Harry shakes his head. "I really can't, Tasmin." Without looking at me, I feel his hand find its way into mine. "I'd like to, though."
I squeeze his hand. "One day, maybe?"
I don't think he means to, but his breath hitches. I glance at him, his mouth opens to speak, but no words come out. Staring at him, feeling his hand in mine, I can't begin to fathom how much I'll miss his unsmiling face, and the precious memories of when he did smile.
"Hey," I hear him say. He's leant over the armrest, and his face is so much closer to mine. His furrowed brows suggest that he's discovered that I'm on the verge of something, and that they are most definitely not tidal waves of tears. "It's okay."
I nod. "I know."
"I'll travel the world with you, Tasmin," he says firmly. "One day." Linking my pinky with his. "Shake it, you break it."
I hold my pinky in place, careful not to move it a millimetre. He laughs softly, and I command my brain to take a snapshot of this moment, with Harry laughing like that as my heart melts. I let my eyes fall to where his gaze rests – the ring shimmering on my finger.
"Should I keep this?" The words fall off my tongue before I can think twice.
He looks up at me quickly. "What –?"
"I mean, Harry, this ring must've been expensive. And you're moving away and, well, having this on, I…" I know I'm rambling. But I really can't be wearing this. I know next to nothing about Harry, and he'll leave before I ever get the chance to. But what's worse is that this ring on my finger is like a reminder of him. It's a good-bye reminder.
"You really don't want to keep it?" he asks softly, and his voice cracks.
"I want to keep it!" People turn their heads to me, and I'm glad the theatre's dark, for my cheeks are definitely red as beetroots. "I just –"
"Then there's no reason to return it to me, Tasmin," he concludes, letting go of my pinky and rubbing my knuckles. "I'd like you to keep it too."
"But…" I myself don't know what I want to ask, but there's uncertainty in everything right now, and I'd like to be sure of just one thing. Perhaps Harry can give me that. "… Why?"
Harry shrugs quickly. "Why not?"
"That's not the reason though, Harry, is it?" I stare at his hand. "Is this ring…" I don't want to say it. But I… I'm desperate for answers. "… good-bye –?"
"Never."
His answer comes so suddenly, the surety in his tone frightens me. Everything about Harry now has been uncertain. He's been nervous, embarrassed, upset, angry, annoyed, with me. This may be the first time that I trust his words, well, word, completely.
My hand remains cupped within Harry's throughout the entirety of the show. He doesn't pull away, even as my fingers become increasingly, uncomfortably clammy. I glance at him a couple times, trying to see the familiar sort-of twisted expression on his face, but it simply doesn't show. Unlike the chaotic, adult-dirtiness of the show below, Harry's expression remains much the same. Calm and undeterred.
We emerge into the hallway, squinting in the blinding lights of the hallway that pierces through the darkness of the theatre. I may not have noticed beforehand because of the loudness on stage, but my stomach is rumbling. Loud. Grumbling its disapproval of how long I've been starving it, despite only having consumed something hours before. Then again, I did give all my garlic bread to Harry, who's stomach remains silent and content. Nonetheless, he unhesitantly takes my hand and leads me up to the buffet the moment he hears my stomach's obnoxious complaints.
"Aren't we going to eat with the others?" I say, as Harry presses the upwards elevator button.
He glances briefly at his watch, then at me. "It's already a little late to head in now," he informs me. "They'll have given our table to other guests by now."
"But the others might've already –"
"It doesn't matter, Tasmin," he mutters, sounding somewhat annoyed. I turn away, hiding what I'm sure is a hurt expression upon my face. He sees it, and I hear him take a loud breath. "We should have dinner together, don't you think?" he says, a little calmer, but the tightness in the way he holds my hand doesn't change. With my free hand, I reach up and lay it on his warm cheek. He seems taken aback by the gesture, but doesn't move away. I slide my thumb over his cheekbone, caressing the hot skin there, and avoid gazing into his emerald eyes. The door to the elevator slides open, and I have to tug on his arm a little to get him moving again.
Guilt settles in my stomach as we take our seats opposite each other in a corner booth. I know for a fact that Lilli will give me a hard time when I see her again, but I wouldn't leave Harry here. In fact, as soon as we sit down, I realise how close I am to an answer from him. Over the table, I flip over his wrist, and run over the faint white lines there. Gently, even though I know it doesn't hurt. I feel his stare, and it's almost enough to make me implode.
Again, the image of younger Harry standing weakly in a bright bathroom, a reflection of his distressed face in the mirror appears. When the blade slides close to his wrist, I close my eyes and the image is gone.
I look up from Harry's hand. "Harry, you've entrusted me with this expensive-ass ring, even though you probably will never see me wearing it again." I take a deep breath. "I'd like to know why you did this to yourself. Could you entrust me with that? Before you go?"