‘What changed?’ he said.

‘Things got difficult at home. It’s easier like this.’

He looked at me then, right at me, not like before. It wasn’t kindness. I should’ve lowered my eyes but I couldn’t. He touched the side of my face.

‘Take it off,’ he said.

And I did.

*

My ears throbbing with the cold. Walking home in a big circle. He’ll be there now, waiting, ready to give me a lecture. Past the school, all shut up and dark. But there are lights from the Hindu temple, the big white canopy gleaming like carved ivory, the dome rising up. The front doors are open. A banner for blood donation inviting people in. They do it here regularly. I’ve seen the posters, made a mental note to come down. But I never have, and now here I am by accident. Maybe it was fated.

There’s a small queue at the reception desk and a waiting area with plastic chairs like we used to use in school assemblies. A special area for tea and biscuits. Portable screens and trolley beds and nurses and people lying on their backs attached to plastic tubes, squeezing their hands into fists, out and in, out and in, waiting for their lifeblood to drain out and be stored like magic.

I wait, and take it all in. The room is disappointing, like a school gym. It smells of spices, like our house always did after Dadi cooked. We’d only notice it when we’d been away – coming in from school or Mosque. I was expecting statues and offerings. The blue god with all the arms. Gold leaf and altars and embroidered fabric. Women dressed ready for a Bollywood dance routine.

‘Do you have an appointment?’

‘No.’

The reception nurse smiles at me. ‘Have you donated before?’

‘It’s my first time.’

‘No problem. We should be able to fit you in. Just fill this out and we’ll find a space for you.’

She hands me a clipboard and a pen and points to the chairs behind me. One look at the form and I want to run. I want to turn and walk back out the door. The words are crammed together. So many questions. Nobody here to help me with spelling. I need to stop and calm down. It’s not an essay. It’s only ticking boxes. I don’t know anyone who gives blood. No one ever said it was forbidden but it was a grey area, a kind of violation of the body. Who knew where your blood would end up? Too many question marks. It was better to be safe.