* * *

Karina felt a disquieting discomfort that first week as she wandered around campus, trying to wean herself from the map folded in her pocket. She expected to meet more people once classes started, but after every class, everyone scattered like the marbles she and Prem used to play with. They’d lie on their bellies in the family room and line up marbles in their sights before taking a shot. It seemed improbable that she missed Prem even more now, four years later, and yet she longed to share what she was experiencing with her little brother, whose face she envisioned with its shadow of facial hair lining his upper lip. It brought her some consolation to picture him accompanying her across campus, as she imagined how she would describe everything to him. She saw him at the end of her bed with a book when she studied, his gangly thirteen-year-old legs bumping into hers. He might not have understood what she was going through, but it still would have brought her comfort to tell him. Who else could she tell about her renewed sorrow? The only thing more unbearable than suffering alone was the idea of having to share it with one of her parents, where it would multiply.

Even with a hefty scholarship, Stephanie was working both on and off campus to pay her way through college, and she only came back to their room late at night. Karina got into the habit of waiting up for her to return from her second job at a Chinese buffet restaurant near campus.

“By the end of my shift, I can’t stand the smell of that food anymore, but hey, it’s free.” Stephanie smiled as she unwrapped cartons full of white rice and plain noodles, which she proceeded to transform with ingredients brought from home. They sat together in the common kitchen of their dormitory, slurping bowls of soup made with rich chicken bouillon, canned beans and dried chilies.

“I don’t know how you do it, working so hard all the time,” Karina said. After their shared late-night meals, Stephanie would often stay up studying after Karina went to bed.

Stephanie scooped a spoonful of brothy rice into her mouth and shrugged. “I’m used to it. I’ve worked since I was fourteen.” She wiped her mouth with a paper towel. “I’d rather work harder now than take on a lot of debt, you know?” Stephanie spoke about her mother, who cleaned houses, her father in construction, and her two little brothers, who aspired to be a soccer player and an Air Force pilot. As her roommate described caring for her younger brothers, Karina almost mentioned Prem, but something held her back. Stephanie made her brothers quesadillas after school and helped them with math. She was responsible. She was good.

One night, Karina surprised Stephanie by cooking up a batch of rice noodles from the restaurant with Indian spices and ghee that her mother had insisted on packing for her over Karina’s protests that she’d have nowhere and no reason to cook on campus. The noodles were edible, but not tasty. The more spices Karina tried to add, the more muddled the flavor became, until they both had raw throats and running noses.