Priya rolled up with takeout and this vibe that somehow made me feel gently roasted but, like, in the best way. Rice, greens, grilled chicken, plus a sauce packet she absolutely would not budge on. We camped at that tiny window table in the middle of my fabric mess and turned my dreaded email into a perfectly polite, can’t-misinterpret reply. Seriously, she’s so rude being that helpful. Also—why is being cared for without even trying to be so unexpectedly sweet? It’s almost unfair.

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