Pokhara Lake – Part 2: Above the Lake

They ran. Sita's legs pumped, the grass slipped under her boots, and then there was nothing under her feet at all.

She screamed, and the sound was torn away by the wind. Then she laughed, because she was flying.

The lake spread out below them, a sheet of pale silver with the green hills folded around it like cupped hands. The town was a scatter of red roofs and white walls. Boats drew thin lines across the water. The mountains rose behind it all, enormous and impossibly clear.

"Look down," Aarav said, his voice calm in her ear through the radio.

She did. Her stomach dropped, then steadied.

"Oh," she whispered. "Oh, it's beautiful."

"Yes."

They drifted in lazy circles above the water, the canopy tilting gently as Aarav steered with the lines. Every so often a gust rocked them, and she gripped the straps, but his hands were steady on the controls and his voice was steady in her ear, and the fear kept shrinking.

"Tell me about yourself," he said. "It helps to talk. Keeps the mind busy."

So she told him. About Kathmandu, where she had grown up in a flat full of cousins and the smell of frying spices. About the accountancy job she had taken because it was safe, and how every morning she felt a little smaller at her desk. About the brother who had dared her into the mango tree and was now a father of three, living in Chicago, and who still called her every Sunday to ask whether she had climbed anything lately.

"And you?" she asked. "Why do you fly?"

He was quiet for a moment. The wind hummed between the lines.

"My father was a pilot," he said at last. "A rescue pilot, in the mountains. He died when I was twelve, in a storm over the Annapurnas. I didn't fly for years after that. Then one morning I found his old canopy in the back of a shed, and I put it on, and I jumped off the hill behind our house." He laughed softly. "I broke my ankle. My mother was very angry. But I felt, for the first time since he died, that he was still with me in the air."

Sita's throat tightened.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Don't be. It was a long time ago." His voice softened. "I'm glad you came. I haven't taken anyone up who was this scared since I started. It reminded me why I love it."

They landed gently in a field outside the town, the canopy sighing down onto the grass. Sita stumbled out of the harness, her legs shaking, and laughed breathlessly into the sunshine.

Aarav caught her before she fell.

For a moment they stood very close, his arms around her waist, her hands on his shoulders, both of them breathing hard. His eyes were bright, and his lips were parted, as if he had forgotten what he was going to say.

"You did it," he said softly.

"We did it," said Sita.

She did not decide to kiss him. It simply happened, a rush of relief and gratitude and something warmer that had been building in her chest since the moment he had said I'm your pilot, if you're brave enough to trust me.

He made a low sound, almost a laugh, and kissed her back, his hands sliding up her back and pulling her closer. The kiss was unhurried and sweet, tasting of salt and sunshine and the faint cold of the wind.

When they finally parted, Sita was smiling so widely her cheeks ached.

"Dinner?" Aarav asked, a little unsteadily.

"If you promise not to make me fly again tomorrow."

"I promise nothing," he said, grinning. "But I know a place by the lake where the momos are better than anywhere in the city."

They walked back toward the water together, his hand in hers, the mountains turning pink above them as the sun went down.

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Next: Manila Typhoon, two officemates, a storm and a night that nobody in the building will forget.