“It’s not weird.” Her voice comes out high-pitched, assuring me that she definitely finds it weird. “I just have to get used to him, is all.”

I want to say more. I’m the big sister. I’m supposed to offer her words of wisdom. Pass on my knowledge. But it’s not like I’m exactly skilled in this department.

Instead, I let the silence wash over us, reaching out and grabbing Priti’s phone from beside her. I start to scroll through her phone again. She shoots me a look over the top of her book, and I return it with a cheeky grin. Neither of us comment.

I’m still scrolling through her photos when Priti shuts her English book again and says in a bright voice, “What about Bengali sweets?”

“What about them?”

“You could sell those. That would be fun, right? Jilapis. Mmmmmmm.” Priti might as well have started salivating right there, right then. The look in her eye at the thought of jilapis is totally dreamy.

“I don’t think so.” I have to stifle a laugh. “Can you imagine the girls at school eating jilapis? They would be turned off just looking at it.”

“What are you talking about? Jilapis are beautiful. They’re all soft but not too soft. And golden and sweet and yummy and … I really want some now.”

“And they’re sticky and gooey and some people never want to venture out of their comfort zones. Plus, I can’t make jilapis myself.”

“Ammu can …” Priti says, before seeing the way I raise my eyebrows at her. She sighs and says, “Okay, I’ll keep thinking about it.”

“Thank—hey!”

“What?”

I perk up until I’m sitting straight and hold out Priti’s phone toward her. There’s a photo that she took of our hands joined together before Sunny Apu’s wedding. We’re both weighed down by rings and bracelets, but the most important feature of the photo is the deep red floral henna weaving up our arms, palms, and fingers.

“That’s a photo I took?” Priti asks hesitantly.

“No, not …” I sigh. “The henna!”

“What about it?”

“It’s good, isn’t it?”

“I mean, it’s okay, it’s definitely not the same caliber as Nanu’s but—”

“That’s what I could do.”

“What?” Priti’s face is blank as ever. For a smart person, it takes her a very long time to catch on.

“The henna!” I exclaim.

“Yes … it’s nice, but Nanu’s is still miles better.”

“Oh my God, Priti,” I groan. “I could start a henna design business.”

“Oh my God.” Her eyes widen as my idea finally dawns on her. “You could do that. The girls at school would kill for that. I mean, did you see the comments that everybody left on my Insta when I put up that photo of my hand?”