Meera ran her thumb along the page. "What are we supposed to do with it?"

"Aah to aaha," Ullu said. "That’s the crossing."

The monsoon had finally loosened its grip on the small town of Kaveri. Puddles reflected neon prayer flags and the slow, stubborn sun. Two months after the fireworks at the riverbank, Meera still kept the paper crane that Rafi had folded for her—crisp at the edges, soft in memory.