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I don’t think he expected me to turn the tables on him, because he’s silent for a long moment before he says, “A lot of things.”
I snort. “That’s very detailed.”
“Come on, maybe you’re not trying hard enough. When’s the last time you really tried? Who was the last person before your fiancé that you tried to pursue?”
I stay silent. Even though I’m staring up at the ceiling, I can practically see the smug smirk on his face. I’m so confident, in fact, that without checking, I say, “Wipe that grin off your face.”
Nothing. Then, “How did you know I was smiling?”
“I had a feeling.”
We’re quiet again, and the ensuing silence slithers down my back. With my heart drumming impossibly fast against my chest, I whisper, “Do you think love can happen after marriage?”
A beat passes. “Maybe,” he admits. “But that’s a pretty big gamble.”
I gather all my courage and turn on my side. To my surprise, I come nose to nose with Sarfaraz. I thought he was facing the ceiling like I was, but instead, he’d been lying on his side, staring at me, watching my reactions. We’re so close, barely a breadth of space between us. I stare at his lips, which appear so soft in comparison to the rough stubble on his face, because I don’t know if I can look him in the eye when I ask next, “What about love at first sight?”
He hums softly. “Maybe,” he says again.
I meet his gaze, and I wish I hadn’t, because his eyes, so dark from far away, are even deeper up close. I can make out the lighter flecks of brown around his pupils, and I probably wouldn’t have ever noticed had I not been so close to him. It’s such a peculiar detail, but I guess it’s fitting for a man who uses shadows to hide the light in him. He stares at me with an intensity that scorches a path from my belly to my face.
I quickly school my features. After a beat, Sarfaraz adds, “But if you tell anyone I said that, I’ll deny it.”
That makes me chuckle, and Sarfaraz grins in response, the action so bright it lights up the whole room, even in the darkness. His breath fans against my face, and for a moment, I finally understand what it’s like to be drunk. His breath is soft, sweet, intoxicating, and once you take one sip, it’s over. You’ll experience a high like never before, see colors you didn’t know existed, and risk the blackout you know will inevitably come, but wake up and know it was worth it.
I want to move closer, to keep drinking him in, but if I did, I’d have to kiss him, and I can’t do that. No matter how easy it would be to close the gap between us, to feel his stubble on my skin, to run my fingers through his soft hair. No matter that I don’t love my fiancé, and while I don’t love this man, either, he awakens nerve endings in my body that I didn’t even know were dormant. No matter how much I want to, yearn to, need to. None of that changes the fact that I’m engaged to someone else.
So, with an ache that reverberates throughout my whole body, I whisper, “We should get some sleep. We have an early day tomorrow.”
For a moment, his face falls, then he straightens his expression. “Good idea.” He rolls onto his back, and instantly, I miss his body heat.
Still, I force myself to lie on my own back, and I’m staring up at the stupid ceiling again. Softly, I say, “Good night.”
As I drift off, I hear him echo back gently, “Good night, Maya.”
When I wake up, the bed’s moving. Why is the bed moving?
I open my eyes sleepily, and for a second, all that registers is the sun peeking through the boards of the window. The sun? When did the sun come up? I’m usually awake by sunrise (obviously not by choice) but I didn’t even notice when it rose. And the sky isn’t the early soft yellow and light blue of the dawn; no, the sun’s been up for a while. How is that possible? I’ve never slept well enough to completely ignore the sunrise.
I blink a couple of times, and that’s when I realize I don’t feel the usual heaviness of my lids that sleep-deprivation gifts me. In fact, I feel incredibly well rested—way more than I have been in a long time, maybe even in my whole life.
I inhale deeply and get a huge whiff of lemons and fresh laundry. I freeze; there’s only one thing that smell reminds me of. Slowly, I look upward, and that’s when I realize I’m lying on Sarfaraz’s chest. It moves evenly, his breathing quiet. His arm is snaked around my waist, his grip tight. I look down to see our legs somehow got tangled up at some point in the night. One of my hands rests on the spot between his neck and his shoulder, while the other curls around the side of his body. His chin brushes my forehead, and the scratchy sensation of his facial hair against me causes a burst of tingles to shimmer on my skin.
I should move my body away. I need to move my body away. Instead, I stare up at Sarfaraz’s face, my heart thumping louder and louder the longer I look at him. In a few short moments, he’ll wake up, and then in a few short hours, we’ll go our separate ways, and we’ll never see each other again. And I’ll never know. I’ll never know if what I feel is because of proximity or because he helped me or because there’s something there.
Sarfaraz wakes slowly, and I jolt when he turns his sleepy smile to me. “G’morning,” he yawns.
With shaking fingers, I touch his face. His facial hair prickles under my fingertips, sending a wave of pleasure down my spine. He stills under my touch. He doesn’t move away from me. He doesn’t move, and I take that as an invitation to cup the side of his face. I gently run my thumb along his cheekbone, and I feel him shudder under my touch.
Dr. Khan’s words echo in my head. When was the last time you did something for yourself?
Softly, I say, “I’ll never see you again after today.”
Sarfaraz doesn’t say anything.
“I’ll never see you again,” I repeat. “So, I’m going to do this.”
I shift upward so I’m closer to his face. This close to him, his stubble grazes my chin, and the nerves there explode and travel down the rest of my body. His breathing, light and even earlier, now stutters under my palm. His heart thunders wildly against my chest, and my confidence rises when I realize he’s as nervous as I am.
