My eyes dash to my right, like I’m expecting Priti to simply appear there. It only occurs to me now that I did exactly the one thing she told me not to do.

“She’s in the bathroom,” I say, turning back to Sunny Apu.

“Oh,” she says with a polite smile.

“She has to fix her face,” I say. “Like … the makeup.” I should have probably shut up at bathroom.

“Excuse me?” The photographer is looking at me with some exasperation. She gives a wave of her hand, indicating that we should all look ahead. There are a few clicks and flashes, and then the photographer is ushering us off the stage.

“Bye,” I mumble to Sunny Apu. In a moment, my seat is occupied by a petite girl that I’ve never seen before. She whispers something into her ear, and I feel a weird pang of jealousy, realizing that this is probably an in-law. It feels as if Priti and I have already been replaced by Sunny Apu’s new relatives.

“Coming?” Flávia asks with a tilt of her head. I nod, hoping she’ll take my hand again, but she doesn’t.

We’re ambushed by my sister before we’ve even descended from the stage.

“I told you not to go up without me!” Priti cries, standing at the bottom of the stage with her hands on her hips. She looks so much like Ammu when she’s angry that I have to bite back a smile.

“Sorry,” I say, not really meaning it. I figure it’s best not to mention how much she looks like Ammu because it’ll make her even angrier. “Just … Flávia here doesn’t know anyone.” I nod at her standing beside me. “This is Flávia, by the way.”

“Hi,” Flávia says.

“Hello.” Priti looks Flávia up and down, judgment flashing in her hazel eyes.

“She used to go to school with me,” I say, and add—again—“she doesn’t know anyone here.”

“She has a sister. She was a bridesmaid, remember?”

“Priti.” I try to squeeze a lot into her name; a warning, and some of my excitement about the fact that Flávia was holding my hand only minutes ago. And also an apology.

Priti obviously doesn’t understand any of it, because she just glowers at both me and Flávia.

“I actually better go find my sister,” Flávia says, and even though I want to say, no, stay and hold my hand for longer, I say, “Okay, see you later.”

But of course, I won’t see her later. Or maybe ever again. Then all I’ll have to remember her by is the way our hands fit together for those few short moments.