Chapter Twenty-Eight
“Fearless (Taylor’s Version)”
by Taylor Swift
Lucy
There’s something about the way the world looks after a rain shower.
I step out of the hotel, my heels tapping against the damp ground.
Petrichor-scented air wraps itself around me like a humid blanket.
The streetlights shimmer with lingering water droplets, and familiar music plays in the distance. Taylor Swift?
I turn back. No, it’s not coming from the hotel, but, rather, from somewhere outside. I shuffle, weighing my options. I’m exhausted, especially after that talk with Sushant, and I could do with an early night’s sleep. But the music…it’s calling to me. It’s my favorite song.
Maybe I’ll just see what’s going on, then be on my way. I lift the hem of my sparkly pink dress to avoid puddles and walk forward to find the source of the music.
Just up ahead and to the right of the hotel is a fork in the road, leading to a secluded part of the beach.
I’ve been there many times during the day, although not at night.
Maybe there’s a private party happening.
I shouldn’t disturb them. But curiosity gets the best of me, so I take my heels off and walk down the soft, sandy path toward the music.
I stop a few feet ahead of the waves at a table with a plastic covering, probably to shield the books on the table from the rain. To my right is a large Bluetooth speaker playing “Fearless (Taylor’s Version)”; to my left is a cozy tent aglow with bright yellow fairy lights. There’s…nobody here.
This is definitely a romantic surprise somebody planned, and I’m the third wheel about to ruin it.
As I turn to leave, I notice the titles of the books on the table, and my jaw drops.
There are at least twenty paperback copies of romance novels, all of which are inspired by Jane Austen’s books: Match Me If You Can, The Secret Diary of Lizzie Bennet, Austenland…
and Prada, Purrs, and Prejudice sits at the very top.
A sticky note is taped to the front of its cover.
I gulp. Is all of this…for me? Slowly, I uncover the wet plastic, pick up the book, and read the sticky note.
You have bewitched me, body and soul, and I love, I love, I love you. I never wish to be parted from you from this day on.
It’s from Pride it’s so windy here. “Hi,” she says.
“I—you—” I sigh, wishing I could form words. Any sensible words. “What is all this?”
“Exactly what it looks like,” Meera says. She takes a hesitant step forward. “It’s a confession of love…and an apology.”
I’m so stunned by what’s going on that I let her take my hands in hers. They’re cold and clammy, but her touch sparks something buried deep in my heart.
“I’m sorry I tried to sabotage your relationship. I’m sorry I tried to bring you down. I’m sorry I broke your heart. But”—her gaze falls to my mouth—“you know what I’m not sorry for?”
“What?” I ask.
“I’m not sorry I kissed you,” she says. “I’m not sorry that you were my first kiss. I’m not sorry for wanting to kiss you again. And I’m never going to be sorry that I love you.”
I blink back my tears. “I thought you loved Sushant. Not me.”
“I liked him,” Meera agrees. “Sushant was the cute Indian boy next door I had a crush on because I thought he’d be perfect for me.
But you were actually perfect for me. You were my best friend, my…
my soulmate, my favorite person. All the shit I pulled—it was because I couldn’t let you go.
Not because I hated you. In fact, it’s the opposite.
Even after we stopped talking, I never got over you. I never got over us.”
A tear trickles down my cheek, and I let it. “I never got over us, either,” I admit. “But after what I saw that night, how could I possibly trust you again?”
“Honestly? I don’t know.” She bows her head, her grip on my hands loosening. “But if you give me a chance, I promise I’ll earn back your trust. No matter how long it takes. Even if it’s just as friends.”
“Meera…” I look around the beach. “This is all wonderful, but love isn’t about the sweeping grand gestures you see in the movies. It’s about the little things—”
“—like talking about books with you and the club you’re leading. Being by your side when your estranged father wants to get Froyo. And”—she smiles—“giving you the space to vent when you’re sad and crying, even though we’re technically supposed to hate each other. Right?”
I pull my shaking hands away and wipe them on my dress. She’s right. Meera has been a friend to me even when I’ve tried to shut her out. She stuck around on the worst days. It couldn’t have all been for her Plan. Not if she really does…love me.
“I want to do the little things,” she says, “and the big things, and everything in between. I’ll go to Taylor Swift concerts with you and memorize the lyrics to her songs so we can scream them together.
I’ll watch movies with you until two a.m., then hold you while we sleep.
And…and I’ll stand in the closet with you until you’re ready to come out.
” She walks closer, until there’s nothing between us but mere inches, electric with anticipation.
Her voice lowers. “Will you let me, Lucy?”
No matter how much I love books and music, I don’t answer her with words. Instead, I step forward, cup her face with my hands, and kiss her.
Meera
I used to think, years ago, that Appa’s beliefs about soulmates and twin flames were bullshit. He always says you’re tied to the One by an invisible string pulling you to each other again and again despite the odds, that being with them will feel like you’ve finally found home.
Turns out, he’s been right all along.
Lucy’s mouth is soft and warm against mine, her hands tenderly raking along my skin and over my wet dress, and I shiver for a whole other reason. My fingers find their way into her glossy hair, the base of her neck, her lower back. This is home. She is home.
When she pulls away, her eyes are heady; her lips are red and swollen. I don’t need a mirror to know I look the same. “I love you too,” she whispers, swallowing. “And I’m scared.”
I nod. “Me too.”
We head to the table so Lucy can pick a book of her choice. “How long have you been planning this?” she asks as we duck inside the tent and snuggle into the pillows and blankets.
“Couple of weeks.” I smile. “Sushant helped.”
She laughs. “So that’s what his speech was about.”
I rest my head against her shoulder. “I’m also sorry he ended up being a casualty in all this. If it weren’t for me, you two would have ended up together.”
“I’m not so sure,” Lucy admits, wrapping a blanket around us. “The guilt would have always hung over my head, eating me up on the inside. Part of me thinks this—us—was inevitable.”
“I think so too,” I agree. “I was scared you’d see the table and walk away.”
Lucy blushes, her lips grazing the top of my head. “It didn’t even cross my mind. Maybe I’m nosy, or maybe I just love you that much.”
I lift my face, and we kiss. I have nothing else to compare our kissing to, but I can’t imagine it being better with anyone else. Smiling, I pull away and leaf through the book she picked. “Do you want to read something to me?”
Her eyes light up. “Yes!”
Lucy reads out her favorite lines from the Emma-inspired rom-com novel for the next hour, and we steal kisses in between. Sometimes, as she’s reading, her eyes flick toward me, as though she’s making sure I’m listening and I like the book. She’s adorable.
And she’s mine.
By the time she closes the book, it’s just before midnight—almost our curfews.
We pack up, still talking about the book, before heading back.
People mill about the streets, so we maintain some distance.
Our hands graze as we walk and chat about her going to UCLA, my staying here for the café. Every touch makes me want more of her.
“I’m gonna try to visit when I can,” Lucy says, avoiding my gaze. “But long-distance is hard, no matter how big or small the distance is.”
“I’ll visit too,” I promise, squeezing her hand, then letting go as someone cycles past us. “We can make it work.”
She shoots me a small smile. “I really hope so, Meera. I don’t want to lose you again.”
“You won’t,” I assure her. “Now, can we get to my place already so I can kiss you good night?”
Giggling, Lucy leads the way, a skip in her step.