Ishu looks down at the bottom of her kameez, like she has forgotten what she’s wearing. She tugs at the rose-gold hem. “Thanks … I like yours too.”
She looks up and finally catches my eye. I can’t help the smile that appears on my lips. She returns it. Then we descend into a silence that seems only for the two of us, a quiet pocket within the usual bustling noise of a Bengali dawat.
“It’s a little—” I begin, at the same time that Ishu mumbles, “How was—” We both cut ourselves short, catching each other’s eyes again. I feel a familiar knot in my stomach, and there’s nothing uncomfortable about it. And I know that I have to ask Ishu about the guide. About her sister. No matter how much I don’t want to.
Aparna Aunty calls Ishu away to help with setting the table, and pretty soon all the chatter is interrupted by Aparna Aunty calling us to dinner. She’s laid the table with so many different types of food that there’s no empty spaces on it at all. On one side, there’s a pot of biryani—the aroma coming off of it absolutely divine. Surrounding the biryani is chicken korma, and lamb curry. On the other side of the table, there’s white rice, surrounded by mixed vegetable curry and fish cutlet. In the middle of the table, there’s a plate of shorisha ilish—this has always been Aparna Aunty’s specialty. Amma can definitely make shorisha ilish, but not in the way that Aparna Aunty can. Even the look of the fish sitting in the golden mustard paste is heavenly.
The food tastes even better than it looks. Almost as soon as I’m finished eating, Ishu grabs my hand and pulls me up the stairs.
“I hate dawats,” she mumbles under her breath.
“Well, the food is always good,” I say. Ishu raises a questioning eyebrow but I don’t think she should question how good her mom’s shorisha ilish tastes.
She opens up the door to her bedroom, and almost as soon as the two of us are through it I hear the click of the lock behind us. It’s not like we haven’t been alone in her bedroom, or in my bedroom, before. But for some reason, now the thought of us here together in a locked room makes my heart beat a million times faster than usual.
“It’s just so the kids can’t come in,” Ishu explains.
“Yeah … that’s what I figured,” I say. “You’re pretty obsessive over everything being organized.” I cast a sweeping look over her bedroom. It’s pristine. “How is this cleaner than the last time I was here? There aren’t even any books on your desk.” If I didn’t know this was Ishu’s room, I’d be doubtful anyone lived in it.
“I wasn’t going to let the guests see a messy bedroom.” Ishu’s voice sounds a little insecure. Like she really thinks she’s capable of having a messy bedroom.
“Because Uncles and Aunties love coming to scope out your bedroom?”
She shrugs and settles onto her bed. There’s so much space beside her, but I hesitate before finally sitting myself down at the farthest end of the bed, as far away from Ishu as I can get without making it weird. Though from the way Ishu glances at me, I’m pretty sure things are already weird enough between us.
Time seems to slow down as the two of us sit there. It’s deathly silent, though we can hear the hum of voices floating up from downstairs.
Finally, after what feels like hours, Ishu turns her whole body toward me, a frown etched into her face.
“So, are we going to talk about what’s bothering you?” she asks.
My heart stops, and I glance up. I can only meet her gaze for a moment before looking down once more, at the bright blue of her duvet cover. She’s given me the opening to ask about her sister and the guide, but the words feel clogged in my throat. “Nothing … nothing’s bothering me.”
Ishu heaves a sigh and the bed creaks with the weight of it. “This should have been one of the rules in our guide, right? What to do if our fake dating leads to … awkwardness?”
I glance up once more to see Ishu looking up at her ceiling like something up there will have the answer to her question. Does she really not know?
“Something … happened.” The words slip out of me. For a moment, I’m not sure I’m the one who’s said them. But then Ishu looks at me with curiosity written on her face and I know that I have. “Your sister.
Curiosity turns into confusion on Ishu’s face, and she scoots forward. “My sister?” Did she … do something?”
“I thought you knew,” I say, but the more I speak the more sure I am that Ishu didn’t break any of the rules. Ishu didn’t tell her sister. She didn’t share our guide with her. “I was looking at our Google Doc a few days ago, and … your sister was on it. She … has access to it.”