tears at any moment. I just look out the window, trying not to let myself think of what’s going to happen once we get home.

I thought I was ready for this. I thought I wanted Ammu and Abbu to stop with the silence about me being a lesbian, but I’m not. The silence is better than this—than the rage I saw from them in the school. What if they make a drastic decision? What am I supposed to do?

The car slows as we pull into our neighborhood. I hungrily take in the houses and trees and playground that pass by, like this is my last glimpse at the world around me.

“Priti, up to your room,” Ammu says as soon as we’re inside.

“But—” Priti begins, but the glare Ammu shoots in her direction shuts her right up and she shuffles up the stairs. She mouths something to me from the stairs that looks like “I love you,” but it does nothing to quell my nerves.

Ammu and Abbu march into the kitchen, and I follow behind, even though they don’t call me in.

“What are we going to do about this?” Ammu asks Abbu. She’s standing beside the glass door overlooking the backyard with her hands on her hips, like the garden will have an answer for her if Abbu doesn’t.

“I don’t know.” Abbu takes a seat on the kitchen table and buries his head in his hands. He looks broken in a way I’ve never seen before.

“Well, we have to do something, we can’t just let it be.”

“I know we can’t.”

I stand in the kitchen doorway, feeling my heart getting slower. Abbu and Ammu’s words seep into my skin like poison. To them, I might as well not be here. I’m simply a problem that needs a solution. To think, just weeks ago I was sitting in this very kitchen trying to find the words to tell them the truth, to reveal myself to them. I was hoping to be accepted. To be loved. But here we are again, after weeks of silence and shame.

Finally, Ammu turns to me and lets out a sigh. Her eyes take me in from head to foot.

“Why didn’t you tell us, Nishat?” Her voice is heavy with unshed tears. “How long?”

I shake my head, unsure what exactly she’s asking. Does she know about Flávia? Does everyone know about Flávia? Is that what this is about? My lesbianism isn’t just a concept anymore, but a solid thing in the form of her? Something I made into reality because I gave too much weight to my heart?

“How long have the girls in school been speaking about you like this?” Ammu asks. “Principal Murphy told us about the text. Why didn’t you tell us?”

I can only blink at her, astonished. That’s what she’s angry about?

“T-today. They found out today.”

Ammu’s brows crease. “Found out …”

“About me. That … I’m a …” I’ve never been more afraid of saying those words aloud than I am now, but I manage to choke them out somehow. “… a lesbian.”

Ammu crosses her arms over her chest. “Because someone told them.”

“Yes.”

“Do you know who?”

I hesitate for a moment before shaking my head.

Ammu throws her hands up in frustration. “There has to be some way to find out, right?” She turns to look at Abbu, her eyebrows raised. “Now, it’s the school. Soon, it’ll be everyone in the neighborhood. Then, we’ll be getting phone calls from Bangladesh. We have to put a stop to this.”