This is what I wanted. I didn’t want to share the closet with him. Didn’t want to sleep next to him. Didn’t want him to fight me too hard. I didn’t want any of that.
But as I pull back the covers, as I lie down and close my eyes, there’s the tiniest voice in my head. I try not to listen to it, even as it calls me what I know I am:Liar.
—
When I first met Nikhil Chopra-Wright, I was fresh out of law school and stressed out of my mind. I had moved back into my parents’ house in Houston, fully intending to do nothing for the next two and a half months but study for the bar exam. Thanks to hard work, determination, and sheer fear of failure, I’d made stellar grades in law school, and at the beginning of my third year, I’dgotten the permanent job offer I’d been hoping for. A first-year associate position at the public interest law firm that had launched dozens of political careers. The place so many of my idols had started as baby lawyers.
The position was contingent on my passing the bar exam, which of course I would do. There was no reason to think that I wouldn’t. I’d never failed anything before.
And then, I met Nikhil. Really, it was more like IsawNikhil. Because the distraction he caused started weeks before I technically met him.
My parents had been expanding the first floor of their house, adding on a new bedroom for my grandparents since they were finally moving in with us from India after years of my parents begging them to. Construction had started a couple weeks before I’d moved back home, and I’d been frustrated, concerned that the noise would prevent me from concentrating on bar prep. I hadn’t anticipated that the real distraction would come from another source altogether: one of the men working on the project.
I heard him before I ever saw him. I’d been knee-deep in contract law and parole evidence when a deep, warm laugh from outside had floated up toward my bedroom. I’d been irritated at first, upset that my concentration had been broken, and then I’d seen him and nearly fallen right out my window. It’s not an exaggeration. I truly was seconds away from self-defenestration. My fault, really, for leaning so far forward, trying to catch a glimpse of the tall, handsome man walking up our driveway.
He’d been joking with a co-worker, and fortunately hadn’t noticed me or the way I was staring, but I hadn’t been able to look away. His smile had captured me, wide and beaming and…secure. Like he was sure of himself. Comfortable in his own skin. That smile, his clear and apparent joy, had sparked something within me. It’d mademe greedy. I’d wanted to be on the receiving end of that smile. I’d wanted to bask in it. I’d wanted to understand that joy and be a part of it. I’d wantedmore.
These memories must have somehow infiltrated my dreams because I’m sitting in that childhood bedroom right now. I’m in that strange space where I know what’s happening, where I know this is all a dream, but as much as I try, I still can’t control any of it. There are bar prep books stacked on my desk, but when I pick one up, the words begin to blur. Letters jumble together, forming words that don’t mean anything.
Panic floods through me. I have to make sense of this. It’s important. I have to figure it out. If I can’t…if I can’t…I can’t remember what will happen. I can’t remember anything. My anxiety increases, my breaths grow shallow.
The gravel outside crunches, and I glance out the window to see Nikhil walking right toward the house, just as he did back then, but he’s not the young, smooth-faced version I remember. He looks older. Gruffer. The way he looks now. And this time he notices me.
He raises a hand, the corners of his mouth lifting into a smile. The same smile I’d seen that day. One I haven’t seen in years.
Something within me eases at the sight and I’m leaning. Leaning toward him. Waving back at him from the window. But then his smile transforms into something else. Worry. Concern. He cries out, and suddenly, I understand why. I’m falling. I’ve leaned too far, and I’m falling and falling and can’t stop. I’m Alice down the rabbit hole. The distance between the window and the ground seems endless, and—
Thunder booms and my eyes fly open. My heart thuds, the soles of my feet tingling as if I’m still flying through the air. I place a hand over my chest, trying to force my heartbeat to slow down, and take deep breaths, holding each inhale for a few seconds before letting itout.
I haven’t had a nightmare in years. I’m not even sure this qualifies as one. Not in the traditional sense, but I’d felt so out of control. Stuck in a free fall I couldn’t escape.
The rain’s gotten louder now. Heavy. Pelting. And the wind has blown past a whistle into a full-on howl, making the hair on the back of my neck stand up straight. The sound isn’t haunting; it’s harsh. Angry. Like something outside is trying to rattle us. A giant that wants to pick up the entire house, turn us upside down, and shake all the contents out.
Lightning flashes, illuminating the room for a half second, but before I can peer out the window, before I can fully process, before my mind can catch up and realize that if light from the outside is permeating the room, something’s gone wrong, a loud crash sounds.
Pebbles of glass stream toward me and I scream.
I’m unable to move. Unable to understand what’s happening. It’s so loud. Wind roaring in my ears. Water spraying through the air. And my skin stings. Along my arms. And the side of my face.
Instinctively, my hands rise in front of me, my body forming some kind of protective crouch, trying to safeguard my face from the onslaught of glass and rain. Whatever spell had been on me before is broken, and I’m ready to leap from the bed, ready to make a run for it, when a pair of arms comes around me. One beneath my knees, the other behind my back.
I tense, pulling away in surprise, until a familiar voice screams over the sound of the storm, directly in my ear, “Meena, it’s me.”
He moves before I can respond, carrying me to the hallway in three large strides, then slamming the door behind us. He sets me down on my feet and his face is thunderous. Furious. I’m bracing for anI told you sowhen his gaze shifts. Scanning over my features, stopping at my right cheek. He stares, and it’s almost like I can feel something there.
I lift a hand, brushing that spot, the backs of my fingers sliding against my rain-soaked skin. I’d forgotten about the stinging from before, but now it’s worse. The pressure of my fingers adds to the pain. I flinch.
I wouldn’t have thought it possible, but Nikhil’s expression grows even darker. He takes a half step toward me but stops when I instinctively take a step back.
“I thought the window was—” I start, attempting to explain that I’d thought the boarding would have been sufficient. That I hadn’t really thought it would break. That I hadn’t reallythoughtperiod, other than hoping to escape sharing tight quarters with Nikhil. But he doesn’t let me finish.
“You’re hurt,” he says. He’s looking elsewhere now. The light of his flashlight following the tilt of his head. I glance down, tracking the movement, slightly surprised to see little lines of red running across the back of my hand.
When I look up at him again, my head rears back. I blink, not quite sure what I’m seeing. I’d thought he was holding a flashlight before, but now…
“Are you…You’re wearing a…What is that?”
He flushes. At least, I think he does. The light and shadows are hitting his face at odd angles.