Hari grinned. “They have the best French fries,” he said with the kind of excitement Vansh’s adolescent niece displayed about fried potatoes. Come to think of it, Yash felt this way about fries too.

The center was full, probably because it was the North Pole outside. They were serving fried chicken, fried fish, fried mushrooms, and fries. Hari loaded up his plate.

“Hey there, Harry. How you been doing, man?” the server asked, and Hari blushed and nodded. “Who’s your friend?”

“I work with Hari,” Vansh said, emphasizing his name and pronouncing it “hurry” as it was supposed to be pronounced. But the server had already moved on to the next person in line.

They moved down the stations. “I had a big lunch, but these bagels look good.” Vansh picked up a bagel and they carried their trays to a table in a corner.

Hari started scarfing down his food while eyeing Vansh’s bagel with great amounts of sympathy.

“So, did you have a plan for what you were going to do now that the election is over?”

Hari’s chewing took on renewed force. “Did you throw my tent away? If you did, I need to buy a new one.” Hari’s hands started to shake.

“Of course I didn’t throw your tent away. I told you I wouldn’t. I put it in storage at my parents’ house, but you won’t need it. You can’t go on living on the street.”

“I can live there for as long as I want. Mikhail has lived there for five years.”

“You won’t have to. We’re going to make sure you don’t go back there. We’re going to find you a job that pays enough for you to rent a place.”

Hari shoved an alarmingly large piece of fried chicken into his mouth. “Nobody will rent me a place without ID and credit history.”

“Well, the first thing we’re going to do is fix that. We’ll get your passport reissued, and I can be a guarantor for your rent. There are ways for you to do that. There are government programs that will help you.”

“No! They’ll put me in jail. That’s what Jim told me. They’ll deport me and then the Indian police will throw me in jail. My mother will never survive the shame.” He stood, the scrape of the metal chair on the tile loud in the silence. “I want to go back to my tent. Please.”

Vansh held up his tray. There was still a substantial pile of fried food on it and Hari looked at it hungrily.

“Let’s finish our meal?” he said gently.

Hari sat back down, and Vansh patted his hand and waited for it to stop shaking.

“No one is going to arrest you. You haven’t done anything wrong.”