That fury. Tanvi had felt like that once herself. The feeling bubbled up now—a vivid, undeniable memory, though she couldn’t remember anything else. Her head was so patchy. She hated this, all of it.

Turn around, she ordered her legs.

They must not have been listening, because they kept pace with Nitya, who kicked off her shoes and left them in the closet. Old habit taking over, Tanvi did the same.

All through the foyer and into the family room, scraps of recall attacked her, spiky and unforgiving. She knew that second-floor cathedral ceiling, knew she’d stood beneath it, danced beneath it, thrown tantrums beneath it. So many flashes in time haunting her.

Portraits on the walls screamed for her attention. Tanvi stared at the carpet instead.

Except it was gone. Hardwood floor had replaced the soft beige surface her feet had padded over, back and forth, back and forth. Somehow she knew she’d gotten in trouble for spilling a drink—grape juice?—that had left a stain. But the details stayed out of reach.

Nitya lingered by the couch, like she was waiting for Tanvi to sit first. At least the couch was the same, cream colored and overstuffed. But her body remembered nestling into the cushions to watch movies or get lost in a book, and she couldn’t do it. She plopped down where she was on the floor instead.

Sister. Tanvi rolled the word around in her mouth like a sour piece of candy. Twin. My twin.

Nitya perched on the recliner across from her. Without taking her gaze from Tanvi, she smoothed out her shiny charcoal skirt.

It was petty, but Tanvi felt like she’d scored a point. Too bad she didn’t know what the game was.

The ghost version of the room floated in her head, at odds with the reality in front of her. She shifted, hunting for a comfortable position that would let her scope out the furniture. Hadn’t there been two recliners before, not one?

Nitya shot up from the recliner. “Don’t you dare leave!” she cried.

The terror in that command hit Tanvi harder than Nitya’s hand ever could have. She stared at her sister’s desperate face. “I wasn’t going to!”

Nitya dropped down beside Tanvi and grabbed her wrists roughly enough to hurt. She tried to wriggle away, but Nitya only dug her fingers in.

This was too much, too weird. Her sister should still look the way she did the last time Tanvi had seen her, baby fat clinging to her cheeks, the underlying bones hidden, not angular like this stranger’s. Her black hair should only hit her chin, not hang almost to her waist. Her careful eyeliner and plum lipstick turned her into a sleeker version of Tanvi. Plus, her suspicious glare, like Tanvi was an intruder, was all wrong.