Before I left home for America, I went camping with Blake and his parents. I had lied, saying I was going on an overnight excursion with my science club. If my parents knew I was lying, they didn’t reveal it. The Hendersons picked me up at the end of the Kurinji Temple Road. It was early in the morning, still dark, and I remember sliding into the seat next to Blake, resting a knee against his, understanding that between us there was some kind of longing. I can’t remember the name of the place we went to, but we drove almost halfway down the ghats to get there. The vegetation was lush, a tract of land surrounded by terraced fields. Things that wouldn’t have survived a few thousand feet higher in Kodai thrived there. Coffee, avocados, shiny tree tomatoes. There was a small wooden room on stilts that we might have used, but we were determined to experience the elements in their entirety.

Blake’s father, Thomas, was a patient, deep-voiced man, a dentist by profession. If pushed he could tell the most beautiful stories of a childhood growing up on a farm in North Carolina. His wife, Molly, was the more exuberant of the pair. She was blonde and everything about her was healthy-looking. She had flawless teeth, as did Blake, but it was the strength of her arms and legs that I admired most. She started setting up the tents at once, all sinew and power. ‘Y’all go forage for some fruit,’ she said. ‘And, Tom, go see if that stream water is good enough to drink.’ When we returned, both tents were up, at a distance from one another. ‘One for us and one for you guys, to give everyone a little privacy,’ she said.

I can’t remember what Blake and I whispered to each other at night. I know only that I didn’t sleep well. The ground was stony and damp, making me cleave to Blake in his sleeping bag for warmth.