Anirudh was looking at me. ‘So? Tell us what’s put you in this bad mood?’ he asked.

I blew out a breath. How could I put my weird thoughts into words? But I had to try because if my best friends didn’t understand me, what hope would I have of anyone else getting me?

‘It’s everything. Aunty V is cooking up all sorts of things for my mother and father and they’re enjoying her cooking. Far too much.’ I could hear how resentful I sounded. I think that was one of my core problems. My parents were eating food like it was a normal thing to do while it was something I struggled with on a daily basis.

‘And you’re not . . .’ Nisha trailed off. She knew about my struggles with food, though she didn’t always understand it.

‘Of course I’m not. I can’t let myself enjoy food again,’ I protested.

‘But Ananya, if you eat something once in a while, it’s all right,’ she said.

‘Says you. I can’t take that chance again,’ I snarled at her.

She sat back in silence and I could see her mind was working. But she didn’t say anything. The boy who worked in the cafeteria brought over our sandwiches and kept them in front of us on the table.

‘Why are you doing this?’ I muttered to her as the boy left. My nostrils quivered.

Nisha knew my drill. She knew I ran miles away from carbs.

‘One day, Ananya. If you eat something you enjoy just once, the sky won’t fall on your head,’ she insisted, pushing the plate towards me.

‘You’re my friend, Nisha. You’re supposed to help me get through this. Not make it more difficult for me to stick to my diet!’ I said.

She looked stricken, but shook her head determinedly. ‘Never. I’ve never done that. I’ve always supported you,’ she said.

Anirudh looked uncomfortable because it looked like we were fighting. We were not. I was just trying to get her to understand my point.

‘Look, just have a little bit of the sandwich. Your energy is dipping. It’s making you angry,’ she insisted.

I looked at the plate. It felt like the sandwiches had little googly eyes that were calling out to me. Commmmme, they seemed to hiss at me.

Involuntarily, my hand reached out to the plate and broke off a tiny edge of the sandwich. I pinched the little edge and nearly brought it to my mouth, my body tensing in anticipation.

But good sense prevailed and I put it back on the plate. I’d already eaten a spoonful of biryani after years. I couldn’t have a cheese sandwich now. I’d be giving my body the message that it was going to be getting more deliciousness and that wasn’t happening. No way.