Tara looked out the train window. The thread of dawn’s light had not yet appeared on the horizon. She allowed herself to breathe. Jimmy smoothed her hair. And kissed her forehead and then her cheek and then brought his lips to hers. She wrapped her arms around him as her heart clenched and tears formed in her eyes and slid down her cheeks.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing. And everything. I have to go. If my nanni wakes up and I’m not there, she’ll worry.”

“This can’t be goodbye. No. I’m stationed sort of close to Shimla. I can see you on leave and I . . .” Jimmy’s voice trailed off.

Tara’s strength to leave him was slowly ebbing away. She knew she couldn’t tarry much longer or else she would simply melt into the floor, cease to exist. She sniffled and wiped the tears from her face. Then looked up to see tears well in Jimmy’s eyes. “You’re a good man, Jimmy . . . ?”

“Daly,” he added.

“I’m glad I met you, Jimmy Daly. Don’t let this uniform define you. Remember what Yeats told you. And me.” Tara chuckled a bit. “Remember what they died for.”

Jimmy nodded. Tara raised her hand to his face. He leaned his cheek into her palm. She felt his tear trickle down the length of her index finger.

“Can I at least write you?”

“What would be the point?”

“To feel like I can still reach you. Because I met you for a reason. That this night meant something. That this fissure in my heart right now means something.”

“It does. It will. Always. I know. I feel it, too.” Tara wasn’t sure how much longer she could stand it. “Rumi says, ‘The wound is where the light enters you.’” If that were true, Tara thought, she’d be a million rays of the sun right now. She tried to say something else, but the words all caught in her throat and tears splashed across her face. She let out a deep, shuddery breath and took a step toward the door.

“Wait.” Jimmy grabbed her hand. “Hold on. It can’t be like this.” He reached for his volume of Yeats with the unpublished poem tucked in its pages. “Take this. So you’ll have something to remember me by.”

Tara clutched her hand to her chest, hoping it would stop the pain. “I won’t forget you.”

“Take it, please. I know what that poem is saying. I know what you are saying. If nothing else, please know I see you. I heard you. I won’t forget.” Jimmy pressed the book into Tara’s left hand and placed his hand over the one on her chest. “I don’t even know your full name.”

“Tara Jahan Gazhi.”

“Tara Jahan. It’s beautiful. What does it mean?”

“‘Star of the world.’ My parents are obviously romantics.”