Total pages in book: 184
Estimated words: 186756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 934(@200wpm)___ 747(@250wpm)___ 623(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 186756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 934(@200wpm)___ 747(@250wpm)___ 623(@300wpm)
I smile, looking up at her, and ask, even though I know the answer, “What?”
“He said”—she’s smiling, her eyes full of love—“no one wants to be married to a witch, so I was free to go. Plus, my one eye was bigger than the other, my nose was crooked, and he didn’t really like how loud I laughed. It gave him a headache. So he said I could leave if I wanted to.”
“But?”
“But I had to give him six months. Because he had a reputation and if I ran away on the first night, no one in the village would ever agree to marry their daughter to him.”
What bullshit.
He wanted more time with her because later, he told my biji that he’d fallen in love with her at first sight. And he couldn’t bear to let her go. So he wanted six months to see if she could learn to love him too.
Spoiler alert, she did.
I chuckle. “Dada ji had moves.”
“He sure did.”
“He knew where to strike.”
“At my pride, yes.”
“Because you’ve got the prettiest eyes and a cute button nose.”
She laughs. “He used to kiss me on the nose. Every morning when he woke up and every night when he went to sleep.”
My heart bursts with joy. “To make up for what he said?”
“Yes. I wasn’t going to let him off the hook.” She tweaks my nose. “He insulted my looks.”
“And you have the most magical laugh,” I say.
“That’s what your dada ji used to say too.”
“I love him,” I say.
“He loved you too.”
My handsome dada ji passed away when I was very little. So I don’t remember him at all, but my biji has told me enough stories all my life that I feel like I already know him.
“I wish I’d gotten to meet him,” I add.
“Me too.”
“I love you, Biji.”
She takes me in for a beat or two. “I love you too, meri jaan.”
This I know as well.
Meri jaan means my life.
My heart. My soul.
Just like my biji was for my dada ji.
Hours later, when I get back home full of love stories from my biji, I sit in my bed. With my window open and the white curtains billowing from the winter breeze, I put my plan into motion.
I send him a text.
Isadora
Hey
I know we decided on a timeline for the ultimatum. That I’d give him an answer when he gets back. But now that I’ve made up my mind, I’m not going to make him wait another second. I know he’s busy with his practice and games and the season, and I usually try not to bother him when he’s on the road, but desperate times call for desperate measures.
Hence the text.
Only he doesn’t get back to me.
Not even after fifteen minutes. I know he’s read it, though; I can see the receipt at the bottom of my message. But I’m nothing if not determined. I’m about to send him another text when my phone chimes and I sit up in my bed.
Shepard
Hey
Chapter 6
I stare at the phone.
Stare and stare.
Unblinking.
With wide eyes.
With disbelieving eyes.
Even though I wanted him to reply and was fully prepared to keep texting him until he did, I still can’t believe that I don’t have to take any of those measures. That he replied on his own. For some insane reason, I thought the charity event would be the last time we’d get to talk to each other.
Well, not really insane because he issued an ultimatum, so not getting to talk to him was a valid concern.
In any case, I’m both surprised and relieved that he replied.
And I’m rendered stupid by it, I guess, because my next words are these:
Isadora
You’re still awake?! 😱
Of course he is awake.
Of course I knew he’d be awake; that’s why I texted him in the first place. He’s a night owl. Which is a surprise because he always needs to be up super early for practice. And if Shepard has one rule—and he doesn’t have that many—it’s that he’s never ever late for a practice.
I watch the dots come and go on the screen. They keep doing that for a long time too and it makes my heart clench. With fear. With desperation, with sadness. That we’ve gotten to this place where we’re so awkward with each other. And my heart clenches harder when I see his response show up on the screen.
Shepard
Clearly
Damn it.
I hate one-word answers. I do.
They’re so hard to crack. They make it so difficult to keep the conversation going.
That alone makes me want to say it.
That alone makes me want to go all caps lock on him and tell him yes. That yes, yes, yes, I will be his girlfriend, cue all the exclamation marks and a clown face and heart emojis.
But I refrain.
I pace myself.
Because I don’t want to scare him with my enthusiasm. I don’t want him to think of me as crazy and wonder what he’s gotten himself into.