Once alone in the carriage with Henry, Amala had believed they would have so much to say to each other. But he put his arm around her and she laid her head against his shoulder, feeling completely comfortable and at peace. He pressed a kiss into her hair and murmured gently, “I love you, Amala.”

“Oh, I love you too, Henry,” she replied. It seemed that nothing more needed to be said.

* * * *

Amala awoke in the quaint room of an inn somewhere in England. She didn’t know where they were; she didn’t care. Henry was sleeping beside her, and the angle of the early-morning sun filled the room with a light that seeped into her spirit like a tangible expression of the brightness she felt within. She looked around the room at the way the sunlight illuminated the beauty of every detail until her eyes came to rest on her husband and she could only stare at him in wonder. In the days since they’d been married, a realization had slowly settled into her. She had once naively believed that she could live without him and find a way to be happy. And although she still believed she would have found fulfillment and contentment with whatever life might have given her, she now knew she’d had absolutely no idea how thoroughly wrong she had been. But how could an innocent young woman possibly comprehend the absolute majesty and beauty of sharing every aspect of life with a truly good man? She knew now that it took common sense, and certainly enough humility to trust in God and listen for His guidance in order to come to such a place. She also knew that it took faith to be able to believe in something you could never know without experiencing it. And she knew that it took courage—the courage to follow your heart in spite of the odds being against you.

Amala watched Henry slowly come awake, and when he saw that she was watching him, he smiled, mirroring the same peace and contentment she felt, making the light in the room all the brighter.

“What are you thinking about so deeply?” he asked after he’d kissed her. He gently maneuvered his fingers through her tangled black hair and looked at her with eyes that needed no words to declare how beautiful she was to him.

“It’s difficult to put into words,” she admitted, “but I think . . . that it feels as if everything is more clear. It’s as if . . . colors are more vivid . . . details are more beautiful.”

“Everything?”

“Everything,” she repeated. “My life, the world around me; everything I see, and taste, and experience is . . . more colorful, more exquisite.”

Henry smiled again. “I think you just did a marvelous job of putting it into words. I’ve felt exactly the same way but never could have described it so perfectly.”