She forced herself away, holding her hands on his chest to steady herself, and looked up at his face, her eyelashes glittering with unshed tears.

“We lost Palwasha-sahiba, too,” she said. “Where had she been going?”

“It’s alright,” Asfandyar said. “We’ll keep an eye on her.”

As he spoke, Durkhanai noticed a slice on his lip. She reached over to touch the cut. Asfandyar winced, jaw clenched, but he didn’t stop her. “Batameez,” she muttered, giving him an angry pout. “Getting yourself hurt.”

She remembered something. She reached into her bag and got out a little coconut oil balm.

She attempted a smile. His mouth twitched.

“You and your blasted coconut oil,” he muttered, but he allowed her to spread it across his lower lip, which was soft as a cushion. The oil melted upon contact, making his lips glisten. There was excess still left on her finger so she spread it across her own lips, her fingers warm.

Asfandyar stood completely still, watching her finger glide across her bottom lip.

He swallowed.

She felt her heartbeat in her ears.

The sweet scent stayed with them as they made their way back. He kept one arm lightly by the small of her back, guiding her, not touching her entirely, but the heat of his skin was close enough to warm her.

When they passed a well, Durkhanai paused to take water. It tasted strange, as though the whole night had turned rancid, even the air sharply sour.

Despite knowing that it was a bad idea, Durkhanai leaned into Asfandyar, feeling his solid chest against her shoulder. His hand fell to her waist, clutching her tightly, and they were joined at the seams.

Durkhanai’s heartbeat was violent against her chest, and she was glad for it. She focused on the staccato, rather than the revulsion from before.

They arrived back in the last whisper of night before dawn. This was where they usually broke apart: him to his room, her to her passageways. But that night, she couldn’t let him go.

“Will you stay with me for a while?” she asked, like her voice belonged to someone else.

He hesitated, and she thought she saw guilt trek across his face, but then he nodded.

She led him to the passageways, holding his hand, leading him through until they reached her room. In silence that was neither awkward nor uncomfortable, she crawled into bed, wishing he would join, but of course he did not. Instead, Asfandyar sat down beside her curled legs.

She was glad he was there. Her stomach felt uneasy, her throat itchy with emotion. But when Durkhani looked up to Asfandyar from her pillow, she was at ease. Less alone. And she wondered how it was possible she had never tired of the view.