Page 349 of Eternal
“Visha?” she asks eventually.
“It hurts,” I say. “Because I think he’s the only one who ever kissed me and meant it.”
She smiles, then she tilts her head toward me. “I think you love him.”
My breath catches. I shake my head, too quickly. “I can’t.”
“You can,” she says gently. “You think you shouldn’t.”
I look away, chewing at the inside of my cheek.
She doesn’t know, neither of them does. If they did, if they knew what he came here for, the conversation would already be over, there’d be blood.
He was sent to stop me, to erase me.
And instead… hestayed.
I grip the edge of the blanket tighter, like it can anchor me in the moment.
“I can’t,” I repeat, quieter this time. “It’scomplicated.”
Kat’s voice drops, soft as the wind. “You’ve survived worse than love.”
I don’t respond, but inside, something aches. That’strue.
But why does it feel more impactful than pain?
“Okay let’s do this, we’re going to our room, and we’ll talk without Vik trying to listen to everything.”
I laugh but agree.
And so, we head upstairs to the room they always keep empty for me in case I ever decide to move in.
We’re lying on the mattress, music blasting from the small TV in the corner.
Before we came up, Vik got a call and stayed out in the garden to talk. I think it’s raining now, he’s probably moved inside, into the living room.
Kat smiles, disappears under the bed for a second, and comes back up holding a dusty bottle of wine.
“I’ve had this hidden here since you came back, years ago. Thought we’d open it the day you finally move in but you never did.”
I smile. “Let’s open it.”
Don’t.
She opens a drawer and pulls out a corkscrew. With a quiet pop, she opens the bottle and passes it to me.
We sit with it for a second, passing it back and forth, until we set it gently on the floor and lie back on the mattress, staring at the ceiling, the music still playing softly.
Kat is looking at me, smiling, and I already know what kind of conversation we’re about to have.
“Why are you always putting on sad songs? Now I want to cry,” she says.
“I don’t know. Probably a sign that something’s wrong with me.”
She grabs the bottle from the ground again, takes another gulp and starts talking with her eyes closed. “We never talked about what happened when you weren’t here. I know they made you suffer. I just don’t know how much.”
My eyes fix on a point on the ceiling. “Do you know how I feel when I see other people having family dinners and being happy about it?”
