So instead of burdening her actual friends with her daydreams, she constantly barged in and prattled at Tanvi.

Tanvi scowled. If Asha had pointless fantasies, that was her problem. But why did she insist on making them Tanvi’s?

“. . . ‘Did I not just say that?’” Asha mimed sulking at someone. “And then I told him, ‘Surely you know better than to fear sssssnakes.’” She turned the sulk on Tanvi. “You are not even listening, are you?”

Tanvi only pointed to the door again.

Asha let out a huge, dramatic sigh and changed back into her nagini form. “Why do I trouble myself so? You are no better than Jai.”

Tanvi and Jai had been in the same group of dream runner recruits. They’d gone through the initiation together. Tanvi didn’t recall much about that time, which was fine with her, and she hadn’t talked to Jai since then.

She figured Asha must be annoying him regularly, too.

Asha undulated over to the table and rapped twice on it. A tiffin, a goblet, and a plate appeared there. “Eat, at least.” When Tanvi didn’t move, Asha added, “Without proper nourishment, you will have no strength for harvesting dreams this night.”

That was all Tanvi had to hear. She didn’t care about food any more than she cared about clothes, never mind flowers, but Asha was right. She did need the fuel to succeed.

A tiny blossom sat next to the food. Tanvi rested her goblet on top of it, ignoring the perfume it released. The tiffin opened with a click, revealing vegetable biryani instead of the normal simpler roti and sabzi.

Asha launched into more nonsense about her latest exploits on Prithvi, none of which Tanvi bothered to acknowledge. She could feel Asha probing. Waiting for her to respond.

But Tanvi only chewed mechanically, chasing each bite of biryani with a huge gulp of mango nectar. They might as well have been chalk dust, for all she tasted them.

Within a dream, treats like this would have meant everything. From Venkat’s reports, his customers—who had no way to access any ingredients found on Prithvi—practically drooled at the chance to experience mortal foods, both gourmet and comfort. Dumplings especially fascinated them: even scraps featuring anything from cheese-stuffed pierogi and creamy malai kofta to savory xiao long bao and fluffy Knödel in vanilla sauce went for high prices. Whenever Tanvi could, she tried to find dreamers who’d just eaten.

Outside of dreams, though, why bother?

Two more bites, and she got up. “There, finished. Now will you go?”

“Did you hear what I said?” Asha challenged. “Navratri is upon us, and this year, I wish to dance at mortal garba with Sameer.”

Tanvi rinsed her hands at the sink and opened her storage cabinet. Three rows of unused sapphires, rubies, emeralds, topazes, tourmalines, and amethysts flashed in welcome, vibrant with the promise of the dreams she would fill them with.