One Saturday, in March, Jack told Pranthi he was going up on the roof.
"You should come," he said. "It's cool. There are things to block the wind and the sun is warm."
Pranthi put on the fur lined hoodie and took the elevator with him to the top floor. Jack helped her up the stairs to the roof, his arm warm around her waist. She didn't need his help, but didn't mind it either.
In the brief time since he tried to steal her gear, he'd become important to her. Nothing romantic, something more important. Jack didn't ignore her legs, or make her only about them. They were just part of her. As she considered their friendship, Pranthi thought again how Jack might have been the age of her brother if he still lived.
She wasn't going there today. Her brother, whether alive or dead, was a sorrow
