Page 92 of No Boss
She took the chair nearest the light and opened it carefully. The pages had turned yellow, the ink softened to brown.
She glanced up and tilted her chin toward the other chair.
He moved immediately. Pulled it closer than necessary. Because obviously he needed to see the book. If that left their shoulders nearly touching… Well, practical considerations.
“The first Anand to settle here was Thakur Jai Kumar Anand,” she began, unaware, or choosing not to acknowledge how little space he had left between them. “Not a wealthy man. Not at first. A minor landowner with good instincts and strong faith.”
Her finger traced a line as she read.
Abhinav leaned in just enough to see. That was the excuse. His arm came to rest on the table, close to hers. His shoulder angled in, closing the distance without making it obvious.
He looked at the page. Looked at her hand. Forced his attention back to the book.
She translated as she read, her voice steady. Too steady.
“He began with fifty acres. By the time of his death, over three hundred.” A page turned. “The real change came during the drought of 1632.”
She shifted for a more comfortable position. The movement brought her closer. She felt it. But moving away would make it obvious.
She forced herself to focus on the page.
“Here.” Her finger stopped where the writing grew uneven, more urgent.
“Three months without rain,” she read. “The wells are dry. The crops have failed. My people are starving.”
She turned her head slightly toward him as she translated, and immediately wished she hadn’t.
He was closer than she had accounted for.
Meera’s breath paused, then returned.
“This is where everything begins,” she continued, turning the page. “Thakur Sa went alone to the hill where the villagers believed a goddess had once appeared. He fasted for three days. No food. No water.”
Her voice lowered. “On the third night, Kul Devi came to him.”
Abhinav didn’t interrupt. Didn’t move.
“Maa told him to dig at the base of the hill. She promised water would flow if he built her a temple and protected her devotees. For all time. He agreed.”
Another page opened to a rough sketch.
“The next day, he found an underground spring exactly where she had shown him.” Her finger traced the drawing. “This was the first temple. Stone walls. Sacred fire. The Haveli rose around it.”
“You speak as if you were there.” His voice had dropped. Or perhaps it sounded that way because of the space.
Warmth rose to her cheeks.
“These stories are not just history,” she replied, finding her balance again. “They are who we are.”
Her eyes met his. “Who you are.”
Light caught in her hair, softening her face.
Something in his expression changed. Quiet. Unnamed. As if he had found something he hadn’t expected to find.
“Hukum,” she dropped her eyes back to the book. “Are you listening?”
“Yes.” Not entirely untrue. He had been listening. Just not to the right things.
