Gehna watched him do this a couple of times without getting any further in her inquiry. Impatient for answers, she marched right up to confront the boy. She had a moment of wild regret that her hair was greasy from being unwashed, but it was too late to do much about it.

‘Hola,’ she said. ‘Que pasa?’

Eram, who had been hoping to bump into Gehna accidentally-on-purpose, thought it unfair that she had snuck up on him from an unexpected direction. Any poise he had melted. ‘What?’

‘What’s up?’

‘Oh. You know, not much. Running.’ He moved his forearms back and forth to demonstrate a runner’s motion. So damn lame. Be cool, Eram. ‘You?’

‘Juice,’ Gehna said, lifting the plastic cup in her hand. ‘You want? It’s Varun’s morning-after cure, technically, but he probably won’t want any.’

‘I’m good, thanks.’

Silence. A passing gust of wind blew Gehna’s hair across her face. Eram thought she looked even prettier in the daylight. He knew that if he didn’t say something soon, she would go inside the building and he would probably never see her again, ever. That couldn’t be allowed to happen.

‘Isn’t it crazy?’ he babbled. ‘Us meeting completely at random, at this very spot, at this very minute?’

Gehna had her doubts about whether this was as completely random a meeting as all that. ‘I know, right. What are the chances?’

‘Well, now that you mention it, the chance of us meeting at this very minute is about point zero zero zero zero zero zero . . .’

‘Okay.’

‘. . . four eight two three per cent. But since we’re measuring it post-fact, the randomness is eliminated and the chance of us meeting is, and therefore always was, 100 per cent. What?’

Gehna was looking at him with her head tilted, like you would at some especially odd specimen at a science museum.

‘It’s funny. You don’t look like a nerd.’

Suddenly self-conscious, Eram changed the subject. ‘Cool jacket.’

‘It’s a robe. My mom gave it to me for my birthday last year. I don’t think she meant for me to wear it over my PJs on a juice run.’

Gehna’s phone chimed. She took it out of her pocket. ‘Speak of the devil. Text from Mom. “Dear Gehna” . . . she totally composes every text like it’s an overseas telegram . . . “Dear Gehna, if you are not otherwise engaged this evening, your father and I would very much enjoy the pleasure of your company for dinner. Do ask your brother as well since he never replies to my messages. We’ll expect you at 7.30 p.m. Please try to be on time. Your mother”.’ Gehna groaned as she pocketed the phone.

‘She sounds like something out of Charles Dickens,’ Eram said.

‘She sounds like a tool. And I’m forever, like, who talks like that any more? But no one listens to me in that house. Perks of being the runt of the litter.’

‘Does she, uh, do they know?’