Nevermore

Chapter 8

For a while we settle into a silence. Roshan doesn't speak, and I don't try to either. We just sit back and bask in the beauty of this moonlight soaked garden. It's a strange and wondrous place.

I close my eyes and open my ears. Across from me, Roshan's steady breathing is barely heard. By now, all the birds have tucked away into their nests. They clutch their children to them, and rest with the quiet alertness unique to parents.

Instead, the clearing's orchestra is conducted by crickets. Their bow-like legs saw at their violin wings to create a melody like no other. It is ancient and humbling. The musicians at the palace were talented, but nothing can compare to the wisdom of long-existing marvels. 

Frogs soon join into the fray. Croaks and whistles form an exquisite chorus. Occasionally, the startled cry of a deer will break the silence. 

Next, I open myself to the feel of the place. I can feel humid night air eddying across my skin. The air teases my arms and legs, flirtatiously. I break out in goosebumps. Bellow me, the cool hide of the rock soothes. I let my fingers trace spiral patterns on its smooth surface. The stone warms with the heat of my imaginary tattoo. 

I stay like this for awhile. Once again, I allow myself to break free from my troubles. I even forget who brought me to this place. 

Slowly, I open my eyes. The glow of the garden returns. Roshan is still seated across from me, but his eyes have since been open. He stares at me. He's been staring at me, I realize. Lips slightly parted, his cheeks flush a soft rose. 

I want to reach out and stroke the color, to feel the softness of his skin beneath my fingers. I don't. Instead, I break my gaze. He snaps out of his reverie, and clears his throat.

"What were you thinking about?" he asks.

"Nothing, much," I mutter, uncomfortable.

His eyes bore holes into me, relentless. I sigh.

"I was just marvelling at the beauty of this place; just hearing and feeling," I admit.

He blinks, not expecting my response. 

"What did you hear?" he inquires.

I'm not sure why he wants to know so badly, he could  just as easily listen himself. I decide to indulge him, though. "I heard crickets and frogs," I say, unsure of how much detail I should add.

He looks a bit disappointed. He wants me to open myself to him, to describe the world as I see it, I realize.

"What did you feel?" this time, his voice adds some feeling to the question.

"I felt the air on my skin, toying with me. I broke out in goosebumps. Then, I could feel the stone beneath me," I return.

It occurs to me what an odd conversation we are having; it is intimate in a way I have never felt. What did I hear? What did I feel? Then again, how many others have actually asked me how I felt? How many men cared enough to feel the world as I have felt it? Roshan's concern is liberating and intriguing all at once.

I want to know him. 

"What do you hear?" I ask him.

He tilts his head appraising me, but opening his ears to our surroundings. 

"I hear small animals in the brush. If you listen carefully, you can hear the waterfall," he answers. 

"What do you feel?"

"I feel you," 

I'm taken aback and touched all at once. He feels me? What does that mean?

He must see my bewilderment. "I feel your presence," he explains.

Huh. The comment is romantic and awkward at the same time. I'm not sure if I'm ready to handle this.

"Roshan..." I begin.

He lifts his eyes, silently straining to see how I'll react.

"I-I think t-that I'd-" I stutter, unsure of how to continue what will surely be a painful conversation. Instead I do what I do best: run. 

"I think I'd like to go back home- to your home, I mean. I'm getting a bit tired," I fake a yawn for added effect. 

Dejected, he mutters, "Of course, you've have a difficult week. Let's go,"

He rises. Once again, I'm stuck by his beauty. The moonlight glints off his ebony hair, adding highlights of shimmering midnight blue. His height towers over me, and his broad shoulders accentuate his masculinity. His full, pink lips have tightened in hurt. I quickly look back up towards his flaming amber eyes, which are turned away from me. 

I know I can't let him continue to hurt. I scramble from my place on the rock. He's already turned away from he, hurrying away from the clearing, but still keeping a close-enough distance so he can lead me back. 

I hasten to meet his long stride and grasp his upper arm. He stops in his tracks and glares down at me. His firey irises are unrelenting. 

I don't know where to begin. "Roshan, I appreciate everything you've done for me. I really am grateful, and I want to show you as much caring as you've showed me. There are just some things I can't share with you, yet. I can't always be what you want me to be," 

His eyes soften, and now the amber irises bask me in a slow warmth. He sighs. "I understand. I'm sorry I haven't been patient, I-I've just been on my own for a while," he adds. 

A tentative smile tugs at my lips. I drop my hand from his arm. 

He returns the smile and turns back to the path set before us. 

We walk back to the hut in a peaceful quiet. Occasionally, he'll name the cry of a night bird or point out the reflective eyes of deer. The brush is thick, and the trail thin. I stay a few feet behind him, and let him lead me home. As we near the hut, the path widens. Now, we walk shoulder to shoulder. 

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Thank you dear readers for continuing to read my story! All your comments, votes, and reads are really supportive and I'm grateful. 

In the last chapter, I mentioned that Nisha wanted to know how the moss glowed. Sadly, she will not know, so do not expect an answer. She lives in ancient India and does not have the science to understand bioluminescence. I just meant to add the comment to lead into her curiosity of Roshan. 

XOXOXOXO