Page 66 of Adrift

Rani: Yes.

I wait for her to say more but when she doesn’t after a good three minutes, I type another response.

Me: What’s wrong?

Rani: I don’t know. I feel like after what happened in the pantry, we should you know . . . talk or cuddle or something.

Another text pops up from her before I have a chance to respond.

Rani: Or forget I said that. Especially the cuddling part, because yuck, who wants to cuddle? How clingy of me to even insinuate that I’m into that kind of thing.

Rani: Because I’m so not.

She actually didn’t insinuate; she literally wrote it. But I’m not ballsy enough to tell her that, knowing she’ll probably castrate me.

I’m about to type her a message when yet another one comes through from her. She’s nervous babbling but instead of in person, it’s on text, and I am trying so hard not to laugh. She’s so fucking cute, I’m not even sure what to do with her.

Rani: Anyway, good night. I am so sleepy. You should have seen how many times I yawned just now. Like five. Five yawns.

Rani: K, bye.

Me: What happened in the pantry?

It takes a minute for her to text back, and I can almost see the look of confusion on her face. God, I love that look.

Rani: Um, you did THINGS to me!

Me: What sort of things did I do?

Rani: I can’t say words like that in text. It’s unbecoming.

Me: Let me guess. It doesn’t align with your principles.

Rani: As a matter of fact, that’s right. Are you mocking my principles?

Me: Never. Can you say them face-to-face?

Rani: Maybe.

Me: Rani?

Rani: Yes?

Me: Open your door.

I hear her feet pad through her room before her door swings open and she finds me standing there. Her hair is wilder–long, loose curls swaying down her back–and her skin is scrubbed clean. She takes in my bare chest, her eyes trailing down from my neck to my abs heatedly. She licks her lips and I latch on to the movement.

I don’t know if it’s because of her freshly washed face or because of the dim lighting behind her, but she looks young, like really young. Her youth hits me in the ribs as I stare at her, with my hands grasping the door frame.

What am I doing?

Am I doing the right thing?

Why am I here?

“Hi,” she whispers.

I hesitate, throwing my hand into my hair. “Hi.”

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