‘Your father says he’s dying for my mutton biryani,’ she said. I stiffened, but didn’t respond.

As I stirred the masalas with the sliced onions and mutton, the rich aromas almost made me faint with hunger. I focused on finishing the task, but couldn’t take it longer than a few minutes.

‘I have an assignment to finish,’ I said and handed the ladle back to her. I caught Aunty V’s fleeting look of confusion as I walked past her.

‘Okay! Dinner will be ready by eight!’ Aunty V called out.

I went inside my room and shut the door, trying to get rid of the biryani smell from my nostrils. It was so hard.

I dialled Nisha’s number and told her about the weird reunion they were planning. ‘They’re talking about having a party to reconnect with all these uncles and aunties!’ I whispered.

Nisha giggled. ‘My mother also gets excited when she finds someone she knew a long time ago on Facebook.’

My stomach rumbled again and I straightened up. My head was swimming with the temptation of the food outside.

‘So Aunty V’s making biryani,’ I said casually.

There was a swift intake of breath. ‘And?’ Nisha asked.

‘And nothing,’ I told her. More than anyone else, more than my parents, she knew of my struggle with food.

‘Ananya, nothing will happen if you eat biryani once,’ she said in a carefully neutral manner.

Yeah, right, I thought. There was knocking on the door.

‘I have to go,’ I said, relieved and ended the call.

I opened the door. Aunty V stood there, hands on her hips.

‘I told you dinner would be ready by eight,’ she said.

‘I’m not hungry,’ I lied. My stomach chose to growl loudly at that moment. I didn’t look down.

Aunty V shook her head. ‘Come on, Ananya,’ she said. ‘A little biryani won’t do anything to your figure.’

I felt heat rush up to my cheeks at her words because there was something patronizing about her tone. Was she expecting me to ask her ‘what figure’? Or was she poking fun at mine? I kept quiet.

‘What?’ she asked.

I shook my head and told her I’d join them in a bit. Aunty V gave me a look. I let out a sigh.

In the days after Esha’s birthday, I had started starving myself, punishing my body for humiliating me. My parents didn’t notice anything because to all outward appearances, I was continuing to eat normally. It was just that they were too preoccupied to notice that I never filled my plate, and I always got up before them, so I could quickly scrape the food into the bin.

This took its toll when I fainted one day after getting back from school.