As soon as he says it, I register how heavy my eyelids are. How exhausted my body is. Whatever adrenaline has been fueling me, it’s completely gone now. “Good night,” I tell him, closing my eyes.
I’m asleep before I hear any kind of response.
7
A loud alarm blares. My arm shoots out on instinct, slapping about in the direction of my night table, searching for the snooze button. But instead of my phone, I make contact with something else.
“Ow,” a deep voice says, less than an inch away from my ear. “What the hell was that for?”
My eyes swing open. I’m not back home in my apartment. I’m here. In Houston. With Nikhil. And he’s sitting up, clutching his nose with one hand and silencing his phone alarm with the other.
Trapped in this closet, I can’t tell what time it is or how long we’ve been asleep, but it doesn’t feel like it was anywhere near long enough.
“Sorry,” I say. “Reflex.”
He snorts, then winces, lightly rubbing the bridge of his nose.
I watch the rhythmic movement of his fingers for a moment, the way they lightly stroke up and down.
Before Nikhil, I’d never found a nose attractive. I’d never reallythought a whole lot about them. Noses are functional. They serve a purpose. But Nikhil’s nose…For some reason, it was different. Large, and strong, and prominent. Right in the center of his face, perched above the wide, ever-present smile he used to wear.
During our fourth or fifth date, he’d told me he wasn’t seeing anyone else. His foot had been tapping underneath the table, the nervous energy thrumming through his body clear, but so incredibly endearing. He’d swallowed and said he wanted us to be exclusive, and I’d never felt so giddy. So light.
“I’m not seeing anyone else either,” I’d said, placing my hand on his knee, squeezing it tight, telling him he wasn’t alone in the way he was feeling. “And I want that too.”
“Yeah?” he’d breathed, and I’d nodded, mutual relief and joy settling into the space between us. After dinner, he’d walked me back to my car, and I’d practically floated that night, the air hot, the sky hazy, with the occasional star peeking through.
This moment…It’s crystallized in my mind. I can still feel the humidity, the way the thick, warm wind had felt against my skin. I remember the press of his palm against mine, the way our fingers intertwined as I thought,This is a beginning. This is something new.
And when we’d reached my car, when he’d pressed my back against the driver’s side door, when he’d leaned down to kiss me good night, I’d felt wild and hopeful and ridiculous.
So, I’d stretched toward him, impulsively kissing the very tip of his nose.
A startled laugh had exploded from his chest, flipping my heart inside out, and I’d reached up and kissed him again.
“What was that about?” he’d asked.
I’d smiled, dizzy with a feeling I couldn’t quite name. “I like your nose.”And you. I like you.
He’d laughed again, then nuzzled his nose into the curve of myneck, tickling me until we were both laughing so hard we lost our breath.
“I like yours too,” he’d said, against my skin. “I like yours too.”
Nikhil’s phone beeps, shaking the memory away, and I realize I’ve spent the last however many seconds staring at him. I can tell Nikhil’s noticed because he’s watching me quizzically, his mouth open as if he’s about to ask me a question.
But I beat him to it. “Why did you set an alarm?”
“I didn’t,” he says grimly. He flips the screen in my direction. “Tornado watch.” A National Weather Service alert is displayed prominently across the top. We don’t have tornado sirens in Houston—at least, I can’t remember ever hearing any growing up—so I guess this is how they share the news.
“What does that mean? What are we supposed to do?” I’d forgotten that tornados could happen in the middle of a hurricane. I hadn’t considered the possibility that we might end up experiencing more than one natural disaster at a time.
“We’re supposed to get on the ground floor when these alerts go out,” he says. “In a room without windows.”
I wait for Nikhil to get up, for him to usher us out of the closet, but he just stretches his arms out in front of him. And gingerly scrunches his nose. “You pack quite a punch, you know?”
“It was just a slap,” I say. “And it wasn’t on purpose.” I look over at him, and hesitate. “It doesn’t really hurt, does it?”
He shakes his head. “No.” He slants a look at me. “But maybe I should have expected something like this. You always were a little weird about my nose.”
