Chapter Forty-Two
Dimple hadn’t been able to bring herself to see Saffi while she’d been bedridden.
It reminded her too much of their first meeting, opponents of a war that had felt as important as their entire lives.
This new era they were ushering in demanded a fresh start.
But she’d heard from Julie that Saffi had never once left the hospital.
And so as soon as Dimple was cleared to leave her bed—albeit in a wheelchair—she’d arranged for them to meet in the place she felt was most fitting.
Now their arms pressed together on the roof, a warmth hotter than the sun. Their reunion hadn’t been the one Dimple had been expecting, though, not with the nurse running over Saffi’s foot with Dimple’s wheelchair.
“You should need a license to operate those things,” Saffi had muttered. But then she’d laughed, proving it had all been worth the wait.
They were alone now, though. A cool breeze ruffled Dimple’s hair, sending it flying back.
Production for her film had been put on hiatus, so she didn’t have to worry about that just yet, but there was a chance that Dimple would be left with a memento.
A visible scar on her thigh, her first one.
Much more pressing, however, was Olsen’s trial, which was still set for tomorrow.
Even with all the damning evidence, it would likely last a while.
“What are we supposed to do now?” Saffi said.
Dimple gave her a look. “Anything. You know that.”
“You have your films,” Saffi said. “One day, you’ll be at the Oscars. But what about me? Nobody will ever hire me again after that article—thanks to you, by the way.”
Dimple considered it. “Is that something you would like? To be hired for cases again?”
If it was, then Dimple would find a way to make it happen. But she had a feeling that wasn’t what Saffi truly desired.
Saffi paused to consider. “The most fun I’ve had in years was trying to catch you. But now I don’t know if I have anything I’m passionate about anymore. Not like you do.”
After a moment’s thought, Dimple took her hand. Saffi didn’t protest, but she did watch with furrowed brows. Dimple dropped a tiny paper into her palm. The corner of the note she’d kept from the hotel—the part that simply read -S.
“Have I taught you nothing?” Dimple asked. “There’s nothing you can’t ask for. And nothing you can’t have.” Up here, so high above the bustling city, it seemed especially possible.
Saffi pinched the paper between her fingertips, holding it up to the sky. “Have you ever considered that a universe where we can both be happy at the same time may never exist?”
“Then we’ll build one, together,” Dimple said. “We’ve achieved far more impressive feats.”
Saffi shook her head, looking out over Los Angeles, but she was smiling. “It still weirds me out how much of an optimist you are. I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”
“I didn’t either. You know about my college years,” Dimple reminded her. “This is the most exciting part. Life can take you anywhere from here.”
“It really is.” This time when Dimple turned, it was Saffi who dropped something into her palm.
A torn bit of paper just like Dimple’s, but it read -D instead. From the apology note she’d left Saffi. Traded and then traded back.
“No more setting fires,” Saffi said.
Dimple reached into her pocket, pulling out her lighter.
She’d cleaned it of all traces of blood, but sometimes she was almost certain she’d seen a lingering remnant somewhere along the surface.
Dimple weaved it through her fingers one last time, igniting the flame.
The fire was as beautiful as ever, but Saffi was proof that it wasn’t the only all-consuming thing in this world.
Her aunt and uncle, Irene, Isaac, Mia, Priyal, Atlas. All gone so that Dimple could finally have everything she wanted. With Saffi by her side, there were simply no more fires left to set—nor any left to put out.
“No more running,” she said, holding the lighter over the roof’s edge.
When Saffi nodded, a determined look in her eyes, Dimple finally let go. It soared, but neither of them paid any mind to where it landed. Perhaps, someday, someone else would find it—make better use of it than Dimple had.
This was an end in some ways, but mostly it was a beginning.
The thing about life is that you never know how long someone is going to be a part of yours.
It wasn’t entirely true. From the first day Dimple had met Saffi, she knew that she would be a thorn in her side for a long time to come. Now she was glad for it.
A year ago, Dimple had viewed her life in two parts: before and after her aunt and uncle.
Then, with the addition of Irene and Isaac it split into three.
Now she felt a new fissure begin to form.
And, for once, it wasn’t one created by death.
This one, brought about by Saffi alone, felt like a rebirth.
Dimple didn’t know what was to come. Perhaps the pieces of her life would continuously fissure and break apart and come back together. And perhaps by the end of it, her life would be an endless cracked mosaic of time. But wasn’t that the fun of it?