Page 54 of Laced in Longing

“We have all the time in the world,” he says, his voice a low rumble I swear I feel. “Plus, I can wait a few more years. I’d wait forever for you”

My head lifts in his direction as I raise a hand to trace the line of where his jaw should be. “I love you.” The words are simple and true and complete.

I imagine his eyes darkening further, pupils expanding until only a thin ring of brown remains. “Say it again.”

“I love you, Aakanksh,” I repeat, using his full name, the one he’s shared only with me. “I will always love you.”

He shifts to capture my hand in the ghost of his, and I go along with the ruse as he turns it to press a kiss against my palm. “And I you, my flower. Beyond death and time. Beyond the end of all things.”

The happiness in my chest expands until I think it might crack my ribs; might spill out and flood the river valley with its intensity⁠—

A horn blares, yanking me back to reality. I blink, disoriented, to find myself standing in the middle of a crosswalk. A taxi driver gestures angrily through his windshield, mouth moving in what I assume are curses I can’t hear through the glass.

I wave before rushing to the opposite sidewalk, heart hammering against my ribs. What the hell was that? Not a dream—I was awake. Not a hallucination, either; it was too detailed and specific.

A memory?

The pressure behind my eyes builds again, and I press the heels of my palms against them, willing it to stop. I can’t do this in public. I need to get home before someone calls the police.

I force my legs to move, one foot in front of the other, focusing on the mechanical process of walking to keep the dizziness at bay.

A metro entrance appears before me, and I sigh, thanking…the gods? I don’t care because this means I can ride the train home after all. Stale air surrounds me as I hurry down the stairs, through the turnstile, and onto the platform. The routine motions ground me, pulling me back into my body. By the time the train arrives, my heart rate has slowed to something appropriate, though my skin remains clammy beneath the winter layers.

I collapse into an empty seat, leaning my head against the window as the train lurches forward. The glass vibrates against my temple, the sensation both irritating and grounding. My eyes close. How do I even begin to make sense of what just happened?

If that was a memory—one of my past lives, if I had to guess—why am I remembering it? And why that specific moment? It felt…important. Significant. A turning point of some kind.

I seemed happy. Not just content or momentarily distracted from misery, but genuinely, deeply happy. I’ve never experienced that. In this life, at least. It’s doubtful that I’m even capable of experiencing it.

And I loved him. Not the cautious, tentative attraction I feel now, but a complete, unconditional love that filled every cell of my body.

Yet I still said no. Chose to remain human; to live and die and be reborn rather than join him in his world. Why? Because of a father who needed me? What kind of love could compete with what I felt for Ash in that memory?

The pressure builds again, and this time I don’t fight it⁠—

Snow falls in fat, lazy flakes, coating the world in pristine white. I stand at the window of a small cottage, watching as drifts build against the fence that marks the edge of our property. Behind me, a fire crackles in the hearth, filling the single room with warmth and the scent of pine.

“You’ll wear a hole in the floorboards if you keep pacing,” I say without turning.

His footsteps pause. “The storm worsens at my home. If I am to go, it must be now.”

My feet whirl me to face him. He looks almost mortal without his jacket and fancy trousers, almost ordinary. If one ignores the otherworldly stillness of his posture and the ancient knowledge in his movements, perhaps he could be mortal.

“Then go,” I say, though the words taste like ash on my tongue. “You’ve stayed longer than usual already.”

He crosses the room in three long strides, his hands hovering over my waist. I wish to feel him so badly. “Come with me,” he urges, not for the first time. “Leave this place. These people fear what they don’t understand. They will burn you for your knowledge of herbs and healing.”

I place my palms above his chest, imagining the steady beat of his heart beneath my fingers. “They’re just frightened. The winter has been hard; the sickness worse than usual.”

“They search for someone to blame, Maven,” he counters, his voice tight with frustration. “And you, with your solitary ways and your remedies they don’t understand—you’re an easy target.”

“All the more reason I can’t abandon them,” I argue. “Who will tend the sick if I go? Or deliver the babies and set broken bones?”

“Let them fend for themselves,” he grits out. “They don’t deserve your compassion.”

“Everyone deserves compassion,” I counter with a gentle tone. “Even those who fear what they don’t understand.”

A low growl sounds in his throat. “I fear your kindness will be your undoing in this life.”