—77—
In the darkness of the roof of Talwarpur Palace, Tanveer and I stood beneath a January sky and looked at the stars.
The Milky Way ran in her river, and we pointed out constellations to one another.
Venus burned brightest. I leaned into Tanveer’s back.
His arms looped around my torso, and I rested my hands on them.
“We must never let the world part us again, Elsie. Do you promise?”
“I promise.”
“Our work matters, it does. And we have been born in difficult times, but I have come to believe that our individual lives, our loves and hopes and dreams, are just as important. What is the point of all those politics and even books and art, without the individual?”
I thought of the homes destroyed by bombs in London, a kitchen fallen away, the memories lost in the rooms at Herewich, the sketchbooks and paintings lost in the fire of Peter’s despair. I thought of the lovers parted by war and strife all around us, even in this very moment.
And, too, I thought of my tears whenever I saw him again after a long stretch, tears of longing and relief and hope.
I thought of winding his hair for him when he was so broken.
I thought of painting a hundred styles during the years at Slade, seeking the truth of my own heart, and my conviction, always, that this thing between us mattered.
He rested his chin on my hair. “Perhaps it is time we marry at last.”
“Will Kirandeep mind?”
“He will not. Channan prepared him.”
My throat tightened. “Of course she did.”
“Shall we marry, then, meri jaan?”
In the distance, a tiger roared—warning or complaint or perhaps only a comment.
I was transported to another night, so long ago, when we’d spied the tiger over the wall.
I had fantasized a tiger from a storybook, one who would whisk me into a world of wonder.
Instead, when we saw her in the garden, I’d glimpsed her true nature—freer and wilder than I could even comprehend, and the sight of her dead body on that wagon had shown me true sorrow.
So many days had passed since then, some gilded, some wretched.
Such a long, hard path to stand here with Tanveer, not in victory or even peace, but relief.
The hours had left marks on my body, on his.
How much had it cost us, both of us, to create and hold this connection?
How could such a thing, a single union, matter so much in the wildness of the world?
And yet, somehow it did. Somehow, it mattered that we had endured all of it, coming back together again and again and again. I could not say that my love for this particular, singular man had brought more joy than grief into my life. It had not.
But this holy quiet, even with all the shattering, was the truest thing I’d ever known.
“We shall marry,” I said.
He bent and kissed my ear. “At last.”