At a friend’s house in New Jersey for a weekend writing retreat. How much can I get done in a day-and-a-half of really focused work?
“Walking away would mean giving up the brightness of Leila’s smile, the way Arjun already knew how to make her laugh. The touch of their fingers on her skin, the scents of them: honey and cayenne, woodsmoke and sandalwood, lime and petrichor. Dancing and swimming. Grooming the kris-deer. Tasting sweat-salt on Leila’s skin. Raj’s hand on her wrists, pressed against the metalwork gate; his mouth on hers, hot and urgent. Walking away would mean stuffing every bright moment of the last seven days into a box and shoving it down deep, where it couldn’t hurt her.”