Though the worlds we partially inhabit are anchored in time, we aren’t. Time moves forward for these worlds, but we remain stranded at the age we were when we accepted the stars we wear on the palms of our hands. In other words, our bodies do not age, though our minds do. If you want to call this immortality, you are welcome to.

Talei ignores everyone in the cramped living room and opens up all the windows Daraja hasn’t gotten to. The noon song of the city pours in, and for a minute, we sit quietly and listen.

Cities have souls, you know. They are alive and sometimes they die. They grow old either gracefully or shamefully. They shrink and they expand. They grieve and celebrate. We have been to many cities in the world. We have learned the languages they speak, and though we cannot speak these languages, we have learned to listen and understand.

Lautoka City, or as it is known among the locals, Sugar City, is full of verve. Not the verve you’ll find in, say, New York, but an island excitement. A molasses-slow excitement. The air is heavy with the smell of, yes, exhaust, but also sugar. The sugar mills are hard at work on one end of the city. The magic here is thin and patchy, though. Bigger cities, older cities, have stronger magic.

We breathe deep of the sweet air and let the excitement in it infect us. We are here for the festival after all.

“Mangoes,” Paheli announces suddenly. “I must have mangoes.”

“I’m sorry to break it to you”—though by the sharp grin on Talei’s face, she’s really not—“it’s not mango season.”

“Well.” Paheli illustrates her disappointment by sitting down on the floor beside Kamboja.

“Get up.” Valentina nudges her with her foot. “We have to go get some money.”

“Oh. I suppose I can find ice cream along the way.” Paheli perks up and gets to her feet. Her cloud of light pink hair is tied up tightly in a bun. “Who is coming with us?”

Daraja and Talei elect to accompany her while the rest of us pick up the supplies from under the sink and give the apartment the cleaning it desperately needs.

We have been to Lautoka City enough times that her streets are, if not home, then familiar to us. It is late afternoon, and the city is gaining an emptiness that is normal for her. Soon, stores will start closing up, and the night will find the city ready to sleep. Of course, not all stores close. Some, especially those that serve food and offer other entertainment, remain open till late. The only bus station in the city is open for service until six p.m. You are on your own after that.