No one had ever seen Garuda other than her. When he didn’t respond, she looked around. “Are you sure you saw him?” Usually, when Esha left the house and walked on the estate, Garuda stayed close. Flying in the sky or perched on one of the redwood trees. When she was alone and on the balcony, he was always there.

She searched the sky and he wasn’t there.

“I’m quite sure I saw you talking to him. And he was unusually large. Even for a Brahminy.”

“I don’t want to talk about the bird.” She took another step back. His woodsy smell faded and she didn’t like that.

“Okay. Is it a pet?”

“Do you always say ‘okay’ and then do what you want to anyway?”

He smiled. His smile was as different as everything else about him. It seemed to split his face in half. And it made his eyes disappear.

“What is the scar from?”

She’d just been thinking about how warm his eyes were, and they went suddenly and completely cold.

“Is it a bad memory?” She’d never had to ask anyone that question either. Usually she just felt the pain of what they were feeling.

“Do you usually just ask another question when someone refuses to answer the one you’ve already asked?”

“But you didn’t refuse, you just didn’t answer.”

“I was born with a cleft palate.”

She blinked. He was such a confusing person.

“It’s a condition where the roof of my mouth wasn’t fully developed before I was born.”

“Did it develop after, then?”

He smiled again, his earlier irritation disappearing from his eyes. They were constantly changing even though there was something rock steady about them. His smile made his scar turn white against his deeply brown skin.

“Several surgeries.”

“My uncle and sister are surgeons.”

“I know.”

Without knowing what she was doing, she pushed off the railing and stepped close to him again and touched it. His scar.

He froze. For a moment he stood there stiff and motionless, then he grabbed her wrist.

No one had grabbed her or treated her with anything other than kid gloves for so long that she squeezed her eyes shut, bracing herself for dropping into nothingness.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his breath on her face.

She kept her eyes closed. “I was trying to touch it to see what it feels like.”

“I meant why are you looking like I’m going to hurt you?”

“No.”

“No?”

“Not you. Me. I . . . I . . . You’re holding my wrist.” She still couldn’t believe that he was touching her. How could it even be?

“To keep you from invading my space.”

“Oh.” She opened her eyes. “I didn’t mean to invade your—”