THE RAMPARTS
YUVAAN
I've spent far too much time deciding where to bring her.
Every place I think of feels wrong somehow.
The palace gardens are beautiful, but too polished.
The private dining room feels like something arranged for visiting dignitaries.
The lakeside reminds me too much of this afternoon, and I refuse to let fear steal another place from us.
I discard one idea after another until, eventually, I stop trying so hard. The answer had been waiting for me all along.
There isn't another place in this palace that belongs to us the way those old stone walls do.
I ask the staff to string warm fairy lights along the parapet, just like they used to during festivals when we were children. Tiny golden bulbs wind along the ancient stone, soft enough that they don't compete with the stars but bright enough to make the whole place glow.
The food I carry up myself. No servants. No silver cloches. Just the things I remember making her happiest. Roasted corn brushed with butter and spices. A paper cone filled with masala peanuts. Fresh fruit.
A proper dinner because she still has a habit of pretending snacks count as meals, and I'm no longer willing to let that argument go uncontested.
And, tucked carefully into the basket, a flask of chai made exactly the way she likes it.
Not too sweet. Hot enough to warm her hands.
Not hot enough to burn her tongue because she's always impatient and drinks it too quickly.
By the time everything is ready, dusk has begun settling over Devgarh.
I hear footsteps on the staircase a few minutes later.
I look up. She's standing at the top. For a second she doesn't move.
Her gaze drifts over the lights . . . the blanket .
. . the basket . . . Then slowly back to me.
One hand rises to cover her mouth. Her eyes widen with something that looks dangerously close to tears. "You didn't . . . "
A smile tugs at my mouth. "I did."
I cross the last few steps toward her and offer my hand. She's climbed these stairs hundreds of times. She doesn't need help. I simply want an excuse to hold her hand. "We used to disappear up here every weekend," I say.
"If memory serves." She slips her hand into mine. Warm. Familiar.
"Soaked in rain half the time." I help her over the final step anyway.
"You remember correctly." She looks around slowly, taking everything in.
The lights reflected in her eyes make them look even softer somehow.
"I always thought this place belonged to us.
" Her fingers trail lightly over the old stone wall.
"The rest of the palace belonged to everyone else.
" She smiles to herself. "There were rules everywhere. But not here."
I laugh. "Mostly because nobody bothered climbing all these stairs to look for us."
"Oh, they looked." She gives me a knowing glance. "They just gave up after the third time."
I shake my head. "You knew exactly what you were doing when you dragged me up here that first afternoon."
"I absolutely did." She doesn't even pretend otherwise.
"You already walked around looking like someone's disappointed grandfather.
" I stare at her. She grins shamelessly.
"You were so serious. So proper. So painfully responsible.
" She laughs. "I decided somebody had to teach you how to waste an afternoon. "
"You succeeded." I lower myself onto the blanket. "My tutors complained for an entire week."
She settles beside me, folding her legs underneath herself. "Your tutors complained about me for nearly ten years."
"They really did."
"They blamed me for everything."
"They weren't entirely wrong."
She pops a peanut into her mouth with unmistakable satisfaction. Something about the sound of her laughter settling into the evening air makes something inside me finally unclench.
I spent seven years remembering that laugh. It's different hearing it beside me instead of inside my head. We eat slowly.
No rush.
No schedule waiting for either of us. Below us, Devgarh slowly begins to glow as lights appear one window at a time across the town.
Above us, the sky slips lazily from orange into violet, then deeper blue. The first stars begin appearing. I should probably be looking at the view. Instead, I find myself watching her. The breeze lifts loose strands of hair away from her face.
She tilts her head back to watch the sky, completely unaware she's smiling. It's such a small smile.
Not bright.
Not dramatic.
Just . . . peaceful.
Like happiness is finally becoming something her body remembers instead of something she's cautiously borrowing. I don't think I've ever seen anything more beautiful.
After a while I clear my throat. "Tell me something." She looks at me. "Something I don't know."
Her eyebrows lift. "You know almost everything."
"I doubt that." I pour chai into the shared steel cup and hand it to her. "Tell me about Mumbai."
She grows quiet. I watch the familiar hesitation arrive. Not fear exactly. Just a habit. Choosing carefully. Deciding what she's ready to hand me. After a long moment she smiles faintly. "There was a woman who lived downstairs." Her fingers curl around the warm cup. "Kamla Aunty."
"She'd lost her husband years before."
"She barely had enough for herself."
"And somehow..."
"...she still managed to feed half the neighbourhood."
She laughs softly.
"I still don't understand how."
"She could make one onion last three meals."
"One tomato became an entire curry."
"I learned more about cooking from her tiny kitchen than I ever learned anywhere else."
Her smile turns gentler. "When I worked late shifts..."
"...she'd keep Sara with her."
"No questions."
"No money."
"She'd just wave me out the door and tell me to go earn my salary."
Her eyes drift toward the town below. "I never really thanked her."
"I left so quickly."
"I always thought..." She shrugs. "One day I'll go back."
"I'll find her."
"I'll tell her how much she mattered." I don't even have to think.
"We'll find her." She looks at me. Properly looks. "I'll have someone start looking this week."
The surprise on her face makes me smile. "You really don't have to solve every problem the moment I mention it."
"I know." I reach for her free hand. Turn it gently over mine.
My thumb brushes over the small rough patch near the base of her fingers.
The callus catches slightly against my skin.
Years of work. Years she carried alone. "I don't do it because I have to.
" I meet her eyes. "I do it because I want to. "
She doesn't answer. She just watches our hands for a long moment. Then, quietly . . . She shifts closer. Until her shoulder brushes mine. Another inch. Then she rests her head against me. The movement is so natural it steals my breath anyway.
I don't move.
I barely breathe.
I'm irrationally afraid that if I do, she'll change her mind. Instead I simply let myself feel the weight of her resting there.
Home.
"I used to imagine something like this." Her voice is muffled lightly against my shoulder. "Not this exactly." She smiles to herself. "I was never brave enough to imagine details."
"It felt too dangerous."
"But..." She exhales. "I used to think..."
"...one day..."
"...maybe we'd sit somewhere."
"No palace."
"No expectations."
"No one needing anything from us."
"Just..." She laughs quietly. "...peace."
I kiss the top of her head. "It was never a foolish thing to want."
"It just took us an unnecessarily long time to get here." She laughs.
"The longest route imaginable."
"Oh."
I nod solemnly. "We excelled at taking the scenic route."
She laughs harder this time. The sound vibrates softly against my chest. And I decide, not for the first time, that I would spend the rest of my life trying to hear that exact laugh again.
We fall into comfortable silence. The fairy lights sway gently in the evening breeze.
Somewhere below us a temple bell rings. The stars multiply overhead until the sky is crowded with them.
I don't remember the last time I sat somewhere doing absolutely nothing.
I understand now why ten-year-old Anamika insisted on teaching me.
Eventually she lifts her face. I look down at exactly the same moment. She's already watching me.
No walls.
No hesitation.
Just that soft, searching look that's become more familiar over the last few weeks. I brush one loose strand of hair behind her ear. She doesn't look away. Neither do I. I lean in slowly, giving her every chance to close the distance herself. She does. Our lips meet gently.
There isn't any urgency. No desperation.
No fear that the moment might disappear if we don't hold onto it tightly enough.
Just quiet certainty. A kiss that feels less like beginning something...
and more like finally arriving somewhere we'd been walking toward for years.
My hand slides carefully to her cheek. Warm beneath my palm.
She sighs softly into the kiss, and I swear I can feel every silent year between us dissolving a little more with each heartbeat.
When we finally part, neither of us goes very far. Her forehead rests against mine.
Her breath fans lightly across my lips. She smiles. Small. Content. "Best first date I've ever had." She giggles and a chuckle escapes me. "It's also the only first date I’ve ever had."
I laugh again and wrap an arm around her shoulders, pulling her comfortably against my side. She comes willingly. We stay there without another word.
Watching the stars.
Listening to the wind.
The lights overhead swaying lazily against the old stone walls that had once belonged to two children hiding from the world . . . and now belonged to two people who had finally found their way back to each other.