“My father was half.” The words spilled out of her before she could staunch them, and suddenly the evening air was popping and electric, her heart pounding a ragged rhythm. It was foolish, she told herself. She was being foolish.
But when she managed to look at Akash, he was waiting for her to continue.
“Half-Indian,” she clarified. “I don’t look it, I know. And I … honestly, I don’t feel it. But here, I … I don’t know. It’s a little closer to me, I think. I can understand it in some way.”
The world was quiet around them again, quiet save for her heart. She had been too afraid to voice her feelings before, too scared to bare this sliver of herself that no one else could possibly understand. Some days, she was sewn together like bits of cloth, squares and threads unraveling in different places. Some days, she wondered what comfort meant, and if it was something she would ever learn.
She had decided long ago that being what she was meant living in a constant state of unknowing. It was yearning for a world that was not meant for you.
Akash didn’t dismiss her words. He didn’t exclaim about how British she looked. He didn’t even ask about her father.
Instead, he said, “Thank you. I’m glad I know this.”
Relief flowed through her. “You are?”
“Yes. I think I understand you a little more, now. I always feel as if you care more than the others. Now I know why.” He glanced at her shyly. “May I ask you something, Miss Richards?”
“Please just call me Daphne.” She had been begging him to call her by her first name for weeks. “What is it?”
He tapped the spot next to his temple. “This mark. What is it?”
Daphne touched the diamond-shaped tattoo. She’d expected a much different question. “Oh, that. It’s only a tattoo.”
“Yes, but why that symbol?”
She lowered her hand and slipped it into her trouser pocket. Danny had asked her the same question, and she hadn’t answered then. But something about Akash made her want to tell him. She needed at least one person to understand her reasoning, silly as it seemed now.
“The diamond means invincibility. I was at a point in my life where I wanted to be invincible, so I got the tattoo to remind me. I had to be firm, unbreakable.” She breathed in deeply. “It was a way to face my fears.”
Akash took a moment to think this over. “Did you know that diamonds were first discovered in India?”
Something soft pulled her lips upward. “No, I didn’t.”
“There is a symbol here called the diamond throne. It is a symbol of infinity, the meditation spot of the Buddha himself. It is thought to be the center of the universe, where things are quiet and enlightenment may come.”
“That sounds nice. I could use some enlightenment at present.”
“That may be true of everyone. You’re ahead of all of us, I think.” Ever so lightly he brushed a fingertip over her tattoo. Daphne flinched and he lowered his hand at once. “I-I am sorry, Miss Richards. I’m sorry if I touched you inappropriately. Please forgive me.”
She almost wanted to laugh. If that was inappropriate, she’d hate for him to know where else men had let their hands wander. “I just wouldn’t like to be touched right now.”
He ducked his head. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right.”
The sun was setting and clouds rolled in from the plain as they continued to walk. Daphne wondered if Partha had looked in on her only to find her gone.
“What did you mean by needing enlightenment?” Akash asked. “Is there anything I can help you with?”
She hesitated. As much as she wanted to figure out Narayan herself, she was coming to realize she couldn’t do it alone.
Daphne swallowed her pride. “If I tell you what I’ve seen at the clock tower, will you keep it secret?”
“Yes, of course.”
So she told him of Narayan and her promise to return. She wanted to know more about the tower and what the spirit had seen. Akash listened, his eyebrows drawn into a V as if he was struggling to decide if she was joking or not.
“What do you mean by spirit?”
“They’re the forces that keep the clock towers attached to time. In a sense, they’re a manifestation of the clock, but they appear as humans, like us. I spoke to a couple back home, and so has Danny. Hasn’t Meena mentioned them before?”
“A couple of times, but only in stories.”
“Will you come and meet him with me tomorrow? Will you act as my translator?”
“I wish I could, but they won’t let me in the tower.”
“Even if I say that it’s all right for you to join me?”
“Even then,” he said. “Though I would gladly be your translator, the ghadi wallahs will chase me away.”
“Has that happened to you before?”
“Meena has always dragged me to clock towers. Sometimes I’ve been lucky enough to see her work. Other times, I’ve been smacked or shoved out. Once, I was chased away with a broom.”
Daphne’s mouth twitched. “Well, that’s too bad. I hoped you would be able to tell me what he’s been saying.”
“Why not use one of the other ghadi wallahs?”
“They don’t trust me. And, to be honest, I don’t trust them either.”
A grin spread lazily across his face. “I am glad to hear that you trust me.”
Her blush was almost painful. “Er … good.” She cleared her throat. “Could you teach me some phrases in Hindi for tomorrow, then? I’d like to ask the spirit a few things.”
They spent the walk back to the billet repeating Hindi words, continuing to draw stares. But Daphne tuned them out, focusing only on how Akash shaped the words on his lips and the way his voice resonated on each vowel.
Back at the sandstone building, Akash showed her how to use the low-hanging awning of the next building over to jump onto the roof. She followed him across and dropped down at her open window. Daphne looked inside, but the room was dark. She had half-expected Lieutenant Crosby to be waiting for her with teeth bared and whip in hand.
Akash dropped down next to her. After she climbed through the window, they stood staring at each other, their hands resting on the sill. One white, one brown, only six inches away from touching.
“Akash?” Daphne had to swallow; all that talking had dried out her throat. “Tomorrow afternoon … come back to my window?”
He smiled slowly. “Haan, Miss Richards.”
Someone screamed in the darkness. It struck Danny like a lightning storm, but a barrier stood between him and whoever was in trouble, gray and impenetrable and terribly familiar.
Who was crying for him? Danny banged his fist on the barrier and shouted back. He told them to wait, that he was coming, that he would save them.
“That’s a laugh,” drawled a voice above his head. He turned to find the man with dark-tinted goggles leveling a gun at his head. “You can’t even save yourself.”