When the monsoon finally began to wind down, we could sit out in the school courtyard at recess. I loved walking outside after a light rain when the air carried the earth’s water-soaked smell. One day at recess while Janki was on monitor duty, Yamini, Sarina, and I sat on a stone bench. Yamini sat in the middle to show us pictures from her trip to Kerala.

“Who is this?” Sarina gasped, taking a picture from Yamini’s hand.

“That’s me,” Yamini said, pointing.

“I mean the guy. Who is he?” Sarina’s voice was high and she sounded eager, impatient.

“That’s Kiran.”

“Your brother, Kiran?” I said. Kiran was two years older than Yamini. When we were younger he used to come to pick up Yamini. At that time his arms and legs looked like they needed to be shortened to fit his body. I hadn’t seen him in three years.

“Yes.”

“He looks like—like he’s modeling the spring collection of Rohit Bal,” Sarina said.

Yamini laughed. “My brother, a model?”

“He’s such a dream,” Sarina said.

I’d never heard her talk like that about a boy before. It surprised me and made me curious. Had Kiran grown handsome in three years? I leaned over to look at the picture.

“I don’t think anyone has ever told Kiran that,” Yamini said. “He is too tall, too thin, and has too long a face to be a dream.”

Sarina was staring at the picture.

“I’ll tell my brother that my friend Sarina thinks he’s a nightmare,” Yamini teased.

“You’d better not say that.”

“Sorry. I’ll tell him you think he is a drrrrream.”

“Don’t.”

“You’d better come to my house, Sarina, and tell him whatever you want to tell him yourself,” Yamini said.

“Maybe I will.”

“Why are you so quiet?” Yamini asked me.

“Maybe Jeeta doesn’t want me to see your brother. Maybe she likes him.”

Even though I’d not seen Neel in weeks, his smiling, dimpled face and dark eyes were as real to me as if I’d seen him yesterday. “You can have Kiran,” I said.

“Jeeta is going to wait until she meets her dream boy from the matrimonial section,” Yamini said.

“‘Gujarati parents invite correspondence from a beautiful, slim girl for their handsome, five-foot-eleven, professional son. Please reply with a picture, bio-data, and horoscope.’” Sarina rattled off a matrimonial ad.

Yamini asked, “How about ‘girl with strong east-west family values’?”

“Yeah, let’s throw that in there, too.”

“They always want a fair girl, so I won’t qualify. Besides, I don’t need matrimonial ads. I’ll take care of myself,” I said, and got up.

“She’s still thinking of that fellow she told us about—the one she met at the swimming pool last summer,” Yamini said.

I couldn’t stop a smile.