What was it someone had said about relativity and time? He didn't quite remember who, only his father quoting that bit about an hour spent with the beloved passing by faster than a minute and the faintest trace of colour on his mother's dusky cheeks just after.

The quote was right, and it was also terribly wrong.

Right, because the moments which had just been fated to the past had passed by all too soon, and he could swear that it hadn't even been a blink since that kiss which had left a lingering dryness on his lips, his throat, a deep aching still resonant somewhere inside of him where his heart might have been.

Wrong, because for these moments which were still his to own, time slowed down to all but a cliche'd trickle, in passing each second stretching to infinity; he only wished he could prolong each second longer than however long his all too human senses could perceive infinity.

As it was, time and tide waited for none; in the short silence following Kabir's penultimate question to his betrothed he was beseiged by the onset of momentary panic at how deep he'd gotten himself without even a thought. Surely, the panic hissed, it would be wiser to wait? A moment could not, after all, decide a life.

He didn't answer. He didn't want to.

"I-" and she turned her gaze downwards, hesitant again - but not lost, neither forlorn, he thought, and that was a relief in itself. Kabir wasn't quite sure what he'd do just now to soothe away any perceived hurt in her eyes were he condemned to bear witness to it a second time.

A second time, it was Claire who broke their silence, and again he was caught between regret at this - encounter, for dire need of a better word - being cut short, and gratitude that he'd been given some time to breathe again without his throat going dry, his heart throbbing at his temple and his lungs aching with each vapourous wisp of perfume he inhaled.

"Anjali?"

A flush of red colouring her cheeks, she soon slipped away from his grasp like the vapour he'd imagined her to be not so long ago, but not before she'd leaned against him, not before her lips had bled fire on his cheek, not before lighting up the darkness with the faintest of smiles and a whispered promise,

"I'll let you know."

And then, then she was well and truly gone. Kabir waited in the little sanctuary she'd found for them, waited and watched her leave, exhaling slowly as he gave up trying to understand what had just transpired. Just watching her glide away was enough - but when she turned back and smiled a full, real smile at him, he realised that he wouldn't have to pinch himself after all; it hadn't been a dream.

Still recovering from the events just previous, he raised a hand and gave a faint, hesitant smile in return. Not long after, he returned to that cosy, dark place and sat down, grainy wood rough against his back, leaned back, closed his eyes and just breathed.

Anjali was gone, but the fragrance remained, and it burned into his lungs and left an aching hunger just as deep as her lips against his.

Kabir decided he'd wait there awhile, in the cosy, dark place, until he could filter his thoughts enough to not think about a girl, a siren, a goddess come to life: his Betrothed, Anjali Padma Sharma.