She arched her back, tried to speak. The sensation robbed her of her voice. It traveled down her legs, to the soles of her feet, up through her spine, to her scalp. Her head dropped back. Her muscles clenched. Her clothes became damp.

“Amir,” she gasped.

He removed his hand, pulled down her pants. His mouth found her waist, her hips. He slid out of his own clothes, pressed the length of his body against hers, laid himself between her.

It hurt the first time. That’s what Kamila said. The husband would feel pleasure but the wife would feel pain, would bleed. Deepa had already experienced so much pain. She could not hurt any more than she already did.

He propped his hands on either side of her, rubbed against her. “I can stop,” he said. “We don’t need to do this. We will be married no matter what.”

She shook her head. “Please,” she said. She pressed her hands into his back. This would seal them forever. This would help her forget that night, the fire, the screams. It would help her forget, at least for a moment, that she had not been a good daughter.

When he pushed against her, she exhaled hard, rose to her elbows. A deep pressure, again. She bit her lower lip. The pressure became pain. She sucked in her breath. What once felt like a tiny crevice, opened.

“Amir,” she whispered.

His breaths grew ragged, uneven. He said her name. He moved inside her until he shuddered, dropped from his hands to his elbows, laid his head on her chest. She could barely remember the first sixteen years of her life on this earth before him. She wanted to freeze this moment in time forever.

He ran his fingers through her hair. “How badly did it hurt, my wife?” he said.

She smiled. “I’m fine, my husband.”

He kissed her forehead, moved off her, collected his clothes. “When I come back for you, we’ll find a town that will accept our marriage, where people won’t care I’m Muslim and you’re Hindu. Not all of India is like this—this utter chaos. There are places that will accept us. I know it.” He took her hand, kissed it. “My parents will forgive us. They must. I’ll get a job and send them money. And maybe Laila can come live with us too.” He lifted her chin, looked deeply into her eyes. “We will be together, soon, my wife.”

She nodded. She knew it to be true. Knew it more than she’d known anything in her life. She picked up her kameez. “Bala will be home soon, Amir,” she said. “You have to leave now.”

He threaded her arms through the sleeves, pulled it down over her head. He kissed her again on the forehead. Let his lips linger a moment more. He stood, walked to the door.