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As babes, you toddling with the cleaver, your Ma yelling. As fresh pupils, you whispering the answer, us caned by Sister Adele. As fourth graders, you taunting Bhavani-the-Bully who gave us horsey bites that stung for days. As first formers, you daring us to drink our chemistry experiment leading to a glorious sickie together watching Rage, our hands thigmotropic on the couch. As third formers, you passing the joint to me, us semi-comatose on the rug, a flash of your caramel-soft midriff. Yesterday, me finally finding your lips with mine: you finally finding a line you wouldn’t cross. --- Sumitra Singam is a queer, neurodiverse Malaysian-Indian-Australian coconut who writes in Naarm/Melbourne. She’ll be the one in the kitchen making chai (where’s your cardamom?). You can find her and her other publication credits on Bluesky: @pleomorphic2 & sumitrasingam.squarespace.com