Page 7 of Born in Sin

Celina moaned as she turned slowly on to her back, grass and dirt sticking to her face. Her eyes opened, brown and clear, her hand going to catch the one he still had on her shoulder. Her chest moved rapidly, her breathing uneven. Virat went to remove his hand, but she wouldn’t let him.

“Don’t go,” she whispered, her voice thready and weak. “Don’t leave me.”

“I won’t,” he promised, the words leaving him before he could stop them, his own heart racing.

The next second his promise broke like a glass vase shattering on the floor as Coach grabbed him by his shirt and threw him aside. His hand was ripped from hers as people crowded around her.

Virat stared at the backs of people filling the space between her and him.

“Come on,” Ishaan said roughly. “She’s fine now.”

With a last backward glance, Virat allowed his friend to drag him away from her.

She didn’t need him. She was fine now.

“Jha. Adajania.”

They turned slowly to face Coach. Some of the girls were helping Celina to her feet.

“Fifteen laps followed by twenty burpees followed by fifty squats.” Coach glared at them like they’d pushed her to the ground.

Ishaan groaned.

“NOW!” Coach barked and they started moving.

“I hate girls,” Ishaan muttered.

Virat didn’t answer. He was watching Celina. Something was wrong. He saw her stumble, one hand pressed to her side.

“Go!” Coach shouted.

“Come on,” Ishaan pulled at his shirt. “We better go.”

With one last look at her, Virat went.

Chapter Three

VIRAT

So, can I tell you a secret?

The words from more than a decade ago still haunted him. How many times had they said that to each other? How many secrets had they shared? How many lives had they lived in the moments they’d stolen from fate?

“Is it them?” Celi, no Cara, he reminded himself, whispered, her eyes wide, her skin ashen.

Virat nodded, his hand going to hold her when she swayed but she backed away from him, slashing a fresh wound in his heart. She pressed a hand to her chest, as if to contain her heart, before sitting down on the narrow couch that lined one wall of the van.

“Tell me,” she said after a moment, her voice steadying as she breathed deep and slow.

“Do you remember Dhrithi from school?” he asked, leaning against the other end of the van, trying to give her as much space as the cramped space would allow.

“Of course,” Cara answered. “She married Varun Gokhale. He died in a recent car crash, didn’t he?”

“He did.” Virat nodded.

“Forgive me if I don’t mourn him,” she said, a caustic note in her voice.

Virat almost smiled at the hint of the Celi he knew, the Celi he –