Meanwhile, back in her cottage, Aman and Fayza impatiently waited for Idhika to return.

‘If someone didn’t know any better,’ Fayza said, ‘they’d think Idhika is dead. Look at her . . . sitting upright, sure, but lifeless, for her chest barely moves when in Atmayog.’

Waiting for Idhika to complete her Atmayog, Aman’s thoughts turned to Fayza. He was suddenly aware of how close she sat to him. He thought of all the times he had spent with her. Fayza had been there for him in his lowest moments, and they genuinely cared for each other. He recalled charging at the kirtimukha without fear when the monster was strangling her. She was the only one who had not laughed when he had pulled the shortest twig. In fact, she was the first person in whose company he could talk about his deepest feelings. If he hadn’t been brought to the valley, if he were still in school, Aman thought, he would want nothing more than to have Fayza around him. Sitting beside her, he was sure they had a future. Something inside him told him that he could do it; the voice in his head was so strong and overwhelming that all rules of the valley were forgotten—that it was okay doing what he was doing, breaking the law, interlacing his fingers with hers.

Fayza jerked her hand back. She looked away from him, towards Idhika and the front door.

Aman was so ashamed. He had been sure she liked him. Or did she hear someone approaching and is just checking to make sure? ‘Fayza?’ Aman whispered.

She didn’t answer, and pulled his face towards hers. Before he could comprehend anything, he felt he was drowning. Drowning into the blurry face of Fayza. And in that half a second, Aman did a day’s worth of thinking.

But finally, he did meet that watery sweetness. It was delicate, the way Fayza had come in. I can’t believe this. Her breath smelt of jasmine. His lower lip shivered, once or twice, and his toes curled. A throaty sound escaped him, but he quelled it quickly.

Aman forgot all about his father’s box and the Mahayatra that was to come. Kissing her, he felt his tension fade, clinging on to the only thing he was sure of in this uncertain world, with such vehemence that if he could Atmayog to another human, he thought, this was what the union of their souls would feel like.

It ended too soon for Aman. Still dazed from the lingering sensation on his lips that he wanted to go back to, he said, ‘When I first met you, I don’t know why but I felt like I knew you from before.’

Late into the evening, Idhika did finally open her eyes. Aman and Fayza were half-asleep and didn’t notice at first. At that moment, Fayza wasn’t aware of the fact that despite her day-long Atmayog, Idhika had aged only a few seconds—a gift that allowed many yogis to hibernate for centuries.