Rowan isn't in front of me. He's beside me. The way he has been since the moment he set foot in this neighborhood. The way he has made me feel. To even stand at the edge of a feeling like this, one I've never been allowed to feel, one I've never been permitted to carry in my heart, is both promising, like peace, and terrifying enough to let the darkness inside me swell.
The darkness inside me is threatening. Threatening the possibility of us.
Still only a possibility, Rowan. In one corner of my mind, untouched by reality. My heart is neutral, yet every particle of it is tied to him. Just being able to think that is enough to make my excitement tremble. Denying myself even the thought would be the cruelest thing I could do to myself. My prohibitions are for the thoughts that drip poison.
Not for me.
I surrender to Rowan, slowly. I set my soul free.
I drag my mind into the moment we're in, even as Rowan's eyes pull me back to every old memory. Somehow they also anchor me to now. With him, the past and the present braid together. Only my brief past with him, and the now that continues with him.
I don't care that I'm wearing a robe. The fact that Rowan has no focus point other than my eyes settles into my mind. His brown-that-nearly-turns-black is fully surrendered to black. Even when my gaze slips beyond the brown, I've gotten used to the black too.
When?
I wait for him to say something. I wait to see if he will. Do we even need words? The question passes through me, and I feel exhausted by myself. I think too much. The directions my thoughts once shoved me toward come crashing at the edge of my mind. I try not to pull my eyes away from Rowan. If I break from him, I won't be able to believe this.
That's the answer.
I don't even realize I needed an answer.
To which question?
I stop thinking. I gather my mind on Rowan. That part isn't hard.
Even the moments I spend waiting for him feel meaningful. For the first time, I load a person with meaning. For the first time, anything in the world. Frames from the day I first gave meaning to living swarm my mind. The day the magic that flowed from his fingers became a shield for my soul.
To assign meaning is a troublesome act.
And I am destined to have more than enough trouble for one lifetime.
"I'm sorry."
Two words I don't expect. I try to dissect what they're for, and before I can reach a conclusion, Rowan continues. I can't tear my eyes away from his near-black brown.
"For the other day."
I offer him a broken smile when I hear the sentence that makes his apology make sense.
"And for now. I came at an inappropriate time and left you standing at the door. You'll get sick."
The sentences he stacks in seconds take a share from my lips and claim it in his soul.
Rowan always speaks slowly, carefully. At least, as far as I've seen. With me.
But he has only just realized I came out of the bathroom, and his words have sped past his usual limit.
Someone else could have hesitated, said see you, and left without looking back.
Rowan couldn't go beyond my eyes.
He didn't go.
reopen?
I sense there are more things he wants to say. My dark side is asleep, so I breathe easily. I want to get lost in Rowan, in one look of his, in one look of mine. Instead, I decide to invite him in. I can feel the desire to spend more time with him seeping from my entire soul.
Even if I don't get lost, I'm one step away from it.
"Come in. I'll be right back," I say, and throw myself into the room I'm still learning to belong to. The first clothes my eyes land on are the ones I wore the day I went to him and couldn't find him. I pull them on without wobbling.
I should dry my hair, take the towel off my head, but I don't want to make him wait longer.
I find Rowan looking at the books by the armchair. When he notices me, he smiles. His smile creates a new world inside my soul. It convinces me that imaginary world is real.
"Greek, huh?"
I settle into the chair across from him and answer.
"For no reason. I just like it."
He picks one word from my sentence and repeats it.
"For no reason."
I look at him and smile. My eyes catch on the faint mole above his eyebrow. Every time I see Rowan, I notice something new about his body. Most of his soul, though, feels like it has already fused with mine. The fact that I see his body by looking at his soul hits me like a slap.
The moments I've wanted to flee from his body, just to keep from being pulled closer, return to the corner of my mind.
I grow uneasy.
Of my thoughts.
I'm afraid.
Of falling.
What if he starts loving me in a way I can't survive?
Nonsense.
I stop myself from looking at him and try to watch the world outside, but from where I'm sitting all I can do is lock eyes with some random apartment across the way. I can't hold my attention on an ordinary pile of concrete.
Not except this apartment.
Still, I manage to answer without meeting his eyes.
"In a world where everything must have a reason, I love the beautiful things you can do for no reason at all."
I hold my breath. The more I hold it, the faster my eyes flee him, the more I feel myself being pulled toward him anyway.
"Reasons come later," Rowan says, pulling me back to him with a single sentence. "As you get to know them."
"What?" I ask, and my gaze lands on him again. After a view of concrete, his face reminds me of spring: birds in flight, orange blossoms along the roadside. Every worldly pleasure I've ever only felt in one season becomes a body inside him, in a single moment.
But what lives between our souls is more than worldly pleasure.
Even if he doesn't know. Even if he doesn't feel the way I do.
Stop lying to yourself.
"I mean," he says, "Greek caught you for no reason, so you started learning. You'll discover the reasons it caught you as you learn more."
I find myself able to gather my attention on him from his very first word.
"You're right," I say.
"No one could explain it better."
I don't understand why I say that. I could have said You explained it well. Why do I place Rowan above other people?
A few seconds of silence fog up our smiles. Silence is talented at hurting me. Because silence is what too much loneliness leaves behind. The quiet around you can't cover the noise of your thoughts. As the noise grows, it spills into the quiet, and the quiet fills with noise. In my dictionary, silence is a synonym for noise.
Not the way others define it.
For me, silence is my thoughts taking advantage of my loneliness, multiplying, seeping into the solid world and leaving me even more alone inside a huge noise.
I can see in Rowan's eyes that I need to break free of my thoughts.
"I wouldn't say I've really started yet," I add. "I've been interested for a while, but lately I truly want to learn."
His gaze fixes on me. Like he's trying to carry what he wants to say into this exact moment.
"Lena."
Before I can speak, he continues. His eyes flick briefly to the raki bottle in his hand. He wants me to notice. I realize that since he arrived, I've had no focus other than his eyes. By drawing my attention to the bottle, Rowan slips another truth into my mind.
"Let's make up for last night," he says, and holds the bottle out to me.
My curious expression must show, because he gives me time. He continues.
"I bought this raki just now. There wasn't any at home. I bought it hoping you'd come. If you decide you'll come, will you bring it with you?"
He strings together sentences I never expect.
Rowan is a man who feels familiar even while he stays foreign, whose unexpected words hook into my soul.
Or maybe I'm simply too alone.
You were too alone.
He tries to read in my face whether I'm refusing him. His lips part, close, widen again. Fine lines appear at the edges of his cheeks. My chest fills with a deep, clean breath.
I don't say, No need, I don't drink raki.
I don't ask, What does this mean?
He wants me to find the meaning myself.
I can feel it.
In his eyes, in his gaze, and most of all in the smile that convinces me I'm a good person.
"I need to stop by the market," he says, standing.
He isn't waiting for an answer as much as he's hoping I'll bring the bottle. Something sweet, something I can't name, flares in his eyes. The kind of ache that makes butterflies in my heart feel the thrill of living for one day.
Will I only live for one day?
"Maybe you'll come."
I only smile.
But in the freezing air, the scent of spring spreads through my soul in a single breath.
"Maybe I will."
I don't say, No need, I don't drink.
As we say goodbye and the door closes, I pause.
How long will it take to dry my hair?
I fling the towel off my head and start brushing. Then I run to the window facing the street. Rowan is talking to the children who are playing in the puddles left by the rain. I throw on my hooded jacket and run down the stairs.
When I step out, I see Rowan has already moved a few meters away from the kids. I glance around quickly. I don't want anyone to see me running.
I don't want anyone to see me running to Rowan.
Then I stop.
I turn back.
To the raki bottle I left on the table, so I can follow him.
I don't want anyone to see me running to him, but I decide I want Rowan to know I want to.
The next few hours refuse to pass. The moon tries to spill its whiteness onto the navy sky, but it doesn't have the power to light the entire night.
Still, the moon is strong enough for me.
Because it reflects its light anyway.
The moon's existence feels safe.
I pull my gaze from the full moon and let it wander through the dark corners of the apartment.
Even though I've already decided to go, it feels as if the later I go to Rowan, the later I'll have to leave him.
If I'm honest with myself, that isn't the real reason.
The possibility that I might pour my feelings, feelings that start a war even inside my own mind, into a real space…
That possibility could push Rowan away from me.
It's time to define something in my head.
I walk to the bathroom slowly. I smile at the mirror. I don't avoid looking at my reflection. That's one of the signals that I'm beginning to like myself. I know I began to like myself on that roof.
I inhale deeply.
I skip over all the bad eras of my life and think about what I've lived lately.
I want to live Rowan.
And to live with Rowan.
"My God," I whisper, "if there is a reason I was born… show it to me. Show me that giving up on dying was worth choosing to live."
My eyes flick between the kitchen apron and Rowan, and I don't know what to say. A smile tries to escape my face. I hold it back. The brightness in my eyes reaching Rowan is enough.
Rowan's expression is slightly mischievous, and something else I can't name. I can't name it.
"You came."
"What, you didn't think I would?" I say, and he gestures me inside.
When I turn to him as if to let him lead, he slips out of that earlier expression and offers me the warmth of his eyes. He points to the wide room with one hand and begins.
"I had enough hope to wait. I was waiting."
He pauses.
"I'm still waiting."
I struggle, visibly, to understand Rowan.
The raki bottle in my hand, and I'm still choosing not to understand. One last time.
"You look really nice," he says, changing the subject.
I smile and don't make a thing of it. I glance at his apron, then aim for his eyes and tease with a laugh.
"You too."
For the first time, he laughs out loud, lifting his hands as if surrendering.
"I don't even usually wear it. It was just hanging there like decoration. I guess this time I got a little too into the whole cooking thing."
I answer with a small smile, but the feeling of familiarity that had been building minutes ago pulls a wall up again. I don't actually want to laugh too much. I think I'm already giving him a full display of all thirty-two of my teeth.
My eyes roam the room. I expect the same layout as my apartment and instead find something completely different. The living room and kitchen are connected like mine, but his bedroom and another room have merged into one large open space. It shocks me.
And it makes me stare.
"Your place is beautiful," I say, looking at the instruments in one corner.
"You mean your room, probably," he says.
I roll my eyes and answer immediately.
"A massive room. And also very…"
He looks at me expectantly.
My mind finally chooses the word.
"Airy."
His curious face brightens.
I feel the weight of the gift in my hand.
"This is for you."
He frowns at the package. The raki bottle is in my other hand. I start to set it down, then stop, my eyes pulling toward Rowan.
I watch him search for a place to put the clock. Calm, but as if he's trying not to let me feel something. The moment I see where he hangs it, I deny my own existence. A strange feeling moves through my chest.
Maybe it's the desire to stop time.
A desire that drives my blood wild, softens my heart, and makes it beat faster all at once.
I don't get along with time. I don't like clocks. I don't use them. Looking at a device that shows you the minutes you'll live, the minutes you're losing, the minutes you will lose, feels against nature. I don't count the hours I'm forced to live.
Maybe I used to not count.
Time feels less like a tyrant when I see Rowan smile.
He hangs the clock by his bedside. When he wakes up, the first thing he'll see will be time passing. I understand he doesn't see clocks the way I do.
Like normal people.
Like him.
I notice he's already taken the apron off. My mind whispers how my eyes lock onto his brown again. The whisper stops.
I wait for Rowan to come back to me.
I know I should pull my gaze away, but I find myself studying his clothes: a dark green sweater, dark jeans. Casual, put-together.
I laugh at myself.
Really?
My mind is actually starting to succeed.
"What do you say to baked fish and onion soup?" Rowan asks, his face bright with excitement. "And we can't forget the arugula salad."
His cheer yanks me out of my thoughts. He must really love cooking.
"Perfect. You're the chef," I say, trying to match his mood.
A part of me says I should rein myself in around him, but I don't ignore basic kindness.
As Rowan turns toward the counter opposite the sofa, my eyes catch on the apron he left on the chair. I watch him for a while. Sometimes he turns and asks if I'm bored. I tell him I enjoy watching someone cook.
I enjoy watching you.
For the first time, I want to watch someone so much that—
The rest of the thought doesn't arrive.
"You can watch closer," he says, and I start to think he's flirting with me.
I hate the word flirting.
"I think it's time the raki bottle went into the fridge," I say.
There's something else in his gaze. Something I can't decode. He sets what he's doing aside and dries his hands on a towel. He heads toward an old cassette player in the corner as I open the fridge, my eyes scanning shelves at random.
A new instruction comes from behind me.
"Third shelf."
While the rain blows into your faceand the whole world is your problem,I could offer you a warm embrace…
When I find the right spot, cool water splashes over my soul, and my heart throws itself into fire with the thrill of what I've understood.
So I can make you feel my love…
Rowan—
When night brings out shadows and stars,there'll be no one there to wipe your tears…
Rowan wants me in his life.
Rowan can make me believe, in seconds, that even with everything I can't explain, even with all my running, I will still move forward instead of standing still or falling back.
That I can move forward beside him.
With him.
I could wait a million years more…
He's waiting for me to decide. The wordless communication between us, the bond between our souls. I can't deny it anymore. His interest in me was clear, but until now I'd tried to convince myself it was something I imagined, something I invented.
I feel him close behind me. Between us there is nothing but the song, its enchanted melody seeping into our souls: two silent people, and music.
I turn around, unable and unwilling to suppress my excitement. My soul feels like it's running through freedom. As if it's about to reach the widest, simplest definition of freedom.
When my eyes meet Rowan's blackened brown, two silent people become a song. That's the only way I can name this.
I refuse to notice his scent.
I step toward him with a deep breath and smile. As he moves toward me at the same time, flower gardens fill my chest and my breath disappears.
My mind can't process how both can be true, but my heart already knows the answer.
My mind tries to invade for a few seconds. Rowan's thumb brushing my cheek slices my thoughts clean in half. One touch from him turns the poison of cut flowers into the antidote to the wounds they made.
The fact that Rowan makes me feel something this deep frightens my soul, yet the truth that he is the only person I've sheltered in settles my soul with peace.
This time, reality finds me.
"You resist me," he says. "Even the possibility of me."
"Everything is an excuse to see you. Everything is a reason to come to you. The laughter of children in the street, a cloudless blue sky, the wind on my skin… You're in every beautiful thing. And you're in everything people generally don't love but I adore. In thunder. In raindrops that pace the sidewalks. In cold weather. In all of it… there's a little bit of you."
I pull myself from his arms without meaning to. I think he might have seen more of me than I've tried to show. Does it matter?
He saw you. He sees you.
He didn't settle for seeing you.
He looked.
He carried his near-black eyes into your heart.
Even the raki bottle, he put it in your hand just to say: I know you now.
He wanted you to see with your own eyes.
He wanted you not to run.
I want to say: I'm not running. I won't run.
The space between us shrinks to a single breath. I feel our souls close enough to overlap, and at the same time, I feel the distance of a universe where we might never have met.
My gaze slips from his eyes to his lips for a second. Rowan mirrors the motion. When our eyes find each other again, we surrender to the sandstorm we've raised.
When his lips touch mine for the first time, I feel as if the universe empties my body of its energy. As our mouths leave marks freely, I feel that energy return, multiplied.
Not only to my body.
To my soul.
Our souls rose long ago and found each other. This is the only way I can explain what his lips feel like against mine.
Our souls' desire to be together spills into our bodies.
People call this only hormones.
But in this moment with Rowan, I know what's between us is born from spirit.
I wonder which of us will stop first. My lips roll beneath his, soft. The song ends after a few refrains, and the burning in my ears is left alone. We both try to breathe slowly. I think this moment must not end.
I know Rowan is becoming someone more familiar to me.
But I want only this.
Only his rule inside my soul and on my mouth.
A living moment.
A mind that isn't full.
A moment without being torn away from the now.
That is the answer, Lena.
Without being torn away. Without breaking.
Without letting the thread that ties you to life rot away.
And the question that answer belongs to is this:
How will you prove to yourself that living is worth it?