Every Little Piece of Me

By Neha Yazmin

If you think finding your soulmate is the hard part, think again...

After a tumultuous year, star-crossed lovers Mukti and Jamie have finally resolved their personal issues and are starting a new life together in New York City. Mukti has found her calling in life and Jamie's music career is taking off.

But as all this brings new obligations and responsibilities, their love is once again put to the test. This sequel unravels even more secrets and lies which threaten to split them apart forever.

This contemporary romance series is suitable for fans of new adult romance books.

This book was previously published as Make You Feel My Love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Neha Yazmin
• Release date: Jun 22, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301137732

Neha Yazmin

Neha Yazmin graduated from University College London (UCL) with a degree in Psychology yet somehow ended up working as an investments professional for seven years, picking up a range of accents and extremely high heels along the way. She now lives in London with her husband and son.Neha writes fantasy for readers of YA fiction and contemporary romance for adults. Her Poison Blood Series is an urban fantasy with vampires, while her Heir to the Throne Trilogy is an epic fantasy with mermaids.She is a huge fan Twilight, BBC's Merlin, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and the Throne of Glass books. Neha also enjoys reading about witches, dragons, fallen angels, and would love to live in the world of the Shadowhunters. When she isn't reading or writing or running after her little son, Neha can be found binge-watching Sherlock, Charmed, and Marvel movies like the X-Men series and the Avengers—whilst drinking cups of chai tea.

Book preview

Chapter 0

Past

There it was, the face Mukti was searching for in the crowd. The face she faked illness for. The face for which she climbed out of her brother’s car when it was stuck in traffic on the way to hospital. The face for which she jumped on a packed Central Line train, eastbound to Redbridge. There he was, her boyfriend, Daniel White. My Danny.

He made the room disappear.

Mukti would feign fifty different ailments, flee from a hundred of her brother’s cars, take a thousand buses, and ride a million trains to see that face. That adorable baby-face with dark-brown hair fanning across his forehead and those big, deep blue eyes, a mix of sapphire and navy. Like the night sky after a bright summer’s day.

Imprisoned by her family since the college year finished a fortnight ago—to keep her away from the boy she loved—she wished she’d faked appendicitis sooner. At least she came up with the idea in time to attend Danny and his friends’ house party tonight. This wasn’t his house, though; Danny knew the Uni students renting this place on Redbridge Lane.

Danny would leave for the University of Liverpool in September. Three months’ time… Her feet moved automatically towards the centre of the open-plan living/dining room where Danny stood surrounded by his friends. She had dated several boys in the last few years, but none of them came close to Danny. She didn’t actually like her ex-boyfriends that much. She was simply acting out, seeking her parents’ attention, for she never gained their approval. They doted on their two sons and pampered her younger sister, and Mukti got left out.

What had she done wrong?

What wasn’t she doing right?

Was it because Mukti wasn’t the typical Bangladeshi Muslim teenager, different from her family, her peers, and the people from her neighbourhood in Dalston? She never fit in at primary or secondary school. She never fit inside her own body, her own skin. Sometimes, she wondered if she was adopted, if that was why she never felt at home. Never felt part of the family. She looked so much like her mum—black wavy hair, fair skin—and she had her father’s coffee-brown eyes, so she knew they shared a blood connection.

She was their daughter, but why didn’t they like her?

Mukti stopped seeking those answers halfway through secondary school and decided to change. A new wardrobe and attitude made her the coolest girl in school and it was great. It was even better now, because of Danny. She knew he was special the moment she saw him in her first A/S Level Maths class last September. Those dark eyes had a charismatic pull, a special fire behind them. If only he asked her out that first day rather than five months later!

As she weaved through the numerous bodies in the stuffy room, a few people from Danny’s group walked off in opposite directions, as if to open the circle out to her in welcome. The sight that greeted her wasn’t welcome, though. Three people remained with Danny, but as Mukti came to a stop in front of him and he finally saw her, his attention returned swiftly to the short, chubby boy chatting to his right. Spitting as he spoke, his words were barely audible over the loud music. The others seemed to hear him fine, though, nodding and laughing with him. Why couldn’t Mukti make out what he was saying? The music’s too loud in my head.

The guy to Danny’s left was really tall and skinny, and had light skin and a wide, smiley mouth. And the girl beside Danny… was in his arms. She glanced at Mukti and smiled. Mukti glared. Why’s Danny holding her like that? A portion of her brain felt relieved that Chubby continued his banter; everyone was obviously waiting for his anecdote to finish before they could greet Mukti. Her peripheral vision detected Tall Guy peeking at her every now and then, a smile on his face.

Devastated that Danny didn’t drop his arm from the girl, Mukti watched in silent horror as the grey-eyed blonde put her arm across Danny’s stomach. How dare she? Danny’s my boyfriend! Sure, Mukti hadn’t seen him since her final A/S exam a fortnight ago, but they were still a couple. We didn’t split up. Moisture spread over her eyes but she didn’t want to cry. She felt like punching Danny and the girl and that stupid Chubby, still blabbering away. Behaving like a sad, jealous, desperate ex wasn’t a good look, either. But I’m not even his ex yet.

Judging by how loud his pals laughed, Chubby must have made his punch-line good.

Hey, Mukti. Danny’s smile was dim in comparison to how he usually greeted her. He didn’t look happy she was here.

"Mukti? Tall Guy blinked, clearly stunned. Then, he lowered his voice to add, I mean, nice name. Hi."

You made it. Danny nodded at her.

Mukti just about managed, Hi. Head blank, the blaring music created a vacuum inside her mind, which ate up Danny’s voice as he introduced Chubby and Tall Guy, leaving the girl for last. Mukti heard that name loud and clear. Melanie.

O-k-a-y… Danny seemed embarrassed by Mukti’s frozen state.

That stirred her rage. Her temper always took her by surprise when it flared, but when it did, Mukti usually found words. Great party, she hissed.

Thanks for coming. Not enough of our college buddies made it…

You go to college with Dan? asked Melanie. Mukti ignored her.

Can we talk, Danny? In private.

In a minute. Let me get you a drink first, Mukti. Before she could respond, Danny headed for the kitchen at the rear of the house, the final segment of this open-plan space, Melanie in his arms and Chubby in tow. They turned the corner and were out of sight.

Danny won’t return any time soon. But she’d wait. She needed to talk to him. She still loved him. Of course, she did. Love wasn’t something that died in one night, one horribly loud party.

Mukti really is a nice name, by the way.

Turning to the sound, she saw Tall Guy. Thanks. It means freedom in Bengali.

He chuckled. You’re psychic.

She shrugged. People always ask what it means.

I can’t blame them, it’s a nice name. His trendy blue jeans and white designer label T-shirt were similar to what Danny was wearing, though Danny’s jeans were black. It has a cool meaning, too, he added but Mukti didn’t hear any more.

She was pretty sure Danny was no longer in the kitchen; people could leave it through three exits: One leading to the living room, one opening to the back garden, and the final path led to the hallway. Mukti didn’t want to think about what Danny and Melanie were up to, especially if they went to a bedroom upstairs.

Should she have insisted on waiting before she and Danny had sex? Instantly, she took that back. Yes, she wanted Danny to be her first, but she just wasn’t ready. Was that why he gave up on her? Because of sex––or rather, the lack of? The vacuum in her head rattled with those sensitive questions. Even now, she loved Danny, and he said he loved her, and though his behaviour tonight twisted everything into a lie, she knew he cared about her. Should I sleep with him?

Her heart said she wasn’t ready. Her head reminded her that there was so much more to this decision—religion, culture, community, family honour… the list went on.

Tall Guy was still chattering away. She couldn’t take it anymore. It was adding to the buzz in her head. I need the bathroom. She left the lounge. I’ll check every bedroom upstairs if I have to!

As she made it to the narrow hallway, Tall Guy, a step behind her, said, There’s a small cloak room under the staircase.

Looking in the direction he was pointing, she found Danny. He was still in the kitchen. With Melanie.

They were kissing.

Heart pounding furiously, she almost gave in to the desire to hit Danny and everyone around her. But her fury, once again, rooted her to the floor. Tall Guy followed her gaze, saw Danny and Melanie making out, and didn’t think much of it. Does he think it’s okay for Danny to do that to me? No. Tall Guy seemed decent; he would disapprove if his friend—

Danny told everyone we broke up! Truly livid now, she wanted to march up to Daniel White and slap him. Humiliate him. Make him feel what she was feeling. Feel what I’m feeling… An idea burst into her head, irrational and reckless, but truly irresistible.

She turned to Tall Guy, who was scrutinising her face, and asked, Do you have a girlfriend?

Startled, his light eyes went frantic. He swallowed as though his mouth was dry. He ran his long fingers through his dark hair arranged in spikes, a popular hairstyle with guys of all ages these days. Err… no. His hesitation was nerves not dishonesty.

Are you gay?

No. The ‘of course, not!’ was in his tone.

Do you wanna make out?

His eyebrows arched up and his mouth parted an inch. Eventually, he said, I’d be lying if I said I haven’t been thinking about it… since the moment I saw you. Yet he just stood there. Boys answered the question ‘Do you wanna make out?’ with a kiss. Not him. No, he just stares.

"Do you wanna make out now?" she pressed, frustrated.

Yes, he replied automatically, gulping, though, I’d like to take you on a date first.

Take me on a date another time. Mukti stepped right up to him, their bodies touching. She tipped her head back to see him gazing down at her, his ragged breathing warm on her face.

Though, he seemed uncomfortable with her forwardness, Tall Guy couldn’t help but put his hands on her waist. He searched her eyes for a long moment. Hardly interested in romance, she stood on her tip-toes, her mouth angling for his. But his index finger pressed on her lips. Furious, she stepped back, wondering who to kiss instead.

That’s when Mukti felt herself being pulled forward by her waist. Then, a set of lips on hers. His hands spasmed against her skin when their mouths met and a ragged breath passed his lips. Quickly, their mouths settled into a sweet rhythm. He’s quite a good kisser. It didn’t feel like she was making out with a total stranger. I hope Danny’s watching. She should check...

Breaking away from her kissing partner, only for him to kiss his way down to her neck, she glanced towards the kitchen. Danny was leaning against the island in the centre of the kitchen, alone, watching her. The expression on his face made her feel dirty. Then, Melanie returned and they started making out. What?

Truly livid and heartbroken, Mukti sought out Tall Guy’s lips again. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pressed herself into his warm body, knowing her ex-boyfriend could see. Yes, he was her ex-boyfriend now. We are so over!

Except… desire for vengeance fizzed out fast. Who was she doing this for? Someone that didn’t care about her being in another boy’s arms? Danny isn’t worth it. She had to break free from this unwanted kiss. Go home. Beg for forgiveness. Be the good girl she’d been all along—still was, deep down.

Tall Guy’s long arms were so tight around her, though, his lips so urgent, losing himself to a moment that only existed for him. Using all her strength, Mukti prised those strong arms off her and pushed his chest to get some breathing space. He had backed her up against the rails of the staircase behind her, his now-hot body pressed against hers.

Startled, as though he really was somewhere else, Tall Guy asked, You okay?

I have to go. She headed for the front door.

Mukti, wait.

I have to go, she repeated, struggling with the lock on the door.

Smiling warmly, he came over and opened the door.

Thanks. Guilt swallowed her up as she saw the kind, gentle face before her, the big, friendly smile.

He chuckled. Let me walk you to the station. She knew that look on his face: Interest, curiosity, intensity. He didn’t just want to walk her to the station, he wanted to chat and flirt and exchange phone numbers.

She most certainly didn’t. It’s just a few minutes’ walk. I’ll be fine.

Can I get your number, then? His voice was too casual.

I don’t have a phone, she lied.

Okay. He knew he was being fobbed off and she thought she wouldn’t forget the way he said Okay for a while. When she walked into the black night, he said, See you later, Mukti.

It was just a saying, but still, Mukti thought, I very much doubt that.

Mukti? a different voice stopped her in her tracks. What did you do to her?

Nothing, Tall Guy answered defiantly.

Where you going, Mukti? the voice was behind her now.

She spun around. Away from you, Danny, she hissed.

Don’t go like this, Mukti. You wanted to talk; let’s talk.

I have nothing to say to you, you lying, cheating whore!

That’s not very nice, Mukti. He shook his head in disapproval, a tight grin on his lips.

Like you were being nice to me earlier?

I’m sorry about that. His voice was honest. Or was it her stupid heart distorting her interpretation of the situation? I thought you’d finished with me… I wanted to show you I was moving on.

You thought I’d finished with—where—when—what made you think that?

You wouldn’t answer my calls…

You know my family confiscated my mobile.

But I thought… I’m sorry. I love you, Mukti. I missed you.

She folded her arms across her chest. What about Melanie?

I told her you’re my girlfriend and I shouldn’t have used her to make you jealous.

Staring at him intently for a long time, she realised she believed him. She had trusted him, from day one. So, she let him take her hand and lead her inside.

His tall friend was sitting on the second to bottom step of the staircase, his face expressionless as they entered the house. He stood up and stepped aside to let Danny and Mukti go up the stairs. Tall Guy knew he’d been used and abused but he didn’t show her anything but a polite smile. I’m a terrible person. But she couldn’t dwell on that: Danny was with her again. He kissed her as soon as they entered a medium-sized bedroom with a double bed, one wardrobe, and en suite.

We were meant to talk, Danny. Mukti giggled and pushed him away. We sort of cheated on each other, shouldn’t we discuss that?

Later. He kissed her again, wrapping his arms around her waist. They lay down on the bed and started making out. This was how they always were—in each other’s arms, making out.

Then, Danny started pulling her cream-coloured cotton dress up. This wasn’t how they always were. She shoved him away.

"Don’t tell me you’re still not ready?"

Mukti got to her feet in a flash. I’m not!

He stood up and faced her. You were ready with a complete stranger in the hallway. He shook his head, annoyed.

No, I wasn’t! She turned for the door. You’re the whore, not me.

Mukti! he growled. He put his hand on her shoulder and spun her around. You called me that twice already. You don’t want to do it a third time.

He’s threatening me? It made her laugh. Why, what you gonna do about it? Whore!

Something hard hit the right side of her face at a high speed. He slapped her—so hard that she lost her balance and tumbled to the laminate floor—so unexpected and quick that she couldn’t brace herself with her hands. As she got to her feet, another blow hit the same side of her face; she fell again.

That’s when it happened.

That’s when Daniel White broke her.

Mukti was different from her family, her peers, and everyone she knew. That’s why, when she found herself in her bed later that night, she stared at the ceiling, wishing she knew Tall Guy’s name. Wishing she thanked him for bringing her home. He walked in when Danny—

Her mind trembled at the name. Her throat closed up. Her heart wanted to claw out of her chest and burst open. Her thoughts returned to Tall Guy and it became easier to breathe. He called them a cab, held her in his arms, comforted her as they journeyed home. Mukti ran up to her room as soon as her front door opened so she didn’t know what he told her family—is he still here?—but she hoped someone thanked him on her behalf.

After fifteen minutes of lying in her bed, failing to recall what name was used to introduce Tall Guy, the door to her room opened. She hoped it was Tall Guy, coming to say goodbye, so she could convey her gratitude. But it was her mother. She came and stood by the bedside cabinet. She knows. It was written on her face.

Mukti closed her eyes as her mother explained what the white boy told them: He found her in a room at a house party. She had been raped, probably by someone she knew. She finished with, Is that true?

Mukti felt grateful that Tall Guy kept the details concealed, leaving it to her to decide what she wanted to divulge. Yes, she replied in a small, broken voice, and finally started crying.

The sobs came to a halt when her mother said Have a shower and go to sleep before leaving the room.

Mukti wished Tall Guy had left her in a ditch somewhere. If she’d never felt part of this family before, she would never belong to them now.

Mukti would never belong to herself again.

Spring 2011

NEW YORK CITY

How very close is your soul to mine

—Jalal ad-Din Rumi

Chapter 1

Present

Jamie knew her eyes had been on him for some time now, while he was sleeping. Just like every night. And like every night, she would be happy and disappointed when he opened his eyes. Happy because she loved his eyes the best. Disappointed because she desperately wanted to draw his face, something that was impossible when he was awake.

He heard the gentle brushing of the graphite and clay of her pencil on the thick paper of her sketchbook—but her hyper-vigilance was unnecessary. What woke him every night was the fact that, even in unconsciousness, he could feel that she was awake. Pretending to sleep would please her because she would get more of her picture done; she started it two nights ago but only managed to draw the mess that was his jet-black hair.

Opening his eyes would mean seeing her brown ones and feeling his heart jumpstart. Sighing, she would put her sketchbook on the bedside cabinet, say Oh, Jamie! indulgently, and lie down next to him. Sorry, Mukti, would be his sheepish reply as he wrapped his arms around her. I can’t sleep when you’re awake. It makes no sense to waste time dreaming about you when I can see you for real. To that, she usually said, You don’t dream, Jamie.

Last night, Mukti added, Turns out, I don’t dream anymore, either. And I know why: Who needs dreams when life is better than fantasy?

You don’t miss dreaming about me?

Of course, I do. She touched her palm to his face. But I have everything I need and want. Any dream I have, could never be better than reality.

He smiled, but would have been happier if Mukti’s mind was filled with visions of him every night, just as it had been since the day they met, over a year ago.

Think about it this way: I’m up every night staring at your face for real. If you didn’t wake up, I’d stare at it all night…

Jamie’s answering smile was a more satisfied one. I promise, I’ll try not to feel your eyes on me. He would try, but he would fail. Mukti was a part of him. Not feeling her would mean he didn’t exist.

Just thinking about last night’s promise, his eyes rebelliously shot open to find the only sight they wanted to rest on. My muse. My Mukti.

Unsurprised to see those brilliant blue eyes shimmer in the soft light of the bedside lamp, Mukti knew Jamie’s eyes would have opened much earlier had he not promised to refrain from waking up when she was drawing his face. Well, you did try.

Jamie grinned. I’ll try harder tomorrow.

She put her sketchbook on the bedside cabinet, turned the lamp off, and lay down beside him. Jamie drifted off after a few minutes but it wasn’t so easy for Mukti to follow suit. She had the nagging feeling there was something she had to do.

Not something routine like locking the numerous locks on the front door; Jamie had gone overboard with house security, upgrading their already state-of-the-art alarm system.

Not something in preparation for the next morning, either; it was Saturday tomorrow. Jamie would be working the whole day and apart from the usual grocery shopping and cleaning, she had nothing planned.

So, what was it? And what was making her… anxious? Like a second shadow that was felt and not seen, this strange anxiety had lingered around her for a few days now. Surfacing only when Jamie wasn’t around, it hadn’t found her mind unoccupied enough to cause her any unease. Shoving aside the weirdness, she tried to remember what she’d forgotten—

My diary! But… Jamie would realise soon enough that she’d left the room and he’d go looking for her. If she wrote in her new journal in bed, the lamplight would wake him—and he needed sleep; he worked such long days! She could leave a note, telling him not to worry… Carefully, Mukti sat up and retrieved the journal with its brown leather cover from the bedside cabinet. A peacock feather and a Parker pen were secured to the front with a blue ribbon—

You remembered.

Mukti jumped.

I wondered when you’d get around to it. Ignoring her apologies for rousing him, he sat up. I should apologise. You wanted to do this earlier but I distracted you…

Remembering how he distracted her, heat flooded her cheeks. She never used to blush before, and now that she did, it happened so readily. She had once wondered why she never reacted like this when they first met, and Jamie said it was because she’d closed herself off from her own body and nothing could touch it.

Now, thanks to Jamie, she was wide open and most likely overcompensating for all the years of living like an ice queen—cold, closed off, not feeling anything, not allowing anyone past her walls…

I’ll keep my eyes closed and give you privacy.

Mukti picked up on the word privacy. I have nothing to hide from you. You can read whatever I write in this diary.

I know. I see in your eyes every thought and emotion running through you, because they flow through me, too. I don’t need to read your diary. I know what you’re going to write in it. He really did. Go on. He gestured at the journal. I’ll see you in the morning. I love you.

I love you.

Chapter 2

Diary

Friday May 6th, 2011

I’ve never had a diary before and I’m starting one now because it’s a ‘class assignment’. Thatcher (the artist teaching the evening art class I take every Monday) told us that writing down our thoughts, feelings, and memories can inspire our ‘artwork’. Yes, I’m having a go at becoming an artist.

Can you actually ‘become’ an artist, though? You either are or you aren’t, right? Like Jamie. He’s the most naturally gifted singer, songwriter, and musician. Songs and music play in his head without warning or conscious effort.

Thatcher was right about another thing: Writing a journal is indeed like making a best friend from the word ‘go’. If I write about my present, it won’t know my past. I think I should tell it a little more about me, so we’re really like friends.

My name is Mukti Khan. I’m 24. I grew up in Dalston, London. Being of Bangladeshi origin and a ‘part-time’ Muslim, I didn’t stand out in my neighbourhood but I never felt like I belonged anywhere. Here in New York City, though (East 69th Street on the Upper East Side of Manhattan, minutes from Central Park, yay!), I feel like I’m in the place I was born to live.

It’s a wonderful city! It looks so good with all its shiny skyscrapers, designer shops, cute delis, and homely cafes. It smells so good with the aroma of coffee, pretzels, and doughnuts in the air. Even the deafening sound of the huge, boisterous roads that my iPod at full volume can’t drown out is invigorating. When I walk down the ever-busy streets, weave through the hundreds of bodies rushing to work, tall paper cups of coffee welded to their fingers, I feel exhilarated, alive.

The city really never sleeps and I love it!

I felt the same way earlier in the year when Jamie and I travelled around Europe, because when I’m with him, Jamie makes every little piece of the Universe home.

I met him in January 2010. Before I saw his vivid blue eyes, chaotic crow-black hair, and perfect face, I was passing through this world without being a part of it. Being anyone but myself. Just so I wouldn’t have to deal with what happened to me 5 years ago. Jamie’s blue-diamond eyes formed my sky, his face became my sun, and his voice was a lullaby that helped me sleep restfully every night. 2010 was the most significant year in my life since 2005, but if I start talking about the summer of 2005, or the winter of 2010 when Jamie and I got together properly, I’ll never get around to the present.

What I will say is this: Jamie mended me and gave me a reason to live. I can’t see why he says I did the same for him. To me, Jamie has always been perfect. The only thing I had an issue with was how secretive he was in the beginning, never opening up to me. And it wasn’t great that he was wasting his amazing gift in bars and pubs when he should’ve been playing sell-out stadiums.

Jamie had given up on the idea of becoming a recording artist, you see. Given up on life. His childhood love Sarah had hurt him pretty bad – was still hurting him – and his troubled relationships with his parents had left him depressed and withdrawn. Jamie says I pulled him out of the black hole he’d dug himself and if I did, I’m glad. He belongs in the light.

The reason we’re both in NYC is because he’s recording his album here. Apparently, Jamie’s doing the ‘music career thing’ for me, because he doesn’t need or want anything else now that we’re together. He can be quite melodramatic! What else can you expect from a musical genius?

Jamie’s father, the renowned businessman, Peter York, ‘hired’ me to work at his firm’s New York subsidiary in order for me to get the required paperwork to accompany Jamie. He also owns the lovely townhouse Jamie and I live in now.

I can’t wait for Jamie to release his album. He wanted to call it ‘Mukti’ (it will comprise the first 15 songs he wrote about me) but I talked him out of it.

No one will be able to pronounce it right, I said of my name. I wasn’t bothered about how the world said my name but I knew that was the only complaint he’d take seriously.

When he suggested ‘Freedom’ (the literal translation of my name), the record company wanted something cooler, offbeat, to reflect Jamie’s unique style and ‘image’. Well, ‘lack of image’ (all Jamie ever wears is a plain T-shirt and skinny jeans!).

Eventually, they settled on ‘The Girl from The Bridge’. Jamie was determined for the album’s name to reflect who the songs were about. I don’t know if his record label thought the title matched what they wanted, but I’m sure what swayed them was the back story:

Jamie and I first saw each other near London Bridge. He was suffering from writer’s block and I managed to inspire a new song. He wanted to name that song after me, but because he didn’t know my name, he contemplated calling it ‘The Girl from The Bridge’. That’s what he would’ve known me by if he didn’t ask my name and scarper! Everyone loves a good story; especially those that could help sell records.

Jamie’s ‘stage name’ is another thing we debated. He wanted a pseudonym or at least drop his surname, even though he was becoming part of the York family again after years of acting like he’d been disowned. His relationship with his father is better than the one with his mother, Tanya Davenport. I don’t think he’ll ever forgive her for leaving them when he was 10, Maggie only 6. Whenever Tanya calls, he redirects her to voicemail.

I’ve always thought it’d be cool to see ‘Jamie Yorkk’ on CD covers, particularly if the second ‘K’ was a different colour or size to the rest of the letters. Jamie York is my favourite name in the world, I said sulkily. And with a double ‘K’ at the end… I’ll never be able to see your album cover with any other image. Jamie gave in after that little speech.

Then, he asked me to show him how I saw the cover in my head. I did a black-and-white sketch of his face and used turquoise felt-tip pens for his blue eyes. I wrote ‘Jamie Yorkk’ underneath, the second ‘k’ a felt-tip pen blue.

This is really good, he said, inspecting my ‘mock-up’. If the record company uses it, you could get royalties…

Ha-ha!

I’m serious. Have you always been good at art?

I told him that I got a ‘B’ in GCSE Art, even though I didn’t do any coursework (I was trying to be cool, rebellious, so I didn’t do much work). My teacher said my exam pieces saved me. I was good at copying pictures, drawing still-life, but I wanted to get into finance and economics, like my brothers, so I didn’t think about art after leaving school.

Not until Paris and the Louvre.

Yes, Jamie said, I knew the moment we walked inside the gallery that you wanted to be an artist. If you had pencil and paper, you would’ve doodled all the ideas racing through your head.

There were lots of ideas…

You were inspired, Jamie continued. I recognised in you the feeling I get whenever I look at you. Pure inspiration and magic. Jamie thinks I inspire him so much, conjure up so many songs in his head, that it can only be magic.

But recently, he’s developed a new angle on that. I used to think you inspired me so much, so soon after I first laid eyes on you, because of your magic, Jamie said one night in Rome. But it was actually because I fell in love with you. You’re half of my soul. You reached me where no one else ever had and my soul couldn’t stop singing about you.

I mock-pouted. I liked the idea of being magic…

I never said you aren’t, Jamie assured me. Just that you didn’t inspire me simply because of your magic, but because you were my soul mate. There’s something about you that people can’t help but love. Without trying, you draw people in. I’m a bit jealous. I don’t want to share you with anyone. You’ll never come across anyone who won’t want to protect you. And you’ll take care of them, too. You’re a good person; you like taking care of people.

Jamie had a point; people probably did orient towards the ‘victim’ in me. Sensing I’ve been hurt, they unconsciously want to help me, even when I’m distant. That’s why, Maggie, Henrik from my job back in London, Mary (Jamie’s former nanny-turned-housekeeper), Thatcher, Blake from my new job here at Mr. York’s company, all seem to like me even if I’m ‘shy’ in the beginning.

It’s nice, but I just want Jamie. It is possible to form meaningful connections with others, but the person who shares your soul, that’s the person you need to survive. What Jamie and I have is beyond special, and though it might sound naïve, cheesy even, I know we’ll always be together. In this life and the next. We’re a part of each other.

Whenever Jamie says I’m one half of him, I’m so happy I could die. I don’t know how to tell him, though: He’s more than a half of me.

He is all of me

Chapter 3

Heaven

The house felt enormous when Jamie left for the recording studio the next morning, pressing a kiss on her forehead before dashing off. Mukti wished he didn’t have to work weekends, but he was in a hurry to get his album recorded—so he could concentrate on what he really wanted to do: Be with Mukti. All she wanted was Jamie, too, but… after finding him, sharing her life with him, she realised life ought to be lived to the fullest.

There were many things she wanted to do and see. The Empire State Building. A Broadway show followed by a walk to Times Square where it would be bright as day. Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty. She wanted to do all those things with Jamie and so, she’d wait for him to sort his career out first.

Shutting the door, she keyed in the security password in the pad under the monitor that fed them pictures of their doorstep. It didn’t feel like home when Jamie wasn’t here, but she could see him in every corner of this property: Bounding up the narrow, steep staircase opposite the front door. Lounging in the ‘parlor floor’ that the porch steps led to, now used as an open-plan lounge and dining room, with the kitchen at its southern end, overlooking the back garden. His presence was strongest in their bedroom and the rooms on the top floor, one he’d turned into his music room, the other into Mukti’s studio.

She returned to the kitchen and started her weekly clean. There wasn’t much to do but wipe and sweep in the kitchen. The living room, housing a brown leather sofa, two matching chairs, a coffee table, and a sideboard under one of the two tall windows looking down on East 69th Street, didn’t take long to vacuum, either. There was just a large vase sitting on the mahogany sideboard and a little bowl on the coffee table, so there was very little to polish, too.

Between the sofas and the kitchen, the mahogany table signified the dining area they rarely used, so cleaning it was very easy and quick. In fact, they rarely spent any time downstairs. Having so little time together after work, they retired to the bedroom early.

In the guest room, she attended to the dust that had settled on the bedside tables before cleaning its en suite. Jamie used the shower in there when she used the bathroom attached to their bedroom.

The master bedroom… now that was exquisite. The massive bed was against the eastern wall with bedside cabinets on either side and a green chaise at