“All right, all right,” Ahmad said as Baba, on the couch, waved at him with a smile, his cell phone still pressed against his ear. Ma turned back toward the kitchen and then stopped, whirling around to face the third person in the room.

“Vijay? I thought you went out for a walk.”

Vijay Bhai froze, his eyes wide.

“Oh, um . . . I did,” he blustered, “but it looked like it was going to rain.”

Ma stared out the sunlit window pointedly, and then at her childhood friend.

“Okay, then,” she said, with a shrug. “Ahmad, the table?” She grinned. “And a plate for Vijay Bhai, too.”

Ahmad started for the china cabinet and then froze.

“Ahmad? What is it?” Winnie demanded. When she reached him, she stopped short. There was a mouse beneath the cabinet, blinking up at them. Its cheeks were suspiciously round, and in its paws . . . was that one of Ahmad’s precious chenna murki?

Ahmad started forward and it squeaked, skittering toward the ajar front door and out into the hallway.

“It couldn’t be—” Winnie started. Ahmad firmly shook his head. “No. We were supposed to be the only ones who could make it through.”

They looked after the mouse for a moment. Ahmad cleared his throat. “So. Um. About earlier, with the package and the project—”

He yelped as Winnie’s elbow neatly found its way between his ribs. Apparently, she’d learned plenty from the MasterMind. “Let’s not start with the formality. We lived through a vicious board game together. Let’s stuff our faces and congratulate ourselves on a job well done, and talk about our project. Together.”

“Okay.” Ahmad felt a big, goofy grin breaking out. He couldn’t control it. Together. Apparently, they hadn’t left that word back in Paheli.

“Okay. Let’s set the table so we can figure out how to make this as epic as possible.”

They walked into the dining room together. And, as Winnie pulled faces when Ahmad set a plate down too hard, and Ma bustled past with platters of food, it felt very much like this was the beginning of a new adventure.

Maybe the beginning of a beautiful friendship, too.

Even Ahmad Mirza, it seemed, could have one.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

As always, I begin by thanking God for allowing me to pursue what often felt like an unattainable dream. Every development in this publishing journey has been unexpected and wondrous in ways I could never have arranged or hoped for on my own. I am so, so grateful.

Thank you to my family: my father for his unwavering enthusiasm for the process; my mother for being a supportive first reader and always asking the question, “Does this feel good to you?”; and my sister Sumayyah and brother Sahnoon for, as always, being both delightful and irksome at the same time.