She made her way back to the treehouse, picking mint leaves on the way and chewing on them to freshen her breath. She passed by a burst of sweet rosemary and plucked some sprigs to press onto her wrists, inhaling the lovely scent.
As Bisma walked home, she ran her hand along the wildflowers—pink, purple, orange, yellow, and blue—touching her hand to the soft petals. Sunlight shone through the leaves from above, highlighting all the brilliant colors.
Every bit of the Forest was overgrown and alive, not like the neat squares of grass in the villagers’ estates. She had been horrified the first time she saw the villagers of Old Town mercilessly cutting away at the earth’s natural beauty.
Finally, Bisma made it home. She looked up at the treehouse, hearing the chaos from outside. She climbed up the winding stairs and entered the main area of their home, which was decorated with cushions in various colors, pitchers filled with flowers, hanging pots and pans, and shelves lined with mismatched teacups and plates.
‘Morning!’ Bisma said.
All the commotion inside the house stopped.
It was silent for a half a heartbeat, then they all exploded with noise. Six girls shrieked and cried out and tackled her with hugs. Bisma kissed each of her sisters.
‘Happiest of birthdays, angel,’ Baji said. She held Deeba in one arm, then came to hug Bisma with her other. Bisma hugged her close, and Deeba wrapped her little arms around their necks, squeezing both of them.
‘Do you like the dress?’ Azalea asked, brown eyes lit up with excitement.
‘Let’s play!’ Nori cried. Her thin, wiry frame jumped up and down, upending her already messy hair.
‘Finally, you’re here,’ Luna said, exhaling dramatically. ‘I amstarving.’
‘Breakfast is ready!’ Mei said, pointing to the picnic baskets. ‘Just need to pack the tea and milk.’ She went to the kitchen, where water was boiling on the stove.
‘Tch, Mei, leave it,’ Baji said. ‘Azalea, go help her.’
Azalea rolled her eyes, tossing her brown hair aside. ‘I made Bisma’s dress! I think I’ve done enough.’
Baji gave her a stern look, but Azalea was hardly fazed.Twelve-year-olds.
‘It’s alright, Baji, I can do it,’ Mei said. She was a thin girl with straight, jet-black hair that was cut short, skimming her chin. Since her hair was so silky, it was hard to do much with it, which was why she loved doing her sisters’ hair.
‘You’ve been cooking since the morning,’ Bisma said, going over to help Mei. ‘Besides, I need you to do my hair.’
‘Hey, I helped with breakfast, too!’ Luna complained. Bisma sat down on the wood floors so Mei could do her hair and Luna came and sat across from Bisma, dark brown eyes sparkling. She had a beauty mark next to her lip, and her hair was a deep honey color. ‘Haru said not to overwork the batter when you make scones.’
Bisma bit back a laugh. Luna took every opportunity to bring up the baker’s son, her latest crush. At fifteen, Luna had a new crush every few months.
‘I helped Baji with the jam!’ Nori said, bouncing over and dropping into Bisma’s lap.
‘Oof,’ Bisma said, as Nori elbowed her in the gut. Bisma played with the five-year-old’s hair, straightening the blonde curls into something resembling neatness.
None of the girls looked similar; they were all different. The closest in likeness were Bisma and Deeba, who both had deep brown skin, but Deeba was a shade darker, and her features weredifferent to Bisma’s. Nori had pale white skin, while Azalea had a tawny skin tone, and Mei’s was more of a fawn. Luna had olive-colored skin, and Eva’s was dark chestnut.
‘She really did help with the jam,’ Baji said, coming over with little Deeba, who waddled on her own feet.
‘Remind me, who made Bisma’s dress?’ Azalea added pointedly, squeezing in beside Bisma to run a hand along the fabric of her outfit.
‘Thank you,’ Bisma said. ‘It’s perfect.’
Azalea beamed with self-satisfaction. The girls all sat together as Mei finished styling Bisma’s hair. Afterwards, Bisma looked in the mirror, and she saw her own dark eyes fill with joy.
‘It’s beautiful, Mei,’ Bisma said. ‘Thank you.’
Small tendrils framed her face, but the rest of it was pulled back, and Mei had wrapped the braid with a few strings of motia, the little white flowers a stark and striking contrast against Bisma’s dark hair. Coupled with the small gold baliyan Bisma always wore on her ears and the freshly dark mehndi on her hands, she looked fit to go to a ball.
‘It really does look so pretty,’ Azalea said. She batted her eyelashes at Mei. ‘Do mine, too?’
‘Can weeat?’ Luna asked, clutching her stomach. ‘Haru says the scones are always best when they’re fresh.’
