She freezes.
I run after her, grab her by the waist and spin her around, and she looks surprised, and then uncertain, and I say:
“Why me?”
She goes still. “What do you mean?”
“I mean— That day, when you kissed me. You chose me that day, didn’t you? For your first kiss.”
After a moment, she nods.
“Why?” I say. “Why’d you choose me?”
All of a sudden, her eyes go soft. The tension in her shoulders disappears. “Because,” she says quietly, “I think you might be the best person I’ve ever met.”
“Oh.”
I take a deep, uneven breath, but it’s not getting me enough oxygen. Feeling is flooding through me, so fast and hot I can’t even remember that I’m freezing.
I think I’m dreaming.
God, I hope I’m not dreaming.
“Kenji?”
Say something, dumbass.
Nope.
She sighs, the sound filling the silence. And then she looks down, at the ground between us. “I’m really, really sorry I kicked you like that. Are you okay?”
I shrug, and then wince. “I probably won’t be able to walk in the morning.”
She looks up. There’s something like laughter in her eyes.
“It’s not funny,” I say, but I’m starting to smile, too. “That was horrible. And— Jesus,” I say, feeling suddenly sick. “I tried to shoot you for it.”
She laughs.
Laughs, like I just made a joke.
“I’m serious, Nazeera. I could’ve killed you.”
Her smile fades when she realizes I’m serious. And then she looks at me, really looks at me. “That’s not possible.”
I roll my eyes, but I can’t help but crack a smile at her certainty.
“You know,” she says softly, “I think there was a part of me that was really hoping you’d catch me.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” she whispers. “Otherwise—why didn’t I just fly away?”
I take a second to let that sink in.
And then—
Damn.
