Summer 2017, we meet at my grandmother's house in Goa, brown limbs exposed and mango juice dripping down our elbows. I have never seen anyone more beautiful. I tell her, "I will stay with you here forever." "I know," she replies, unaware of how strongly I feel. Six years later, I go to her wedding with a bouquet of cheap flowers and a greeting card. "Congratulations," I say, but we know I actually mean "goodbye." She gives me her mango stained smile. "Thank you for coming!" she says. "Are you thinking of getting married?" "Yes," I say. "Yes," I lie. --- Maya Ribeiro