The Vibrant Years(76)

She was a sexual person, and she didn’t give a shit if that was some sort of red flag for him.

“I enjoy sex, and I’m not apologizing for that.”

He ran a hand through his hair, so much frustration in the gesture she wanted to shake him. “But you want me to apologize for wanting to take it slow?” His eyes crinkled with such sincerity that a ball of wanting squeezed in her belly.

“If that’s how you really feel, then I respect your choice. It’s just the way you’ve been with me. Something feels disingenuous.” Disingenuous. That’s exactly how this felt.

“It’s not. Nothing about what I feel for you is disingenuous. I swear.”

Why did she want to trust him so badly? “Is it a religious thing?”

He laughed. Of all things. Then got distraught and squeezed his temples as though this were a choice between sides in a mortal war. “Why do we have to label it?”

So she could understand what the hell was going on. “Labels aren’t always bad. Sometimes naming things helps you understand.” If she hadn’t been able to name her anxiety, she wouldn’t have been able to seek treatment for it. Without that she wouldn’t be standing here fighting for this.

He was close to her now. He knew what her anxiety could be like. He understood what Shloka meant to her because of it. His film preservation work was in his blood too. My heart is made of celluloid, he’d told her over and over again.

“I thought we got each other,” she whispered.

“Cullie.”

“If you don’t want me, you should stop saying my name like that.”

“Stop saying I don’t want you. I’ve never wanted anyone this much.”

“You have a funny way of showing it.”

The saddest smile dug another killer dimple into his cheek. His fingers ran through his beach-swept hair.

“Why is this not making sense to me, Rohan?”

He flinched when she said his name. “We’re having dinner with your family today. I don’t want to be late.”

He was nervous about meeting her family? “Is that what this is about? You don’t have to meet them. I thought you wanted to.” Although Binji would murder Cullie with her bare hands if they canceled. She’d been cooking for days.

“I do want to,” he said with some desperation. “I really want to meet them.” His cheeks colored. She couldn’t let this torture him so much.

Maybe seeing her with her family would help with whatever he was struggling with. The sense that something about this was eternal, that she had time, swept through her. A confidence that paralleled how she felt about her family and her work.

A huge wave knocked them sideways, breaking the tension, and they came up laughing. “Then let’s build up an appetite.” With that she dove into the water and took off into the ocean with him close on her heels.



By the time they arrived at Binji’s building, with an armful of french baguettes to eat with the xacuti, the air between Cullie and Rohan had thickened with a mix of yearning and heat. Cullie felt like she was walking on air, completely off balance.

Eager as he’d seemed to come here with her, his feet visibly dragged as they approached the lobby.

“It’s okay,” Cullie assured him once again when he stopped outside the glass doors as though he just couldn’t get himself to step inside. “My family is really nice. I’m literally the meanest of the lot.”

He forced a smile. More like a grimace, but he didn’t respond. She wondered again if it was shyness. She could never have pegged him as shy. Then again, people rarely identified her as someone dealing with anxiety. Who knew better than she that people found ways to hide the things they didn’t want anyone to see.

“I wasn’t kidding when I said we don’t have to go. I’ll let Binji know that you couldn’t make it. There’s no pressure.”

“No!” he said with too much force and then made his way into the lobby and punched the elevator button. “I have to.” He gave her a searching look. “You’ve already told her we’re coming.” He squeezed his temples again, hand shaking. “Shit.”

“What’s wrong?” she asked, a feeling of impending doom brushing her nerves.

He sank his face into his hands and backed away from the elevator. “I can’t.” He looked at her like she’d done something terrible, but also like she was unutterably precious.

“You’re scaring me. What’s going on?”

His jaw worked as he tried to get ahold of himself. “Will you tell me something?”

“Rohan? You can say—”

“Why did you come out that day and help me?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. We were strangers, and you’ve helped me for weeks and been my friend. And that day when I lost my work and I was in a panic over it, you were dealing with a crisis at work, but you were there in fifteen minutes.”

She smiled, but her heart stuttered with a new nervousness. “I don’t like to see grown men cry.”

He looked like she’d punched him, but he made the effort to smile back. “Please tell me you mean confident, handsome, and not pathetic and messy and in need of help all the time.”

“I mean nice. A good guy.” She swallowed because, what the hell, she’d been honest with him from the moment they’d first met: no point in stopping now. “Someone who makes me feel light with wonder, young and free. I never felt like that. Not even when I was a child.” Suddenly she understood; this had become too much too fast. His life was in Mumbai, hers here. That’s what this was about. He saw them as doomed.