“What look?” I ask, even though I know exactly the look she’s talking about. Priti has lived through too many of my crushes, all of which ended in nothing. In a way, it was better, I guess. All I have left of these—probably—unrequited crushes are the dreams and memories, and that familiar feeling of butterflies in my stomach.

“Apuj—”

“She didn’t know anybody there. Like I said.”

“You wanted me to send the pictures.”

“Just to like … keep, you know. You took them.”

“You made a weird face when you said it.”

I turn around. “What?”

“A weird face. Like, I don’t know. It was kind of goofy. I hope you didn’t make that face in front of her.”

I pull a goofy face then and Priti giggles. She slips away from the doorway and plops down onto the bed.

“I didn’t think she was your type,” Priti says after a moment of silence.

“I don’t have a type,” I say, and it’s true; I’ve never really thought about having a type. I guess my type is … beautiful girl. Which is a lot of them. Most of them? Pretty much all girls.

“Well, but … you do like her, right? That’s what that was about?”

I purse my lips and sit down next to her. Do I? The butterflies in my stomach and the staring and the thinking about how holding hands with her is better than biryani would indicate yes. But maybe it was just the rush of any pretty girl more than her.

“Just … be careful, okay?” Priti says.

“I probably won’t ever even see her again. Also, I’m the older sister. I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to tell you that.” Priti just smiles.

I’m kind of ashamed to say that I spend a lot of time lingering over the photos on my phone. There are only three of them, and Flávia and I aren’t even next to each other.

In primary school, she was one of the smallest girls in our class. She hadn’t had her growth spurt yet. She was quiet, too. She liked to keep to herself, and didn’t have many friends for the few years that I knew her.

I dig up one of our old school photos. She’s easy to spot, but so am I. We’re both darker than the rest of the girls, standing on either end of the picture. She’s smiling with her teeth, showing a glint of braces. Her hair is tied up neatly in a short ponytail. Her hands hang limp by her sides, making her look uncomfortable.