At the wedding she seemed completely different. There was an air of confidence around her that I don’t remember back in school. That happens, I guess. People change when they go from primary to secondary school. They take on new personas, like they’re testing out a new self.

Of course, all of the things I remember about her don’t appear in the school photo. Like the fact that for my first few weeks in school, Flávia was the only one who would speak to me. That when Ammu gave me rice and daal for lunch and all the other girls made fun of me, Flávia stuck up for me. That I’m pretty sure she was my first crush ever, but I’m only realizing it now in hindsight. Back then, I didn’t even think about being gay, but I did think a lot about Flávia and the freckles that dot her cheeks.

After I’ve basically burned the three photos from the wedding into the back of my eyelids, I log onto Instagram and go to Priti’s account. I scroll through all of the pictures she’s put up just from today. I’m tagged in almost all of them. There’s the photo of her and me up on stage with Sunny Apu and Dulabhai, of course. Priti looks absolutely prim and proper. I look like kind of a mess.

There’s also a selfie she must have taken in the bathroom of the wedding hall, and there are photos of the wedding cake. The last photo is of Priti and me in my bedroom. It was after we’d finished getting ready, and Priti insisted that we needed a photo before we left for the wedding hall, just the two of us. She also insisted that we find a way to showcase the henna I’d spent all summer perfecting, so our hands are at awkward angles in front of us. We look totally unnatural, but in a way, it also totally captures our essence: goofy and weird. I smile. We could almost pass for twins. With our identical salwar kameezes and our thick black hair falling around us, you almost can’t tell where I end and Priti begins.

It’s the only picture from the night that I really love.

And then I see a comment below the photo from Flávia’s account, and my smile widens.

Nice henna—your sis did a great job!

It’s the last day of summer and I’m spending it thinking about Flávia Santos, a girl I’m probably never going to see again. I’m pathetic.

The sun is shining outside, as if taunting me for being the kind of person who spends more time fantasizing about an unattainable girl than living her life.