Sam glanced past me, toward the bloom on the desk. “How did you get so wise, Ana?”
“Someone strong and patient showed me.” I sat next to him, looping my arm with his. “Will you say it again? The thing you said that night at Menehem’s lab.” It probably wasn’t fair to ask him to say it when I couldn’t say it back, but that didn’t stop me from wanting to hear it more.
He must have caught the tension in my voice, because he twisted to face me, expression anxious. “You don’t think I’d stop loving you, do you? Or change my mind?”
“No.” Maybe a little.
“We might fight or disagree sometimes, but that doesn’t change that I love you.”
What a powerful feeling, love, able to withstand time and distance and disagreements. No wonder I wanted it so badly. “I haven’t forgotten what Li told you,” he said, “that nosouls can’t love.” He lifted our hands to his chest, fingers knotted with mine. “I haven’t forgotten the way you tried to run away when you accidentally said the word ‘love’ that day in the cabin.”
I couldn’t forget it either, when he’d asked what made me happy and I’d answered, Music. I’d slipped, used a word I knew I shouldn’t.
Love. I’d said I loved Dossam, his music.
I hadn’t known Sam was Dossam then.
He kissed my fingers. “You may think you aren’t capable of love, but I feel you are. I know you are.” His breath came warm against my skin. “But don’t feel rushed or pressured. I can wait if you need time.”
How could he be so confident when I could hardly accept his emotions toward me? “It helps. Knowing someone can”—I gathered my courage—“love me, it helps.”
His smile grew relieved. “I’ll tell you as many times as you need to hear it, so you’ll never doubt.” He touched my cheek. “A hundred times? A thousand?”
“Start now and I’ll tell you when.” Part of me wanted to cry again, not from fear or disbelief, but from joy. As incredible as it was, Sam—Dossam—loved me, and he wanted me to understand. To believe.
I was Ana who Had Love.
Sam swept his fingers through my hair, down my arm. “All right.” His voice was light and deep and open. “I love you because you’re clever. I love you because you’re talented.” He touched my chin. “I love you because you have a perfect smile. I love you because you bite your lip when you’re nervous and I think it’s adorable.”
I ducked my face. “Go on.”
“I love you because you’re good and honest. I love you because you’re brave.” His tone shifted, filled with melody that made me shiver inside. “I love you because you’re strong. I love you because you don’t let anything get in the way of doing what’s right.”
He went on, touching my hands and hair as he spoke. His words kindled a fire inside of me. I grew familiar with each sound, each letter. I memorized the softness in his voice, and the way he made “love” sound different and the same every time.
Maybe he was right: I didn’t have to decide whether I could love. Not right now. All I had to do was accept and enjoy the idea that someone else could love me.
13
JUNGLE
CRIS SAID HE’D be happy to fit us in, so the next afternoon, Sam and I headed through the city, toward the northeast quarter.
The walk through the market field involved no fewer than three rude gestures, two rocks—one that Sam caught before it hit me—and at least a dozen not-quite-hushed conversations discussing my relationship with Sam or sylph.
I kept my head down while he navigated the crowd, not relaxing until we reached North Avenue. “How does someone make a living gardening?” I asked, because I didn’t want to talk about what people were saying about me.
Sam eyed me askance, but let me avoid the subject. “Same as with music. He grows things people want. His passion is roses, but he also works in the agricultural quarter. He’s the most knowledgeable person when it comes to growing seasons, which crops to plant where, and when to send the harvesting drones out.”
“Sounds like the city would starve without him.”
“Probably.” A note of pride and respect filled his voice. “But he gives lessons as well, or assists when someone does something seemingly irreparable to their private gardens.”
And hadn’t Cris said he helped geneticists’ research by breeding different plants to see what traits were passed on? “I don’t understand how anyone can get so much done and still have time for hobbies and friends.”
Sam’s grip slackened. “It’s best to keep busy. A lot of tasks no one wants to do are automated now, like mining or recycling waste, but other things”—his gaze shifted into the distance—“it’s better to do ourselves, even when we could have machinery do it for us. Five thousand years is a long time, and there can be joy in mundane tasks.”
“That’s why you always write music by hand, even though Stef could create a program to make it easier?”