“One thing?” Her voice rises slightly in a way that I don’t hear very often. “Hello?” She waves her hennaed hand in front of my eyes. “Did you not ask me to abandon my studies so you could practice your henna designs? Did I not spend half the morning calming you down in the bathroom at school?”

“I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“Well, I did it. Because that’s what sisters do. But you can’t just expect me to let you use my Instagram all willy-nilly because you don’t have any followers and I do.” She’s waving her hands around wildly as she speaks. I’m afraid that she’ll hit something and smudge the henna that I’ve carefully perfected over the last few hours. I grab her wrist just below where the henna stops.

“Careful.”

She rolls her eyes.

“This is important to me, you know.” My voice is quieter than I mean it to be. It fills the room’s silence in a way I didn’t expect it to. It softens Priti’s eyes.

“I know.” She picks up her phone again. I’m hopeful—even though we’ve just had an argument about it. “And my Instagram is important to me.”

I frown. I know that Priti has spent time cultivating her Instagram page. Her couple thousand followers are her weird pride and joy. I don’t understand it, really, but I’ve never had the natural charm Priti does. I’ve also never had that need to be liked.

“You can’t use my Instagram for this. But … I can help you out with yours. You could start a new one for this whole business you’re going to have. You could share it with Chaewon and Jess. That’ll be better. More professional,” Priti adds after a moment of silence.

It’s a compromise I’m willing to make, so I nod.

“You’ll have to come up with a name, though,” she says. She’s already typing away on her phone.

“Who are you texting?” I make a swipe for her phone. She extends it out of reach.

“Your business partners, Chaewon and Jess, of course,” she says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Of course? How do you even have their phone numbers?” Even though Chaewon, Jess, and I have been friends for the past few years, we aren’t exactly joined at the hips. It’s strange to think of my little sister having a texting relationship with them.

“We have a group chat. We need a way to vent about you,” Priti says, still holding her phone away from me.

“Priti!” I exclaim.

She faces her phone toward me. “You sent them a text through my phone that one time. I’m just asking them if it’s okay for me to set up an Instagram account for you guys. We don’t really talk about you.”