I tried not to dwell on that, or what that could mean, or why the heck I even cared what Rehan thought about me. Compartmentalize. Compartmentalize.

This would be over soon.

It was hard to keep compartmentalizing, though, when Sabrena and Hala weren’t so bad. They steered me to their table at the community dinners I was inevitably dragged to nowadays, filled with girls our age. Some of them gave me a side-eye or two, but most of them were chill. A few went to my high school, and we exchanged thoughts on biology teachers and end-of-year exams.

I started learning more about the community than I expected to ever know. Sabrena’s older brother’s best friend was slated for medical school even though he had a secret burning passion for hotel management, but there wasn’t a doctor yet in the family and people would talk.

Some other girl’s cousin eloped with the boy her parents least expected her to ever be interested in, and it was all very dramatic because people would talk.

By the fifth or so story, I could understand the fear about people talking because . . . well, all the people around me at the table were. But it was fun. It made me feel welcome. It made me feel like it was crucial to actually know these things about people, to be able to make a little grandma smile by asking her about her family by name and if her son had managed to open that new restaurant yet so I could check it out. I was getting comfortable.

I was feeling full for the first time in days. If not years.

And in a lot of ways, that scared me.

Because I knew it wasn’t going to last. It never did.

Later one night after a community dinner, Yulia knocked on my door.

“Honey, do you have that sweater you borrowed from me?” Yulia said, peeking into my room, a pashmina unraveling from around her head and a pin sticking out from her lower lip.

I looked up, trying to blink math formulas out of my eyes. “Yulia, that describes half my closet.”

“The teal one with the heart pattern. Come on, check for me! Sister Reshma is going to be here any minute.”

“And you need the teal sweater with the heart pattern because she won’t be happy to see you otherwise?”

Yulia rolled her eyes at me. “It matches this scarf, okay? Come on. Now.”

“Fine.” I made a show of shuffling through my closet: my usual clearance-rack frocks and cardigans and the occasional concert T-shirt and one or two of Yulia’s phase cast-offs: some long, shapeless smock that I used for weekend chores and a pair of her college overalls.

“Nope. Not here.”

“Check my closet for me.”

“Remind me again who is the mom and who is the daughter here.”

“Em.”

“Okay, okay. Sheesh.” I got up and stormed past her into the hall.