“Really?” I can’t help the fact that my voice rises an octave. It’s just that I’m not sure if I would want to go back to Bangladesh permanently, or even semi-permanently. Aside from the fact that being gay there is punishable by death, I’m also not sure where I would even fit in. I don’t fit in here, but would I fit in there any better? I don’t think so. I’ve already lost most of my Bengali, and when I sometimes talk to my cousins from there, it seems like the differences between us are akash patal—like the sky and earth.

“I’ve only been there when I was young and I barely remember it,” Flávia says. “I thought … it would be good. A way for me to actually learn about where I’m from, and brush up on my Portuguese.” She sighs. “But … it didn’t really work out. I don’t think my mom was ready to go back, and she says we have more opportunities here.”

It’s funny that Flávia and I are from such different parts of the world but our parents have the same philosophy. They shifted us halfway across the world, risking our culture, putting us in the middle of two nations and giving us an identity crisis, all because they believe it gives us more opportunities. It’s strange to think about how much our parents really sacrifice for us. But then, I’m stuck on the fact that Ammu and Abbu can leave their entire world behind, yet they can’t pause for a moment and consider who I am. How can they sacrifice everything for me and Priti, but they can’t sacrifice their closed view of sexuality to accept me as I am?

“Well … I’m glad that you’re back,” I say. It’s not like I pined after Flávia all these years, considering I didn’t even realize that I had a crush on her way back then, but … having her here feels weird, in a nice way. She’s changed so much—from her height to her hair (which she used to always straighten and put up in a ponytail), and just the way she carries herself—but then there are so many things that seem the same. She still has that warmth about her that she did in primary school, and a smile that could make anyone melt.

Flávia turns to me with that smile playing at her lips once more. “Yeah, I’m pretty glad to be back too,” she says, holding my gaze for a long moment.

We’re interrupted by the rushing sound of the bus zooming up, and I have to leap out of my seat to hold my hand out. If I miss this bus, I’ll have to wait a whole hour to catch the next one.