I remember the fire, taller than the year before. All the tree cuttings and old pallets were stacked into a crooked tower at the end of Lia’s garden. The sky was shifting from twilight to the dark of night as everyone poured out of the house, wrapped up in thick, rustling coats and woollen hats. Lia’s dad was starting the fire, crouching before the wood as other parents held the children back.
The scent of hot mulled wine filled the air as adults took sips, steam mingling with the air as snippets of conversations were snatched by the wind.
Lia took my hand and tugged me closer to the fire, our breath condensing in the air. We stood shoulder to shoulder, the fur on the inside of her hood tickling my cheek as we watched the sparks take hold and the flames began to lick the air.
I could hear the distant sound of fireworks from the other side of the village, a fizzling pop and bang that cut through conversations.
We kept our eyes on the fire, bright and sharp, trailing smoke into the sky as stray embers caught on the frigid breeze. The woods stood behind it, a dark shadow across the landscape where the garden dropped away, replaced with tangles of branches and brambles, caught in the flickering firelight.
We were close enough to feel the smouldering heat.
“Devika, Lia,” her dad called us over, handing us skewers and a packet of marshmallows with a smile.
She sat on a log beside the fire, ripping the packet open with her teeth. The light reflected off her eyes as she smiled up at me. I perched beside her as we held out the sweets, sharing body heat.
Someone took out their camera, the flash going off and startling me as Lia pulled the blackened outer layer off her marshmallow. I watched her suck the sticky pink fluff off of her thumb. We shared them, passing them between us as the fire roared, slowly burning down.
We ended up in her bed, huddled beneath the duvet, noses still sore from the cold and the smell of smoke permeating our hair. The darkness outside the window was all consuming, any distant street lamps blocked out by the winding trunks of swaying trees.
The only light in the room came from Lia’s DS as she lay on her back, braids splayed like ringlets across her silk pillow. She clicked away at the buttons, whispering to me across the darkness. Something about one of our classes, or the latest gossip threading its way across school.
I was lying on my stomach, watching her from the side.
Lia shifted beneath the covers, nudging my shin with her icy toes. “Oh, sorry,” she said, eyes flickering between the game and my profile.
“It’s alright,” I said, wondering how much of my face she could see in the darkness.
“Are you cold?” She asked.
I shrugged, turning to face her. “Kind of,” I said, watching her mouth turn up into a smile that bloomed across her face.
“Come here.” Lia slammed her DS shut, letting it fall to the pile of clothes and pillows littering the floor. In the dim moonlight, I felt her move, pulling the duvet up until it covered our heads. It was warm inside our cocoon of fabric, where no light could reach us. All I could hear was the gentle sound of her breaths. She reached for me, finding my hand and pulling me into her, our heads resting against the pillow.
My mind wandered, conjuring images of us. Late night studying in a library until the sun comes up, going to dances until we can barely stand. Kissing at garden parties as the light of day fades from the sky. Maybe, I thought, we could be more than just this. We could start a family, holding a screaming baby at all hours of the night, rocking them back to sleep in our own house, papered in patterns we pick from a book.
We stayed there until our faces were hot, the duvet falling away. Lia turned to me, hand still clutching mine beneath the sheets. “What are you thinking about?”
I backed away, my heart stuttering at my throat. The words ran through my mind as my mouth floundered. “Do… you think I would look good with short hair?”
Her hand came up to the back of my head, carding through the black mass of hair that I desperately wanted to buzz. I wondered if she believed me, that this was what I wanted to ask her.
“I think you’d look cute no matter what,” she whispered, eyes roaming across my face.
“Oh,” I said, vision narrowing to the sliver of moonlight hitting her mouth. I leaned in, catching her lips in a kiss. It was my first, eager but inexperienced.
She broke away with a grin. “Was that supposed to be your confession?”
I turn to her, that same grin on her face as she watches our family dance together, mehndi running across her skin. Her laugh breaks free as her mum faces down one of my brothers. Lia turns to me, eyes wide, and takes my hand in hers. There is a sign at the other end of the large room with our names on it, swirling letters intertwined. The drumming picks up as she drags me off the golden chairs and into the swirling mass of dance and family, pressing her lips to the corner of my mouth.
