It was an easy plot to follow: the poor boy falls in love with the rich girl whose father won’t let them marry. There were lots of songs and people dancing on hilltops and in front of waterfalls despite the fact that it took place in the city, and Josie alternately watched the screen and Devesh. He would lean forward in his seat during the happy songs, and back and down during the sad. It made her smile, and despite the fact that she couldn’t understand half of the dialogue, she didn’t want it to end. She liked that the audience talked to the screen, that the babies cried, that the teenage girls giggled behind her. The theater seemed to swell with life. She felt it in herself, felt her heart grow bigger, and she wanted to lean over and whisper in Devesh’s ear: This is what I feel for you. Instead, she held his hand closely and watched the girl on the screen cry into the boy’s arms. The boy hugged her to him, and when the music swelled and he held her at arm’s length and spoke, she knew it was important.

“What did he say?’ she whispered.

“Hamara saat janmon ka saath hai,” Devesh said. “It means ‘our togetherness will be for seven lives.’ It means their karma is linked, even when they die.” He squeezed her hand, and she stiffened. She knew about Hinduism, how one life affected the next, but with the textbook gone and the concept played out in fifteen-foot form above her, the idea of life after death suddenly seemed as possible as the pressure of his hand and the flutter in her chest. She closed her eyes, but her heart seemed to beat it. There’s more, it beat, there’s more, there’s more, there’s more.

She could hear the boy begin to sing, his voice strong and bright throughout the theater. Devesh leaned over and pressed his lips against her head.

“Do you like it?” he asked.

She nodded, eyes closed.

He kissed her again and pulled her close. “I’m glad,” he said.

She could feel his arms around her, strong and solid, and she focused on his hold and tried to stay perfectly, painfully still.

CHAPTER SEVEN