“You’re friends with Malini,” he said, voice lowered. Friends. Was there special emphasis on that word? She wasn’t sure, but she nodded. “Of a kind.” He hummed in acknowledgment. “You’re not very like her,” he said. “That’s all. You’re very—forthright.” Oh, I am like her, thought Priya, even as she said nothing, even as she stared at the opposite bank—at the spindles of distant trees, and the lush fronds dipping into the eddying water. I just wear my anger on the outside.
