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She does and I get off the bed, looking down at my clothes. The crisp white shirt I’d tucked into my satin pants is no longer wrinkle-free, and my hair got smushed good by the pillow. Finger-combing my strands and smoothing my shirt along the way, I finally go open the door.
Huan is on the other side, still in his button-up and charcoal slacks. His clothes are pristine, but his hair looks harassed.
He looms in the doorway.
“You haven't changed.”
That’s not a question, so I don’t answer, but I’m also thinking about his resignation. After London, I won't see him again. How many of these conversations are left? How many more do we get to have? Before I know it, this handsome and insufferably noble man will be gone. He won’t hover around me. There will be no needling him to provoke a response. I can go back to hiding this restless energy inside me to play nice again, because by the time Huan leaves, Pollywood Komal will return. And… My melancholy is a full-body wave. I'm sagging in my spot.
He crosses his arms. “Did you eat enough earlier? I can bring you more food.”
I open my mouth to decline, but then catch myself. No. I won’t fall back on this pattern, especially so close to the end. This isn’t what I want. He needs to stop... He needs to...
“If another thing about duty or responsibility or caring about me comes out of your mouth, I’m shutting this door in your face. I don't want to hear about it right now.”
“It’s my?—”
“If you say job, I will lose it,” I warn quietly, my soft tone masking the tempest inside me.
“I'm not?—”
“Going to pretend? Good. Tell me why you are really here.”
“I don’t?—”
“Wrong.” I close the door, but it doesn’t go all the way. He jams the entrance with his foot. I try again, but Huan pushes further inside. Because I refuse to back down, there isn’t space between us now. I feel heat coming off his wide chest.
“Don’t shut me out,” Huan reprimands, as if the mere thought aggravates him.
I give him a look. “Youare the one leaving me.” It’s not that simple or exactly a fair accusation, but I don’t care. Recklessness spears me. Locking my eyes with Huan, I step away from him and retreat to the other side of the bed. He shuts the door and watches as I grab a hair tie from my bag. His eyes narrow when I use it to gather my hair into a ponytail. Guess he doesn’t know this is a battle. War.
“You are leaving me,” I repeat. If he thinks I’ve been a brat before, he’s wrong because he’s not seen the full extent of it. Truthfully, I don’t fully understand this part of me either, but it feels like a rollercoaster that has already started up. I don't think I can stop myself. I don't know if I want to.
Huan scans my expression. “You blame me for our situation.”
I sit on the edge of the bed and peel off my socks. Looking over my shoulder, I catch Huan staring. He frowns, then thoroughly analyzes wallpaper in the opposite direction.
“Not blame,” I say. “That’s not the word. And what situation? I’m confused, because even after everything happened between us this morning, as soon as you found out we got our own rooms, I got left alone.”
He looks at me again, startled.
Yes, it’s me. Talking this way. No evasions or joking. Being a bit petty.
“Let me guess, it’s easier,” I say. “We should keep things professional, even though you promised you would help me with everything I want in London.”
“You don't think I'll help you?”
“Not witheverything.”
If that isn't brimming with huge sexual undertones... somewhat desperate... a bit saucy... a lot needy…
“And what do you want?” he asks, as if measuring his words.
“For you not to be frozen. That’s what I want, but you don’t care aboutthat.”
“Komal—I swear?—”
“Nothing is going to thaw you out, right?”
