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She doesn’t speak, at first. She just stares, her doe eyes wide and afraid. Asra has seen wounded animals less timid. There must be some part of her, though, that still knows him, that calls out for his touch – when he reaches out to her, she doesn’t shrink away. It’s a start, but it doesn’t make his heart ache any less.
…
For the first few days, she doesn’t stop shivering. He wraps her in blankets, draws her a hot bath, spoon feeds her sweet potato soup spiced with cinnamon. “Your favourite,” He says. Her glassy eyes barely acknowledge his presence. At least she’s comfortable with him. He doesn’t know what he would do, if it wasn’t for that.
…
Her obedience frightens him. In life, she had been so determined; she always asked ‘why’, didn’t believe in blind trust, planted her feet firm and stood up for what she believed in – even if it broke her heart. Even if it killed her. Now, she is as silent as the grave, simply watching as he dresses her. “Blue is your favourite colour,” He explains, straightening her periwinkle sleeves. She just stares at him, blankly.
…
“You always used to do it like this,” He tells her, his fingers working through her hair. Half up, half down, gathered into a plait at the back of her head, tied with a velvet ribbon. He can’t get it right, no matter how many times he tries. His technique improves as the days pass by, becoming much neater than his first shameful attempt, but it is a far cry from her expert fingers. She inspects his handiwork in the mirror, takes in the way her dark hair is pulled away from her face, yet hangs long and loose about her shoulders.
…
One day, when she is still learning to speak, drawing words together as though she is weaving a thread in her mind – she begins to hum. The teacup drops from Asra’s hands, shatters on the floorboards, scalding hot tea and china debris exploding outwards.
She rushes in to stare at him. “Was it bad?”
Asra blinks, shakes himself free from the ghosts of his memories. “No, no. It’s lovely. My fingers slipped, that’s all.”
He does not tell her it is the song they first waltzed to together. That night, she dances through his dreams, her skirt whirling and billowing around her, like it had on the night they had first met.
…
These days, she does her own hair. As much as he misses combing through her curls, it takes his breath away the first time he sees her. She has fixed it before, after he has finished, but it never looks so perfect as the day she first enters into their little kitchen with her dark hair tied into a little fishtail plait, while the rest drapes over her shoulders in loose waves. When she drifts past him, he catches the scent of green apples, as fresh as they just been plucked. A barrage of memories come flooding back to him, of burying his face in her hair as he held her, as she slept, as they swayed together to the sound of music.
She must have noticed his eyes fly wide as she asks, blushing, “Is something wrong, master?”
Asra swallows hard. “Oh, no. You just… smell nice.”
Her blush deepens. “I bought a new shampoo at the market. Do you mind?”
Asra shakes his head, too stunned at first to respond. “Not at all,” He says, at last, gathering himself together.
…
It has been almost nine years since they met, and a year since she returned to him.
She isn’t there when he wakes. He tries not to panic; she always was an early riser, and she can handle herself now. He would know if something was wrong, wouldn’t he? He had known the first time.
Too late, whispers a voice in the back of his head.
Then, the bell that hangs above the door rings, and there she is. She whirls into the shop, a paper bag in her arms, the scent of freshly baked pumpkin bread filling the room. She smiles at him. “Breakfast,” She explains, brightly, handing the bag to him.
There are snowdrops tucked behind her ear.
“What’s this?” He asks, dumbfounded, his fingers brushing her hair aside.
“Oh!” She gasps, “I’d forgotten!” She reaches inside the bag, retrieves another stem of it, and tucks it behind his ear. “I got one for you too.”
She inspects his face, admiring her work. For a second, she gazes at him so intensely, the impish quirk of her lips slipping, he fears she has seen something in his features.
“What is it?” He says, his heart pounding.
She laughs. “It’s no use, Asra,” She says, beaming at him. “It suits you too well. It just blends in with your hair.” Then she goes up on tiptoe, drops a kiss on his cheek, and whisks away.
She is a hurricane, and she leaves Asra a wreck in her wake. His cheeks are in flames, especially where her lips had touched his skin, and he feels as though he is coming undone.
…
She stumbles back from the furnace, and she remembers. Her body sways, and her legs give out from under her. Asra catches her, steadies her, holds her upright. Waits for her to recoil from his touch.
Cass looks up at him. Seeing him, truly seeing him, her eyes wide with horror. He wants to comfort her. He wants to hold her close, to feel her, solid and real, beneath his fingers. Instead, he lets his hands drop to his sides. “There’s one more thing I have to show you.”
Cass doesn’t respond. She just stands there, staring, emptily. Tears glisten in her eyes.
“Cass?” He says. His heart is in his throat, and it’s choking him.
She blinks. Then, silently, she moves to his side, and slips her hand into his.
…
He leads her out, onto the beach. He tells her everything.
She says nothing.
He has lost her. She is stood in front of him, alive and breathing, and he has lost her.
Then, a miracle. She steps forward – closer to him – and reaches up to his face with her free hand. With her thumb and finger, she tilts his chin downward, angling his face to look at her. Gently, she brushes the tears from under his eyes, runs the back of her fingers down his cheek.
“Asra,” She says, softly. “Do you really know me so little?” A smile touches her lips. “Don’t you know I would have done the exact same thing?”
...
"Cass," He breathes. And then, at once, she goes to him and he goes to her, and the boat rocks beneath them, and she kisses him. Fireworks burst in the sky overhead. Her breath in his mouth is warm, and her hands rest on his chest, and as she pulls away he can feel the shape of her lips curving into a smile, and she has come back to him.