Once We Were Starlight

Something clicked into place, something both dreadful and illuminating. He believed his love had been responsible for all my misery, from the moment he saw me and beyond.

“Oh Zakai,” I said softly. I thought back to the way he had protected me on Sundara, with the glowing radiance of a million stars. I remembered the night he’d been willing to die in that effort. And then I’d wondered hopelessly why he’d wounded me so terribly when we’d left there. And it was suddenly so very clear—out in the world, Zakai was still protecting me, but he’d come to believe the thing I needed protection from the most . . . was him. He’d done what he’d wished he’d been strong or wise enough to do that day so many years before when we were only children. Push me down. Walk away. Cause me momentary pain, so that I might be spared worse.

I thought of another puddle, one I remembered clearly. I recalled lying on the ground under the rain after we’d had sex at my engagement party and unknowingly created a new life. Ironic, I supposed. I’d ended up sprawled and sobbing in a puddle, after all. But no one had picked me up off the ground. I’d picked myself up.

And I’d healed.

“It wasn’t your fault,” I said to Zakai. “You were a child. And so was I. Haziq is responsible,” I asserted, reaching out and taking his hand. His gaze snapped downward and he was silent a moment as he watched my hand curl around his, our molecules fusing, warmth radiating. “Only him,” I whispered, withdrawing.

He looked away though his shoulders straightened. “Thank you, Karys,” he said, his voice gritty. We sat in thoughtful silence for a moment and I swore I smelled the scents of date sugar and jasmine as though the strength of our joined memories had conjured Sundara, the place where we’d been used, but also the place where we’d first fallen in love.

I hadn’t needed an apology from him. I had moved on without one. I’d even managed to find some amount of peace with the fact that Zakai was gone from my life for good. But I couldn’t deny that his explanation, along with the heartfelt sorrow I saw in his gaze, helped to stitch closed the final wound upon my heart.

“Do you see your uncle much these days?” Zakai asked after a few moments of silence.

I shook my head. “I moved out of my uncle’s house the night I came to you that New Year’s Eve.”

Zakai froze, his face registering shock. “What? Why?”

I sighed. “I don’t tell you this to make you feel worse, but . . . Braxton tried to kiss me that night. I took my things and I left. We don’t have a relationship at all anymore.”

Zakai let out a staggered breath, his expression crumpling. “Oh Jesus. That night. You came to me for help.”

I nodded.

“And I pushed you down. After . . .” His face contorted in pain. “God, I’m so sorry, Karys. I had no idea.”

I watched him for a moment, his suffering palpable. If someone would have told me I’d experience Zakai’s pained regret over that night up close and personal, I would have expected to relish it. But I didn’t. We’d both been struggling. We’d both been hurting. He’d thought I was considering giving up my second chance—an education, a life I could be proud of—to once again, follow him. “Funny enough,” I said, “those hardships helped me grow up in ways I wouldn’t have without them. Is it funny to say part of me is grateful for that pain?”

His gaze moved over my face, and I thought I detected relief in his eyes. Understanding. “No. I know what you mean.”

I reached for my wine glass, taking a small sip. When I’d set it down and looked back at Zakai, I found him staring at me, a small smile on his face. “What?” I asked.

“We’re both different now, aren’t we?”

“Yes.” I’d had the very same thought. I chewed at my lip for a moment. “And no. So much has happened.”

He nodded, reaching forward and tucking a strand of hair behind my ear that had fallen loose from the bun at the nape of my neck. Our eyes met and I could see in my peripheral vision that his hand trembled very slightly. My heart rate increased and I saw the pulse speeding up where it beat on the side of his neck. Yes, much had happened. So many things had changed. But one thing that remained the same was the connection between us. Emotional. Physical. History. Chemistry. Chemistry that sizzled, despite the many years of disconnect and distance.

That sparkling rush of charged atoms made me feel off balance. Out of control. It reminded me of the girl I’d once been, and I wasn’t sure I trusted her. “The other day,” I said, my voice breathier than I wanted it to be as I asked the question that had skated through my mind off and on since I’d left him at the museum, “you said you hadn’t made other choices . . . all these years. Did you mean—”