“No?” I just remember the comment Flávia left on the photo from the wedding.

“Look!” She shoves the phone in my face. I remember when Priti took this photo, though I don’t remember actually seeing the photo itself. It was right after I finished her left palm. The henna paste hadn’t even hardened properly yet.

I look under the photo. 148 likes. 30 comments.

“Whoa.”

“Read the comments!” Priti says. I scroll down.

Where did you get this done???

Is there a place in Dublin that does henna designs?

How much was it?

Love the design!

Gorgeous!

“Priti!” I can feel a huge grin tugging at my lips. “Why didn’t you show me this?”

“Well, I didn’t want you to get a big head. I mean, the design is only okay.” But she’s grinning too as she puts her phone away.

“Do you really think I could do it though? I mean, I’ve only been practicing for a little bit. And I’ve only practiced on you and me. What if I mess up?”

Priti gets a serious look on her face, which causes creases between her eyebrows and makes her nose get all pinched.

“You can totally do this, Apujan,” she says. “You’re great at it. I mean … come on, look at all those comments. Some of them even came from Desi people. And they know their henna.”

I smile. “You said it was only okay.”

“Well, someone has to keep your ego in check,” Priti says with a dramatic sigh.

“Well, can I still practice on your hands?” I ask. “And can I use your pictures to advertise?”

“Sure!” Priti’s face breaks out into a huge grin. “And you should start doing your own designs, you know.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah, it’ll make your business so unique, don’t you think?” she asks. “People can get Nishat originals on their hands. They’ll be queuing up in front of your door … or your stall, or whatever.”

I laugh because I can’t imagine anybody wanting a “Nishat original,” but it’s a nice thought, I guess. The kind of thought only my sister could have and be excited about.

But the idea also fills me with a kind of excitement I haven’t felt in a long time. So after shooing Priti off to her bedroom to finish her studies, I settle in with a blank piece of paper and my pencil in hand, trying to put together a henna design from my head.

It’s hours later when I’m finished, and the page in front of me is filled with patterns of flowers, mandalas, and swirls. A mishmash of things that weirdly seem to work.