After the Thanksgiving fiasco, I found that Annika was strangely cool to me. Apparently she had looked for me that night and when she wasn’t successful, it got her feathers ruffled having to watch over the kids by herself. She wouldn’t admit to it, but I think she knew I had gone out with Rhett and she was jealous, and I couldn’t bring myself to tell her what happened. I wanted to lock it away in a box, never to be opened again.

I was good at locking things away. Most things, anyway.

What I couldn’t ignore was my near-constant thoughts about Dev and how I felt connected to him in way that made me catch my breath. He had left for school without saying goodbye, but I had stayed in my room for most of that weekend, so I couldn’t blame him for giving me my space. He must have done a convincing job with his family because no one ever questioned Rhett’s hasty departure; they believed he had left early to meet his parents in Rome for a last minute reunion.

Not more than a week after Thanksgiving, I got an email from Dev. I didn’t even realize he had my address.

 

Scarlett-

 

Just checking in to see if you’re alright.

 

Please let me know.

 

-Dev

 

 

I didn’t know what to make of it. I waited a day and then hit “reply.”

 

Hi Dev,

 

I’m fine. Thanks for asking. Thanks for everything, actually.

 

How is school?

 

Scarlett

 

I could have told him I was fine and just left at that. But a part of me wanted to keep the exchange alive. The next morning, he had written again—this time, a bit more. He told me about his classes, the ones that bored him, the ones he actually liked. And he mentioned some of his favorite places in the city.

He was…friendly.

I replied and teased him about the frigid weather in New York by mentioning how it was 75 in Texas, and how I was wearing a t-shirt and shorts. I also sent him a link to a new article I had contributed to for Texas Monthly.

He wrote back that same day with sincere congratulations and told me how much he liked my writing…and asked me what type of writing I most interested in pursuing after college.

 

Dev,

 

Don’t roll your eyes, but I want to write about poverty and social inequalities. It might sound nuts, but I want to make a difference in the world on some level with my writing.

 

His reply made me smile and my confidence soar.

 

Scarlett,

 

You don’t sound nuts—at least not about your writing. ;) Truthfully, if only there were more people in the world like you, it would be a much better place. I feel honored…to know someone like you.

 

We wrote voraciously to each other for the next week. I learned more about him—his thoughts, philosophies, fears and passions—than I ever gleaned from the years I knew him growing up. Finally, after all this time, I was getting to know the real Dev—not the cold, calculating image he had crafted while growing up. And I felt like I was…falling in love with him.

I wondered if the feeling was mutual.

I thought maybe he hinted at something one morning when I opened an email from him with a decidedly different tone. The time-stamp was three AM the night before.

 

Scarlett,

 

I wrote you a long email but second-guessed it and hit the delete button. Some things are better said in person. Just wanted you to know I was thinking of you.

 

-D

 

P.S. Do you still have that pink sari? The one you wore in my room…when I caught you rifling through my things? ;)

 

I had to catch my breath. Was he falling for me like I was falling for him? Was he thinking of me at this very moment? Something inside of me knew the answer.

I waited until after dinner that night to write back.

 

 

Dev,

 

I wrote you an even longer reply but deleted it. Now you’ll share my pain of having to guess what it said.

 

Yes, I still have the pink sari. And no, I was not rifling through your things. I was delivering towels like a good houseguest. You just happened to have a book opened to something interesting, and I’m a sucker for a good poem—and why am I explaining myself to you again?

 

Scarlett

 

 

I got a reply moments later.

 

Can I call you?

 

I felt instantly nervous. Talk to him over the phone? Hear his silky voice, his measured breathing? It was infinitely more intimate than email. Before I could write back, my cell phone rang. Oh god, it’s him.

I grabbed the phone and but let it ring one more time so I wouldn’t seem anxious.

“Hello?”

“You don’t mind that I called you, do you?” His voice was relaxed, calm, like he was lying in bed. It felt strangely intimate to think we were both in bed talking to each other. I forced myself to sound normal.

“Dev, hi. No, no, of course not.” Why am I so nervous?

“Where are you right now?” he asked.

“In bed. It’s eleven here…which means it’s one AM there. Why aren’t you asleep?”

“Can’t,” he explained.

“Have you tried warm milk?” I cringed realizing how domestic I sounded.

“I don’t think warm milk can cure my problem.”

“Oh? What problem do you have?” I asked, innocently, though I sensed he was leading me on.

“I can’t stop thinking about…someone.”

I guess I would play his game.

“That’s interesting. Who is it? Your sadistic professor in business economics?”

He laughed, his voice silky and deep. “No, someone infinitely more attractive than Professor Hicky.”

A painfully long pause. I didn’t know what to say, but I was relieved he couldn’t see me bite my lower lip, my cheeks reddening. I chickened out of his open invitation to flirt and changed the subject.

“Your mom brags about your grades all the time. And the fact that you’re going to an ivy league school. Annika is getting tired of it. I think she’s jealous.”

His response was strangely sullen. “She shouldn’t be.”

“You don’t realize that around here you’re the golden boy—a prince. Your parents really love you.”

A pause.

“Not everything is as it seems, Scarlett.”

It was as if he was hinting at some dark secret. Before I could ask, he spoke again.

“Scarlett…”

“Yes?”

“Can I call you again? Tomorrow night? I think it will help me sleep better.”

“I wouldn’t be a friend if I didn’t help you with your insomnia.”

“I’m happy we’re friends.”

He made my heart pound and my breath quicken. I tried to sound calm.

“It’s late…”

“You’re right. Sweet dreams, Scarlett.”

 

From that day, our daily emails turned into nightly phone calls, sometimes lasting into the early morning hours. He was increasingly holding my mind hostage. When I woke up each day, I thought of him. And he was the last thought I had before I fell asleep each night. And no one in the house suspected a thing. What would his parents think? What would Annika think?

I wasn’t ready to find out.

I often pulled out his sweater—the one from that night—and wore it to bed, enjoying the soft cashmere against my skin, and delighting in the knowledge it had once been against his. I longed to see him again…and with the holidays around the corner, I hoped he would be coming home soon.

But not everything turns out the way you want it to, does it?