“So you don’t eat fish?” Rylee asks, leaning forward on the log.

“I don’t eat fish. I already told you,” Ravi rejects, leaning away and making a face.

Minnows swim around their bare feet, tickling the soles as they dart around, hiding. Rylee smiles, watching them play.

“I don’t like fish much either. Once we went to this buffet, super expensive and shit. I found a glassy eyeball in the fish meat. Black- silver on the back.”

“You did what?” Ravi says, turning to Rylee, laughing but also a little weirded out.

“I mean… I didn’t eat it. But I have an uncle who ate the eye- well this was a crawfish eye. Solid black,” Rylee shrugs.

“Gross.”

“That’s what I thought.”

The sun warms their backs as they sit, enjoying the day. Rylee had come to India to see Ravi’s hometown. She liked it so far. India is a beautiful place.

Rylee had done a wonderful job of only snapping at four people. She hasn’t punched anyone… yet. So she gives herself a pat on the back for that.

Minus the stares people give her as she walks down the streets with Ravi, she likes it. Especially being with him and seeing everything- his town and home, where he grew up. It makes her feel special, like he’s a green goblin sharing his gold.

Ravi’s friends speak in broken English and flourishing Hindi. Rylee likes to sit down beside Ravi and listen- although she hasn’t a clue what they’re talking about. Ravi often waves his hand when Rylee asks, and tells her it’s “grown up talk”.

Which is bullshit since Ravi is only three years older. Either way, Rylee pouts and stares at the nearest boy until he blushes and looks away. It’s a game of hers. Make them scared and uncomfortable, then grin about it.

She thinks the boys are talking about her with the way they laugh and smile at her while talking to Ravi. Like they’re sharing a secret. Her nosy side hates that.

Sometimes she hears them say, “bahen”. Which is Hindi for sister…. She thinks.

Still- Rylee loves India. She might even abandon America for it. It’d be awesome to write and distribute her books from India. After all, a white girl walking the streets of India is bound to catch an eye or two.

While Rylee ponders the thought of India, Ravi takes her hand and leads her back into town where he’s prepared a wonderful dish of rice- that Rylee has agreed to try.

If, that is, he tries it first. Ravi is truly a horrible cook. And when someone tells you; “I’ve never even cooked this before. How much rice does it say?” And you say: “I can’t read it, Ravi… remember?” Then it’s best if the cook tries his masterpiece first.

“Don’t die though. I don’t know Hindi all the way,” Rylee says as Ravi shovels rice and spices into his mouth.

He makes a face, spitting out the food and turning away, “I don’t think I can either. I didn’t follow the instructions, that’s for sure.”

Rylee picks up a piece. “Last time I remember rice never crunched.”

“What?”

“Your rice? It’s crunchy. It’s hard.”

“What?”

“Did you cook the rice?”

He laughs, “It didn’t say cook rice. It said add a cup of rice. I’m not stupid!”

“You didn’t cook the rice?”

“No!”

“Ravi…”

“What? What?!”

Rylee holds in her laugh. “You cook the rice first. Then you boil the vegetables. Then you make the sauce in another!”

“It didn’t say that. It literally says, ‘add in the rice’,” Ravi looks over at the pot. “You don’t know Hindi.”

“Just… let me do the cooking. Alright?”