Father never discussed Fahim’s death. Neither did Amir, neither did I. We moved forward, each carrying that unseen burden. There were times I thought my spine would break from it.
Five years following Fahim’s suicide, I am still no closer to healing than I was. What, then, have I been doing all this time? Running. After so long, I am weary. I seek only to rest.
Notus tightens his arms around me as I sob into his chest. “I’m so sorry.” He smooths the damp strands of hair from my tear-streaked face. “I know we can’t turn back time, but I’m here now,” he says. “I’m here.”
The tears flow fast and hard. I cry for Fahim. I cry for Father. I cry for my mother, whom I never knew. But mostly, I cry for myself. For all the turmoil, all the hardship, all the instability, the impossibilities I have faced, the battles. I allow the South Wind to comfort me. No, I welcome it. His arms, so solid and secure. Gradually, my sobs quiet and my body calms.
I pull away, just far enough for air to slip between us. My eyes drop to Notus’ mouth. His lips part, and the spice of his breath wafts against my face. We are unfinished, he and I.
“Notus.” Lifting a hand, I press two fingers against the flesh of his lower lip. I trace it to one corner of his mouth, then the other. I don’t want to ask permission. I want to take, to conquer and claim. And I want to give, to feed his hunger as he has fed mine. To give life—and receive it.
Leaning forward, I brush my nose against his, a velvet touch. His eyelashes flutter, and a low growl of need rises from his throat. The sound drags up my spine like a sharp nail. My nipples pucker; warmth travels through my belly—lower.
Our mouths open, become one. His blunt teeth. My eager tongue. Sliding his hands down my back, the South Wind fills his palms with my backside. I moan and press closer. Notus tastes like no one else in the world. He is like the sun, that pulse of brightness, which all creatures great and small gravitate toward. I have missed him more than I can say.
Deeper the kiss delves, plundering hidden depths. My mind blanks. I forget what has come before this moment. I know only the drive of my heartbeat, the shimmer in my blood. Soft strands of his hair slide between my questing fingers as the press of his body drags me into memory. We’d had this, once. We’d shared the intimacy of togetherness, belonging. We had trust then, and love.
“Wait.” Notus suddenly pulls back, sending me off balance. I clamp his shoulder to avoid tumbling into a nearby bush. “I don’t think this is a good idea,” he says, breathing hard despite having not moved from his seated position.
It stings. Despite this, I plaster on a winning smile. “We’re engaged, Notus. We can do whatever we like.”
He is grim-faced. “You’re mourning, Sarai. I won’t take advantage of you.”
What mourning does he speak of? Today, or all the days of my life? “You’re not taking advantage of me.” If anyone is taking advantage of the situation, it’s me.
He shakes his head, adamant. “You need time to heal.”
“Isn’t that my decision to make? I need this.” My fingers skim the worn softness of his robe. They curl into the cotton, and I anchor myself to him. “I need to feelalive.”
“I understand, but—”
I graze the front of his trousers with the palm of my hand, trace the length of him, feel it stiffen beneath my touch.
The South Wind wavers. To pull away? To lean close? I understand these conflicting needs. He is not alone in experiencing them.
But he removes my hands from his body, expression pained. “This isn’t the answer.”
My face scalds. I’m so overcome with humiliation that I have to physically fight the urge to flee the garden. Notus is right. I hate that he’s right. Maybe it would feel good in the moment, to give our bodies to one another. But I don’t want sorrow to taint the intimacy we would share. In the end, the rejection is no less painful.
Mouth pinched, I shove to my feet, adjusting my dress. “Very well. I bid you good night, Notus.”
He watches me with a sadness he does not attempt to hide. “I don’t want you to leave,” he murmurs. “You shouldn’t be alone. Not tonight.”
Ask me to stay.But I fear voicing this desire. I am afraid in so many ways, and the grief, freshly bruised, is another complication. Perhaps it’s better for both parties if I take space.
I do not say goodbye as I depart the garden. But I do think of all that I regret.
Later, after crying myself to sleep, I wake to a knock on the door. My swollen eyes open the slightest crack. I blink, peering blearily into the gloom. What time is it? With the curtains drawn, it’s difficult to say. The knock doesn’t come again.
My joints creak as I slide from bed and shuffle across the room. I still wear my dress from earlier, having been too exhausted to change. “Hello?” I press my ear to the door.
No response.
I open it to find a small bunch of wildflowers on the ground, a note tied around their stems. As I pick the flowers off the ground, I open the message.
I’m sorry.
Notus’ handwriting. My mouth wobbles, and I seal my lips together in an attempt to regain control of my emotions. Perhaps I was too rigid, too hostile. He’s right. Iammourning. I wanted to feel close to him, but desperation overrode logic in the moment. I’m glad he stopped me before things went further.
