Chapter 27
Aashiq spends the night lying next to me.
Usually when it’s time for me to go to sleep, he disappears, but after our kiss, he stretches out on my bed, and I crawl in next to him.
It’s a tight fit, so we cuddle close. We face each other, our fingers intertwined.
Every now and then, he presses his lips to the back of my hand, and a thrill races through my stomach.
I use my finger to lazily trace his cheekbone.
We don’t speak; we just savor the quiet.
He falls asleep first, which is surprising because I didn’t even think he needed sleep. His top lashes gently kiss the spot under his eyes. His nose twitches every now and then, but he’s mostly relaxed. He doesn’t even move much as he rests.
Lying here, staring at him, I realize I could write about Aashiq forever.
About the single dimple in his cheek, which dips when he smiles.
The slit in his eyebrow that I fight the urge to press my fingertip into.
His belly laughs, a mix of wheezing and snorting.
How his lean figure looks best in black turtlenecks and long brown coats.
His curly russet hair, untamed but adorable.
How his blue-green eyes shimmer like the open sea, vast and endless and filled with adventure.
Eventually, though, I do fall asleep. When I wake up, it’s not to an alarm, but to the aroma of sizzling chicken strips slipping under the space under my closed door.
It’s Saturday, so I don’t have to go into work.
I push the blankets off, and cold instantly seeps into my skin.
I grab my plushy blue bathrobe and slip it on before stepping out into the hallway.
I head to the kitchen, where Aashiq is preparing breakfast. His back is to me, and he’s wearing Emily’s apron again.
He expertly dices tomatoes, which he adds to a bowl of spinach, mushrooms, and beaten eggs.
His appearance suddenly flickers, as if the outline of his form is glitching.
It’s so brief, and it’s gone in the next blink, but I swear it happened.
I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head.
It was probably a trick of the light, which streaks in through the window and bathes Aashiq in a golden glow.
I refocus on him as he continues about the kitchen.
My heart swells, and my lips tingle at the memory of his kiss.
With quiet steps, I walk over and rest my cheek against his spine, sliding my arms around his abdomen.
Aashiq stiffens for a moment at the sudden contact, but he relaxes when he realizes it’s me.
He glances over his shoulder, and his face is softer than the midmorning sunlight. “What are you doing?”
“It’s warm,” I answer simply, burrowing into the hollow spot between his shoulder blades. I close my eyes and inhale his sweet scent of leather and lavender. “It’s nice to have something warm to snuggle with when it’s cold.”
I hear the humor in his voice as he responds, “Don’t you mean some one ?”
“I’m snuggling with your back,” I reply. “Your back is a thing.”
“You know there’s a person attached to this back. I’m not just someone who cooks you breakfast in the morning.”
I push onto my tiptoes and kiss the spot behind his ear. A shiver wracks his body, and red fills his neck. My grin grows as I set my jaw on top of his shoulder. “I very much appreciate the person you are in and out of the kitchen,” I assure him.
Aashiq switches the stove off and turns around, but he moves in a way so I don’t have to drop my arms. He loops his own arms around my waist. “Did you sleep okay?”
“Better than I have in months,” I hum dreamily. “ Especially because I didn’t have to get up at five a.m. for a run.”
“Well, I thought I’d cut you a little slack for once,” Aashiq says. “You’ve been working very hard lately. You deserved a break.”
“Did I, now?” I shift my arms from his back to around his neck, hooking my hands together. “And how exactly are we going to take advantage of this break?”
Aashiq taps my nose. “Nice try,” he teases. “I gave you a break for just last night. Today, we’re having breakfast and then getting back to work.”
My lower lip sticks out. “Aww, come on! It’s Saturday. We should go out and do something fun.” I raise a brow. “You know, the thing you’re convinced I don’t know how to have?”
“Hey, you changed my mind about having no fun after you danced on top of a fountain in the snow,” he corrects. “You’re lucky you didn’t get hypothermia from that, by the way.”
I probably would have if I hadn’t immediately jumped into a hot shower and wrapped myself up in three layers of blankets when I got home. “Well, I was thinking something less extreme.”
“Like what?”
“My parents always get me tickets to the symphony orchestra for my birthday, and the show is tonight,” I explain.
“They’re playing a tribute to Taylor Swift.
I usually go with Emily, but I’m sure she won’t mind if I take you instead.
She’ll be happy to have a couple of hours to herself in the apartment.
” I tap his shoulder. “It can be our first date.”
“The orchestra? Oh, I’d love to go!” Excitement shines in his eyes, but hesitation cracks the lining of his face. “But we really should…” He bites his lip.
I frown. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
Aashiq quickly schools his expression. “Nothing,” he says.
He tightens his grip on my waist. “I think it sounds like a lovely first date. Now…” He drops his arms and twists his torso toward the stove, and my arms fall to my sides.
He plates the omelets and chicken strips.
“Let’s have some breakfast, and then you can work on your outline. ”
I accept the plate from him, but I can’t help but replay the concern in his face. It wasn’t there for long, but something about it felt wrong. Still, I let it go, because I have a date tonight.
* * *
Nowadays, it’s not a requirement to dress up for the orchestra.
But given that I don’t have many opportunities to put on super fancy dresses, I always go all out.
Earlier this year, I found a cute dress while doing a little online retail therapy after a particularly brutal agent rejection, and I knew I had to wear it to the next orchestra I attended.
It’s a deep burgundy, with an A-line form and a scoop neck.
Buttons line the bust, from the neckline to the spot just above my waist. It has half sleeves that puff at the shoulders, so my arms might be cold, but I fix the problem with a soft white shawl.
Plus, the material is velvet, so it’ll keep me warm.
The dress falls to my ankles, and I slip on a pair of gold heels.
I do two small braids on either side of my head, then curl the rest of my hair gently at the bottom to create small waves—a difficult task when your hair falls to just below your jaw, but I make it work.
For my makeup, I apply a shimmery gold against a soft burgundy, followed by a swipe of eyeliner and a couple coats of mascara.
I pat a bit of pink onto my mouth, then go over it with a gloss.
I finish the ensemble with a pair of gold hoops.
Aashiq wears a white collared shirt, black dress pants, and a suit jacket, accessorized with a tie that matches my dress. His loose curls, normally free to be as wild as they wish, are tamed for the evening. He’s fingered some gel into his hair, making the curls tighter and more stylish.
Once we’re ready, we head to the theater. Aashiq’s eyes widen as we walk through the entrance. “ Wow ,” he breathes.
I can’t help my giggle. White chandeliers hang from the high ceilings, and the way the light reflects the crystals gives them the glow of the first snowfall.
Carpeted red-wine-colored stairs lead to a second level, where patterns of arching swirls line the gold rails.
Marble covers the walls and makes up the pillars under the second floor.
The place is decked out for the holidays, so there’s a decorated Christmas tree in every corner, alternating between traditional green and pure white.
Some gold and red baubles have already been plucked by unsupervised children, who play toss with them.
One of my favorite things about the theater is the wide array of people you find here.
There’s an elderly couple dressed to the nines; the man wears a proper tuxedo complete with a coattail, while the woman’s white feather boa nicely complements her long silver dress, which shimmers from the reflection of the lights.
But there’s also a young couple in jeans and plain shirts.
A teenage boy in a puffy parka with red ears and a runny nose barely looks up from his phone as he follows his parents, whose formal wear is almost funny in comparison to the sloppy appearance of their son.
In the corner, near one of the white Christmas trees, two little girls with bows in their hair chase each other, their tiny shoes tapping along the floor like a choreographed dance.
I store all these little details in my head. Usually, I only paid enough attention to the world to pluck small pieces of information to use for books. But now it’s like my eyes are wide open, and every tiny thing around me is bright and ripe for the taking.
“I didn’t know you liked to come to the orchestra,” Aashiq comments as we enter the theater to find our seats. My parents always splurge for the most expensive tickets, so we’re right at the front where the musicians are set up.
“I wouldn’t have expected you to know,” I say, shuffling down the aisle to our seats in the middle. “After all, you’ve only been out in the world for a short time.”
“I know, I know,” Aashiq says.
We sit down, and I unwrap my shawl from around my shoulders.
“So,” he asks, “what do you enjoy so much about the orchestra, anyway?”