“I can’t believe we’re having this kind of conversation like this,” Priya said eventually. “Like what?” “With you clinging to me.” “I’m not clinging,” Malini said. “Really?” “‘Clinging’ doesn’t sound very dignified.” Malini’s voice was faintly disgruntled. Even through her fear—even through everything—Priya felt a lance of fondness. Priya placed her hand around Malini’s wrist. Maybe Malini thought Priya wanted to untangle them from each other, because her grip tightened, nails against the skin of Priya’s belly, cloth scrunched tightly in her hand. “If I can’t hold on to you, then I can hold on
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