Incense and Sensibility (The Rajes #3) - Sonali Dev Page 0,118
and pointed the flashlight at the rocky cliff they had sat on. It was the end of the trail, a spot from which you got a bird’s-eye view of the Raje estate, his childhood home, with all of Woodside wrapped around it like a too-expensive blanket. She had expected to see his form silhouetted against the perfectly round moon.
He wasn’t there.
How could this be? “Where are you, Yash?” she whispered into the darkness. “Where are you?”
“India?” He sat up. He’d been lying on his back on the rock, legs swinging over the cliff.
A sob escaped her, relief, so much relief, and so much love for this man who was here, feeling alone in the world. Because of her. Because doing the right thing meant something to him. His eyes hitched on her and his shoulders slumped.
Going to him, she dropped down on the rock next to him and crossed her legs. Their knees touched. The light from her phone fell on his face.
Yash Raje in every one of his avatars was a thing of wonder. As a brother, a son, a friend, a public servant. Compassionate, charming, courageous, with terrible eating habits. Who with half a heart could resist any of that? But a self-aware Yash? That was someone India had not one defense against. In this Yash, who saw himself and his world with this brutal, humble clarity, in this Yash she had lost herself completely.
It was all right there, shining in his defeated face. His silver-streaked hair fell across his forehead. His eyes creased with pain. His mouth, made for putting people at ease, pursed and turned downward.
Don’t be in pain, she wanted to tell him. I understand. But she couldn’t say the words just yet. She didn’t want to understand. Not just yet.
For a little bit longer she wanted to pretend that they were possible. That he didn’t have to give up everything he’d ever wanted and let everyone down to be with her.
He leaned toward her and she leaned toward him. Their foreheads touched like some ancient ritual between fallen warriors.
“India!” he said suddenly, a gasp that made all the pain in his face flood his voice. “What the hell?” He reached for her feet; the light from her phone had fallen on them. They were covered in blood.
She hadn’t noticed, but they’d probably been scratched up when she ran up the trail in her flip-flops. Now that she saw the blood, she felt the sting.
With trembling fingers, he stroked her feet. Her bleeding feet, of all things, broke him. His shoulders started to shake and sobs escaped him.
“Yash, it’s okay, it’s okay,” she said, pushing his hair off his forehead. “It doesn’t hurt. It’s okay. They’re just scratches.”
He couldn’t stop crying, so much shame in his sobs she couldn’t bear it.
Letting her feet go, he started to unbutton his shirt, and pulled it off, leaving behind a white cotton inner shirt that glowed in the moonlight and hugged his lean athletic form. This was Yash the way she saw him, the way he always let her see him, the armor of expensive clothing never a shield.
Before she could stop him, he pressed the rich, almost silken cotton onto her scratched-up feet, so much tenderness in the act it sliced open other parts of her.
“How could you climb the trail in flip-flops?”
“You were out here by yourself in the dark,” she said. She shouldn’t have, because he folded over, his head pressing against the wadded-up shirt, and gave in to his sobs, body and soul.
Her own body reached for him, leaning over him and holding him. “It’s okay,” she kept saying. “It’s okay.”
“When did you turn into a liar?” He straightened up and lifted the shirt, wincing at the dots of blood. Then he reached for a bottle of water and she had to smile.
“You remembered to bring water?”
He drizzled water on her feet, washing the dirt and the streaks of blood, checking for cuts, dabbing and wiping as though the sheer strength of his focus might heal them, heal all that was ripped up.
“It really doesn’t hurt.” She cupped his jaw and brought his gaze up to hers. Touching him this way, as though he were hers to touch, how was she going to give this up? Sensation burst on the palm of her hand, sparks danced in her heart. “They’re barely scratches. You didn’t have to ruin your shirt.”
“How did you even remember this place? How did you find it after all these years?”