She looked firmly at him, and he saw her eyes flare with a mixture of courage and indignation but a distinct lack of anger or hatred. She stated as if it were a memorized mantra, “The deaths of my mother and father were the result of human depravity and injustice. I choose to strive to make my life meaningful in the eyes of God in spite of it and not allow what happened to define my own character.”

Henry was silenced by the summation. Was it any wonder he loved her so much? It was as if his spirit had sensed these very convictions in her the first time they’d met. He’d witnessed a great deal of the same human depravity and injustice she’d spoken of. It was the very reason he could never return to India. How could he feel pride in being British and be surrounded by the evidence of how British arrogance and wealth were impacting the Indian people? It had gone on for so long—and would likely continue to go on—that the possibility of correcting the problem was too complicated and overwhelming to believe that it was solvable at all. And so Henry had chosen to look away, return to his homeland, and be grateful for the good life he could come home to. But Amala was like a personification of his convictions that he could never even put into words. He loved her for far many more reasons than that. But he loved her more because she touched something in his soul that he couldn’t define. India had changed him, made him who he was now. And it was the same for her.

Henry watched her looking out the window and struggled for minutes to think of something appropriate to say. He realized there were no words that could ever express his compassion, his sorrow, his empathy on her behalf. He finally concluded that there was only one thing he could say that mattered, and he said it with all of the conviction he felt. “I love you, Amala. I love you with every piece of my soul.”

She turned slowly to look at him, and he was taken aback by her beauty showcased by the window at her back. It was like a painting he wished he could look at every day for the rest of his life, knowing that each time he did he would be moved. In that moment he didn’t care what cruelty the world might throw at them for going against convention. He only wanted to build a protective cocoon around the love they shared and devote his life to keeping her safe and happy. He wanted to believe it was possible; he had to believe it could happen, that he could find a way to convince her. When she smiled at him, he was at least gratified to note that they were making progress in that direction.