Published in Amazon’s journal Day One. Issue 2.11. January 2015.

 

Rehana narrowed her eyes. “If it doesn’t matter, why ask?”

Shilpi spent a few moments pouring the dahi sauce and the tamarind sauce into the chickpea-and-potato-stuffed fuchka shells. She pushed the plate of fuchka between them—as ever, offering to share. “I always thought Noureen didn’t like me. I mean, not just Noureen. I was . . . I wasn’t popular. I guess kids do that kind of shit stuff; we grow beyond it. At least I hope we do.”

Rehana stuffed a fuchka in her mouth. The crunch of the shell, the immediate juiciness of the stuffing and the sauces, felt good, but not good enough. She reached for the condiments bowl and loaded all the fuchkas with finely chopped green chili. She looked at Shilpi. “Is this too much? Can you handle it?”