“Of course they want you to come.”

I got my wish, but I wasn’t ready for it.

For the rest of the afternoon, while Sarina and I sat there doing math, my mind wandered away. Sarina was so engrossed in her studies that she hadn’t noticed that I’d yawned and stretched a dozen times. I wondered how she could find solving math problems so interesting on a Saturday afternoon. For me, it had been a long, long day.

Because I hadn’t packed any dress clothes, Sarina insisted I wear one of her outfits that evening. In school we both wore the same uniform: a white blouse and khaki jumper. Her regular clothes, however, were different from mine. Most of hers were ready-made, bought at fancy shops, while mine were stitched by a tailor in a shop that was as big as Sarina’s closet. She gave me her black skirt and cream-colored silk blouse, and tied my hair back in a fancy palm-tree braid.

“I wish I had your complexion,” she said.

“Mine?” I said, pointing to myself.

“Yes, yours.”

“But I’m so dark.”

“So? Your skin is so dark, smooth, and glossy.”

“Are you sure it’s not just oily?”

“It isn’t, and you know it. Isn’t she pretty, Mummy?” she asked Mrs. Judge, who had just walked into her room.

“Jeeta is beautiful.”

I could feel my ears turning red. Me, beautiful? People, including my family, had always said good things about my eyes, my sharp features, or my posture, but I knew they all felt that I was too dark to be beautiful. That evening, when I sprayed a little perfume and wore my green-and-gold earrings, I felt pretty—something I’d never felt before, even when I had dressed up for my sisters’ weddings.

Neel and his family lived only a mile from Sarina’s. When we arrived, Neel wasn’t home. It was half an hour before the sunset, so we sat out in the balcony, where we could see Chowpatty Beach and the ocean. It was a warm day and the beach was crowded. Unlike the night of Sarina’s birthday, today there were many vendors combing the area.

The entire row of bhel-puri wallahs, with their carts, stood busily selling savory mixtures of lentil noodles, puffed rice, and potatoes drenched in hot and sweet-and-sour chutney. Just the thought of bhel-puri made my mouth water.

I kept glancing at the front door. Sarina must have noticed and asked, “Where’s Neel? Isn’t it rude of him not be here when he knew we were coming, Jeeta?”

All eyes turned to me. I shrugged my shoulders. “If you miss him, call him.”

Sarina’s eyes widened. “I suppose I will.”

“It’s getting late. Let’s eat,” Sarina’s aunt said, standing up. Everyone followed her except Sarina and me.