No one else tried. No one else even seemed to notice. I parted my lips, and the priest placed a pale wafer on my tongue. Next came the wine, tricklin... warmly down the back of my throat. I tried to be sacred, to focus on the blood, and the body, and the mystery of transubstantiation. But as I swallowed, all I could think of was Dmitri Caine—of his lips on my hand, his hand on my scarred, bare shoulder. His voice. His eyes. Like frost… I left the chapel as soon as the final blessing was. Kuch dur aur jaane ke baad maine rickshawaale ko rokne ke liye kaha aur use paise dekar uter gaye, fir usne mujhse kaha “kahan jaana hai” maine kaha pehle main jaata hun fir tu aana” usne kaha “par jaana kidher hai” maine ek purani building ki taraf ishara kiya fir usne kaha ” hay raam idher, khule mein ise dekhke to lagta hai koi nahi rehta yahan aur yeh building bhi tooti futi hai”, maine kaha “isiliye to yahan laaya hun tujhe meri jaan, yahan koi nahi aata aur apne ko kaunsi raat guzaarni. More

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