I’m trying to hide my shock as the information settles in my bones. But she doesn’t stop.
“I can tolerate your coffee machine, but I like French press better. If you ever want me to stay over or move in, we gotta change your stupid mattress. It’s too hard. And I have approximately... 23 lacs in my savings.” My eyes bulge out as she continues. “Mymalai koftaskills have improved, but I think I’m better atmatar paneerandchicken biryani.I will never—ever—remove Pathan from my name. Pathan-Sharma is the most I can offer.”
My arms slip from the counter, leaving me fumbling like an idiot.
Fucking hell!What is happening?
I’m struggling to breathe but she doesn’t care. She’s looking me right in the eyes as she continues the brutal, magnificent assault on my heart.
“Oh, I still don’t like sugar in my coffee. But I’ve switched from cream to oat milk. It’s—eh—better? I think?”
She circles the counter and stops right in front of my stupidly gaping face. “And one more thing...”
I nod—at least I think I do.
“I can’t have kids. I have Asherman’s Syndrome from my time with... Karim.”
Air abandons my whole body. The room tilts on its axis. Not because I’m fearing a future. But because she gave something up—knowingly.
For the first time, she’swillinglyletting me see the pain she’s been carrying from her time in Afghanistan. She’s letting me understand the grief. The consequences. But she’s also tellingmebecause her present affects... both of us.
Fuck. Both of us.
The pain is quickly washed over by content. I’m hers. She needs me to know this becauseI. Belong. To her.
My beautiful vision of her face quickly blurs. I blink away the tears and will my clogged throat to work. She’s looking at me with so much heartache and expectation that my knees are beginning to give up.
“Do...” I croak and clear my throat. “Do you want kids, baby?”
She sighs, a sad smile still marring her face. “Yeah. But... there’s only a few ways to do it. I’ll have to get surgery, get the scarring in my uterus fixed so I can carry. Or we get a surrogate. Or... or maybe adoption? I don’t know. Everything has risks and logistics involved. I could still miscarry if the surgery goes well, or if—”
“Hey! Hey, hey, hey.” I stop her rambling, my voice gentle yet firm. I cup her face, giving her a reassuring smile. “Let me rephrase. Do you want to carry? Or do you just... want us to be parents?”
Her eyes well up at my question. A broken sob escapes her.
“T-the s-second one,” she manages to rasp.
I smile down at her as I nod, wiping away the tears streaking down her cheeks. She does the same and I realize we’ve never been this way before.
Both of us, healing. Planning.Ready.
“Then we’ll havejust that,” I tell her. Her whole body shudders with realization.
That I’m not going anywhere. There’s absolutely nothing in this goddamn world that will pull me away.Nothing.
I’m aching for her. So I don’t fucking wait. I crash my mouth on hers. She clings to me instantly.
“I love you,” she says as she comes up for air for a moment. “I love you, Advik. I promise.”
I press my forehead against hers. “I know, baby. And I love you. In your absence. In your presence. In the silence. And even in the storm. I love you, Gree.I promise.”
I swallow her sobs with my mouth. Her legs instinctively wrapping around mine as I lift her to the counter.
My heart finds peace within the shallow, mingled breaths of ours. Our lips entangle with silent vows. I have her.
And she? She has me for eternity.
EPILOGUE
