The first time they kiss, sheâs clinging to him, this unstoppable force hurtling through the universe at his own immovable object. She canât help it-- she knows they will collide, and her vision is clouded with the thought of him crashing and dissipating. The worst of it is that sheâll never get to mourn him, never get anything to remember him by. What she doesnât realize is that she is his immovable object, and when he feels the sparks between them, he realizes that every moment drinking her in will draw him into her orbit, will draw her into his danger, and he will not see her crumble at his hand.Â
(Gravity cannot work on him just yet.)
The second time they kiss, he feels the fire surging through her veins. She was supposed to be his water, his soothing, healing partner. He worries if heâs infected her, if heâs stained her with hands that are not done shedding blood. He cannot help but smile at the claws sheâs drawn, though he hates that they were drawn for him. Blood and blood and stains on stains, they are all he thinks of as he draws away again. She is determined, she is calculating, she is saving him, and as he walks down the charred hallway, he feels as though he must return the favor.Â
(You can only dance with the monster for so long before you get hurt.)
The third time they kiss, they shouldnât. She is closing up the restaurant, pulling down the shutters as the monsoon rains sweep through the night when he appears. She watches as he stands in the rain, soaking it in with a smile as though water has always come so naturally to him. He canât be real, he canât be real, the weatherâs shit in Berlin but he beckons to her and she goes to him and the heat of his embrace is more real than sheâs felt in all her life. She kisses him in the full view of the street, kisses him and she shouldnât because itâs raining and heâs visiting and thereâs Rajan and she kisses him and none of it matters.
(Her father calls to her-- Papaji is waking up. It matters.)
The fourth time they kiss, she stains his cheeks with her tears. She has been constantly moving, constantly busy, constantly distracted so that her mind cannot settle on the one thing her heart is set on. Papaji is recovering, Rajan needs her, Auntie needs her, her family is depending on her and this is the moment where everything must finally catch up to her. She canât stop, canât be slowed down, canât let herself lose the momentum that keeps her from falling into a decision that will separate her from her world forever. She feels his lips against hers, feels the plea in the hand cradling her head, in the arm gripped tight around her waist. She understands why he once pulled away, and that is why she pulls out of his arms as though burned.
(Itâs not him. She just worries that if he touches her now, sheâll scorch what little earth they have left.)
The fifth time they kiss, it is the first. They canât bring themselves to care about anything-- not that she has been sitting in an airplane for nearly ten hours, not that they are surrounded by people, not that they have no plan for the future save for living. They come together and the heat is palpable-- what happens when fire and water meet but a font of steam, which clouds the mind and leaves them glistening with happiness? They kiss and kiss again, finally free to orbit one another. They are not immovable objects or unstoppable forces but something calmer, softer, brighter, more daring-- they are human, only human but still more than. They are happy to be other, just as long as they are other with each other.
(They danced. She did not leave unharmed, but she seems to like it that way.)
