He’s everything I could ever have wanted, and I don’t have to feel the Pull to know that I love him—not suddenly, in a rush, but piece by piece, moment by moment, each new lesson I learn adding another layer to the way I feel about him.
And curling up in Kal’s arms later that night, my cheek pressed to his bare chest, I know what I need to do with all this weight that’s been dragging me down.
Holding me back.
I need to let go of my past, and focus on my present.
I need to abandon who I was, and embrace who I am.
I just need to burn it all away.
· · · · ·
The next morning, Esh and I return to the cliff top. I feel light as air as we soar over the Echo, all its beauty laid out beneath us. I sit on the edge of the drop, staring out over the edge of the world. And this time, it’s my father I see when I close my eyes.
I’m six or seven years old, and he’s come in to read me a bedtime story. We have a big book of fairy tales and folktales from around the world. He sits on the bed beside me, and we leaf through the pages together, him reading and me tracing one small finger over the illustrations.
He wraps an arm around me, and in a well-practiced move, I prop my knees next to his so he can shift the book over and I can turn the pages for him.
I let him read for a long while. I breathe in the smell of him, feel the warmth of his skin, remembering the time when his arms felt like the safest place in all the world. But eventually he looks down at me, brow creased in that way I always loved.
“Is there something on your mind, Jie-Lin?” he asks quietly.
He’s so tuned in to me, so carefully attentive. All I can think about is our last conversation—or at least, the last conversation we ever had when he was actually himself, instead of part of the Ra’haam.
I shouted at him and Patrice and hung up before he got a chance to reply.
“I’m thinking about someone I left behind,” I tell him.
“… At your last school?”
I nod. “I said something mean. And I didn’t get a chance to say I was sorry before we left.”
“Ah.” He carefully closes the book, sets it on the floor beside the bed. “Well, that’s difficult. If you can, it’s always good to go back and apologize. But when that’s not possible, I think it’s very important to remember that no relationship, or friendship, is defined by one moment. It’s an accumulation of all the moments we spend together. All the little ways in which we say I love you or I respect you or You are important to me add up. And that cannot be erased with a few careless words.”
“How do you know?” I whisper.
“When your grandmother died, I regretted very much that I hadn’t called her that week. I had meant to, but I was busy. Over time, though, I realized that one missed call didn’t define our relationship. That tens of thousands of I love yous did that instead. She knew exactly how I cared for her, and how I respected her. And that was what was important.” He gives me a squeeze. “Does that help, Jie-Lin?”
“You’re sure last words don’t matter?” I close my eyes tightly, soaking up the warmth of his arms. “You’re sure she’d forgive you?”
“In an instant. Those who truly know us see the whole, never just a part.”
I settle in against his side. Close my eyes and whisper.
“I love you, Daddy.”
“I love you too, Jie-Lin.”
He kisses the top of my head, and my lips curl in a smile.
“Always.”
· · · · ·
That evening, Kal and I walk to the meadow and lie back together in the field of pink flowers, their petals all closed against the night. We stare up at the stars that once carpeted the sky above the home planet of the Eshvaren, adrift in each other’s arms.
I know I’m making it harder for myself. I’m spending all day pushing things away, and then I come home each night to fall more and more deeply into Kal. And he seems to know it, too. I can feel it growing in him, along with the love he feels for me. A shadow in him. It’s heavy tonight, weighing him down even