boiling insidelike the oil in her frying pan.

“Don’t use too much,” she said. “Or he’ll be shouting at us.”I liked that she said us, though she didn’t even know my nameyet.

.

There was a bit of coconuthusk that I could use to scrape the dishes clean, and a tin ofpowdered soap.

The smell of roasting chillis tickled my nose

”

Ai-ai-yo!

rickety

.

fording

flood of vehicles and pedestrians.

vise

.

?

k

doubts slithered into my mind.

The conductor looked at me and then at you, and stuck a handin his pocket and pulled out a hard green sweet that had melted outof shape.

I leaped out.You jumped in.

”

“Come, Rukku.”“No.” You dug in your heels.“Rukku, come!” I stepped into the bus.“No, no, no,” you sang out. “No.”

buses to and from the city roared through ourvillage.

.

likesunshine slipping into a dark room

bewildered

It made no senseto me why any God who made us suffer in this life would startcaring for us in the next.

.

But I should have known she’d never tell.

All she’d done was beg. I would never becomelike her, I promised myself. I’d never beg anyone for anything.

I can’t bear seeing you hurt, but how can I stop him?” Shegazed at the pictures of the Gods and Goddesses smiling downserenely from our kitchen wall. As if they’d suddenly leap into lifeand start helping.

taut

”

earthen

.

When he tossed a package in my direction, I didn’t even try tocatch it.

he set packages wrapped in newspaper onthe cracked kitchen counter. “Presents for my girls.”

.

She didn’t finish her sentence. She didn’t need to. She’d told mea million times how scared she was that if you set foot in a hospital,the doctors might lock you away in “a mental institution.”

Talking to you was always easy, Rukku. But writing’s hard.

Appa broke Amma’s arm that night, before storming out of thehouse.

We’d just finished our dinner when we heard Appa’s heavyfootsteps. The sound of him staggering up the stairs to ourapartment told us all we needed to know.

.

payasam

sniggered

our

Imagining Appa “before” took a lot of imagining. I was a goodimaginer, but even so, I couldn’t imagine him all the way nice.

haltingly

Not that you’d care whether it was true or not. For you, thingswere real that the rest of us couldn’t see or hear.When I finished the story, you’d say, “Viji and Rukku together?”“Always.” I was confident.Our togetherness was one of the few things I had faith in.

Not that you’d care whether it was true or not. For you, thingswere real that the rest of us couldn’t see or hear.When I finished the story, you’d say, “Viji and Rukku together?”“Always.” I was confident.Our togetherness was one of the few things I had faith in.

Talking to you was always easy, Rukku. But writing’s hard.“Write her a letter,” Celina Aunty said, laying a sheet of paperon the desk. Paper remade from wilted, dirty, hopeless litter thathad been rescued, scrubbed clean, and reshaped. Even the pencilshe gave me was made from scraps.“You really like saving things, don’t you?” I said.Crinkly lines softened her stern face. “I don’t like giving up,” shesaid.She rested her dark hand, warm and heavy, on my shoulder.“Why should I write?” I said. “It’s not like you have heraddress.”“I believe your words will reach her,” Celina Aunty said.“We’re opposites,” I said. “You believe in everything andeverybody. You’re full of faith.”“Yes,” she said. “But you’re full, too. You’re full of feelings youwon’t share and thoughts you won’t voice.”She’s right about that. I don’t talk to anyone here any more thanI have to. The only person I want to talk to is you, Rukku.Maybe writing to you is the next best thing.If you could read my words, what would you want me to tellyou?I suppose you’d like to hear the fairy tale you’d make me tellevery night we huddled together on the ruined bridge. The story thatbegan with Once upon a time, two sisters ruled a magical land, andended with Viji and Rukku, always together.That story was made up, of course.

Not that you’d care whether it was true or not. For you, thingswere real that the rest of us couldn’t see or hear.When I finished the story, you’d say, “Viji and Rukku together?”“Always.” I was confident.Our togetherness was one of the few things I had faith in.

wilted

Talking to you was always easy, Rukku. But writing’s hard.“Write her a letter