Chapter 7 — The Thing About 2 AM

KabirPriya fell asleep at ten, which she always did — she was a person of strong circadian rhythms, which he had learned to love despite being a person whose brain preferred to work after midnight.He sat on the guesthouse terrace with his phone face-down and the mountain sky above him doing its excessive star thing and thought about the day.He thought about what Aanya had said: the shape of something that was going to be love. He had heard the precision of it — she was precise with language, she always had been, it was one of the things — and the precision told him she had worked out exactly how to describe it. Which meant she had spent time working it out.He thought about February.He thought about it with the discomfort of a person reviewing a decision that was not entirely clean. He had not been honest with Priya — not fully. He had told her about the pact and about the three days in October five years ago. He had not told her about February. He had told himself this was because February was contained and over and did not require disclosure.He had known this was partially wrong when he said it to himself. He knew it more clearly now.He thought about Aanya's face when she'd said I'm navigating something. He knew her face. He knew the specific quality of what she was managing and it was too large for the situation.He thought about Priya's question at dinner — do you still love him — and Aanya's answer, which had been the most honest thing said in the room all day and which had also, very carefully, not answered the question.He picked up his phone.He opened a text to Aanya. He typed: Are you awake?He sat with his thumb over send for a long time.He sent it.Her reply came in four minutes, which meant she was awake and had been awake: Yes.He typed: Can I call?She took longer this time. Two minutes. Then: Kabir.He typed: I know. I just need to know you're actually okay.She sent: I'm okay.He sent: That's the café version.A longer pause.Then: Yes. It is.He sat with the screen for a moment. Then he typed: What are you not telling me?This time the pause was long enough that he wondered if she'd put the phone down. Three minutes. Four.Then: Some things are mine to carry, Kabir. That hasn't changed just because we're in the same place.He read this sentence several times.He typed: You don't have to carry everything alone.She replied quickly this time, which meant the quick ones were the ones she hadn't deliberated: I know. I'm choosing to.He typed: Why?Three minutes.Then: Because the alternative costs you something you can't afford right now.He sat on the terrace under the excessive stars and read this.He thought about February. He thought about what she wasn't saying. He thought about what she was saying between the lines of what she wasn't saying.He typed: Is it mine to carry too?The longest pause yet. Five minutes. He thought she wasn't going to answer.Then: Good night, Kabir. I'm glad you're happy. I mean that completely.He put the phone down.He sat for a long time under the stars.He thought about a pact made at twenty-two. He thought about what shows up when five years of absence meets one honest conversation. He thought about what February had meant and what Aanya's texts tonight meant and what both of those things together meant.He thought about Priya asleep inside, who was honest and good and who had come here with him because she was the kind of person who moved toward things.He thought: whatever Aanya is carrying, she has decided I cannot help her carry it. She has made that decision for me. And I don't know if she's right.He went to bed.He did not sleep until three.