A girl in Delhi has a brilliant mind and secrets darker than the nights that won't let her eyes close.
She lives in the Labyrinth, a place that always seems dim, even in the middle of the day. There, customers flock in their dozens, and there, th...
Ucchal fiddles behind her desk with a calculator. She pencils spirals on a sticky note she then pastes on the window, to admire how the sun refracts through the paper and causes the graphite to glisten.
"This way," her assistant instructs someone in the hall.
Ucchal straightens the back of her recliner. "Did I have an appointment, Jacqueline?" she calls out.
Yashvi plonks down in the chair across from her.
"Radnya!" Ucchal moves aside a pile of folders. "No—Yashvi."
The girl nods at the floor, her eyes crusty with crying. She wears a baggy sweatshirt and jeans given her by the social workers.
Ucchal brushes crumbs from lunch off her cardigan. "Want a candy?" She gestures at a bowl of mints next to her stapler.
"I recognize you." The girl's eyes come up, and one of them is crimson, bloodshot.
Ucchal clears her throat. "Laksh told me you might."
Yashvi pulls the loose sleeves of the shirt over her hands. "Where is he?"
"Safe in foster care."
"That's not safe. I want to see him."
"We can arrange that. For now let's get oriented."
Yashvi stirs in her seat, her cheeks glowing like small fires in an otherwise pale face. "Prisha . . . is Prisha . . . ?"
Now it is Ucchal's turn to look down. "Let's take a walk."
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Yashvi lets the rain spritz her. It steams coolly, tender on her skin. She rolls up her sleeves, her arms sprouting goosebumps. Ucchal leads the way across a pothole-dotted avenue, her hair piled in a bun with many grizzled wisps hanging down.
"Mind your feet," she cautions the girl, and construction rumbles all around, enormous scaffolds looming over them. Skeletons of buildings. Ucchal gestures toward a bus stop. She sits under the shelter only after Yashvi does.
The pair observes as cranes lift massive cement cubes into the air.
"Could we go back to the Labyrinth to get my maths textbook?" Yashvi flaps her droopy sleeves, her hands buried deep within.
"How about we get you a new maths textbook?" Ucchal tries.
"It won't be the same. I want my book." Fresh tears brim in Yashvi's eyes. "I want mine."
"I've chased you for months." Ucchal fishes a tissue out of her purse to wipe the girl's tears. "Radnya. Yashvi. Who else are you?"
Yashvi grimaces. "A woman when I have to be, a girl when I can be, yet neither an adult nor a child."
