Remember us

by gayfordiannaagron

The Vow—Faberry. It's different to the movie, but the premise is the same. Rachel and Quinn are married and a car accident causes Rachel to lose her memories.

12. Chapter 12

FanFiction won't allow me to put multiple exclamation marks after a word, so let's pretend that in Quinn's letter, for every one exclamation mark, there is like ten after it. You'll understand once you read it. If all goes according to plan, there'll only be three more chapters. But have no fear, they'll most likely all be extremely long because I apparently don't know how to write short chapters. Thanks for all the reviews. Again, you're all awesome :)

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Before you I only dated self-indulgent takers who took all of their problems out on me
But you carry my groceries and now I'm always laughing
And I love you because you have given me no choice but to
Stay stay stay I've been loving you for quite some time time time
You think that it's funny when I'm mad mad mad
But I think that it's best if we both stay stay stay

—Taylor Swift: Stay Stay Stay

•••

October 17th, 2016

Rachel, Rachel, Rachel. How are you? We're six hours ahead here in Bombay and if my calculations are correct it's about 1 a.m for you so you're most likely sleeping. In that case WAKE UP! IT'S QUINN!

This letter comes to you from my dressing room located on the set of an Indian talk show called Late-Afternoon Lock-In. Don't ask. I don't even know why I'm here. It's the only American or should I say English speaking talk show in all of Bombay and there's like one co-host who's American compared to the rest that are Indian. I wonder why he chose to work here? Would it be rude to ask him? I bet you're loving this seeing me sulk in my dressing room about the amount of interviews I have to do to promote this movie. Why did I choose this profession again? Oh, that's right. I'm an idiot. It's not so bad most of the time. I want to be in my room right now it includes a scary mattress and hot and cold running water. I say 'hot and cold' because I literally don't know when it's going to be hot or cold. The brochure tells me that it's a 4 and a ½ star hotel. WHAT A JOKE. God, I'm so cranky! I wish this day would be over.

Everyone is so loud here that I can hardly hear the compilation CD that you made me which I like a lot incidentally except for those jangly Broadway tunes that you put on because after all I'm not like YOU! I've been trying to read the book you sent me a few weeks ago too, though I have to admit I'm finding Howards End quite heavy-going. It's like they've been drinking the same cup of tea for two hundred pages, and I keep waiting for someone to pull a knife or an alien invasion or something, but that's not what happens, is it? When will you stop trying to educate me, I wonder? NEVER, I hope!

By the way, in case you hadn't guessed from the Exquisite Pose and all the SHOUTING I'm writing this tipsy almost DRUNK. Actually hand writing it because I have no internet and the service on the phone is down! DAMN PHONES. What is technology good for if you can't go on the net from another country? As you can tell I'm not a good letter writer not like you (your last email was so funny) but all I will say is that India is incredible. I won't bore you with all the sunrise over the Hindu-kesh prose except to say that all the clichés are true (poverty, stomach upsets blah blah blah). Not only is it a rich and ancient civilization but you wouldn't BELIEVE what you can get in the pharmacy WITHOUT a prescription.

"Miss Fabray?" Quinn turned to see one of the crew members addressing her. "We're on-air in two minutes." She said with an Indian accent.

Quinn took a moment to take a look at her reflection in the mirror. She sighed and pressed three fingers hard into her skull, trying to blank her mind. Hold it together. Be good. Do something good. Second last interview for the week. One more and it will all be over. She smiled that smile that she keeps for use on television, then picking up her water bottle, she heads out onto the studio floor. Toby Moray, the American presenter, was waiting for her at the edge of the immense set. The crew were running around, patting her on the shoulder and high above their heads ironic go-go dancers in bikinis and cowboy boots stretch their calves in ironic cages.

She doesn't want to go. Music thumps from the speakers: Start the Dance by The Prodigy, and she wanted to stay in the wings, but Toby was tugging her arm and suddenly she's bounded out into the studio lights. The set involves a lot of scaffolding, and Toby climbed on the ramps until he was looking down at the audience, chattering all the way: Look at you, you're all gorgeous, are you all ready to have a great time? Make some noise. Quinn stood mute at the bottom, her microphone dead in her hand as she realized that she was drunk. This wasn't supposed to happen. They were supposed to call her out when it was time for her interview to take place, make small talk for a few minutes, ask about her personal life, the movie.

A single clear male voice sails up the gantry. "You're hot! I love you, Quinn!"

Quinn seeked out the heckler, a skinny, grinning twerp, but it got a laugh, a big laugh. Even the cameramen are laughing. "My agent, ladies and gentlemen." Quinn said, unsure of where she found the courage to say that, and that led to a ripple of amusement, but that's all.

"One minute everyone." The floor manager shouted.

Quinn's eyes search the crowd for a friendly face, but there was none and once again she wished Rachel were with her. She could be at her best if Rachel were here, or any one of her friends, but they're not, just this jeering crowd of people much older than herself. She had to find a bit of spirit somewhere, a bit of attitude, this apparently was not any regular television interview that she was doing.

She glanced over at Toby who was now taking a large gulp from his bottled water. His hands were trembling and he started coughing, red-faced and spluttering as guitars crash over speakers, drums pound, go-go dancers writhe and a camera on wires swoops down from the high ceiling like a bird of prey. The music fades and all that can be heard is Toby coughing. Quinn stood frozen, dried, dead on air and drunkenly crashing her own vehicle. The plane is going down, the ground looming up to meet her. "Say something, Quinn." She heard a loud whisper. "Quinn? Hello?" But her brain won't work and her mouth won't work and she continued to stand there, dumb in every way. The seconds stretch. This was not part of her job description.

Toby, the true professional, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Well, proof that we're going out live worldwide."

Worldwide?

There was a relieved little flutter from the audience. "It's all going very well so far, isn't it, Quinn?" He jabbed her in the ribs with his finger, and Quinn sprung to life.

"Oh, sorry, about that there—" She said. "I must have miss-read the memo where I was a guest presenter today."

"Someone's had too much alcohol." Toby said, and he does the little comic wriggle of the wrist that suggests Quinn's a drinker, and the audience laugh, which does not make her feel any better. "I'm only joking, Quinn." He nudged her again and turned to the camera. "Welcome to Late-Afternoon Lock-In. I'm Toby Moray and our special guest today is Quinn Fabray!"

And they're back on course, "First," he said and turned to Quinn. "I hear that your movie is coming out late December."

"That's right, Toby," Quinn replied. "I had so much fun filming it." Truth. "The promotion has been a whirlwind ride but I'm loving every minute of it." Lie.

"You were in a car accident a few months back, is that correct?" He asked. Typical question.

"Yes—"

"And you're all better? No more hospital visits?"

"No—"

"That's a magnificent recovery. And Rachel, your friend, she—" Jerk. "Is she okay?"

"Rachel's health is stable, yes. She's taking Broadway by storm."

They spend the next five minutes discussing the movie and a two minute clip of the trailer was shown for the first time in India. Then, Toby introduced the afternoon's feast of great comedy and music, appealing and attractive like the two coolest kids at school. "So, without further ado, let's make some noise please—" He flung his arm out behind him, like a ring-master. "—and give a big Late-Afternoon Lock-In welcome to Shed! Seven!"

The camera swoops away from them as if it has lost interest, and the voices from the gallery are chattering around her head over the sound of the band. "Everything alright there, Quinn?" Asked the producer.

She looked back, eyes narrowed. "No one told me I was co-hosting the show today."

"We notified your agent regarding that change. The regular host was unwell today and since you're here we decided that you should co-host as well."

"You decided. I made a complete fool of myself."

Toby intervened. "No one watches this show, Quinn. Unless you're in India."

"You said we were going out live worldwide!"

"That was nothing. It gets broadcast at four a.m on those free-to-air channels that no one watches. Besides, I had to say it so the audience wouldn't think this show had no purpose."

"Try to keep it together, please." The producer said and he was gone before she could protest.

"Sorry about—you know, saying friend regarding Rachel. They're not very accommodating to sexual orientation in this culture." Toby said apologetically.

"It's fine." She muttered. The monitors tell her that there are fifty-six minutes and twenty-one seconds to go, and she's not sure how long she can keep her emotions under control.

I'm squeezing in a little letter writing time while someone takes over my spot. I hope they take over it for good. This has been the worst interview. I don't even know why Kelly sent me here! Remind me to yell at her when I get back home. HOME. That's a place I'd like to be right now. In my nice and comfortable bed, with technology a nice hot shower, not that it's cold here. In fact I walk around in my underwear whenever possible (don't think such dirty thoughts Rach). I don't know if you can tell but I had two more beers. Beers is the typical drink here, they drink it like water. My head is feeling a little light and I have to shake my head a few times to get the blur out of my eyes. Now, I know what you're going to say. Quinn that is unethical behavior. Drunk on television! My response is, it's India! I'm on a semi-holiday!

So I've seen some amazing things while it's not always fun it is an Experience and I've taken thousands of photographs which I will show you very very sloooooooowly when I get back. Pretend to be interested won't you? After all I pretended to be interested when you kept going on and on about meeting Barbra Streisand, and let's admit it right now Rach, she WALKED PASSED you and smiled. You didn't even TALK to her.

Ok gotta go back to presenting duties. They're calling me those bastards.

Forty-five minutes later as the final credits roll, Quinn tried to make sense of what she had just seen. She didn't know much about television, or how she appeared to the viewers at home, but she was sure that she hadn't shone. The whole time she was shaky, actually frightened sometimes. Fluffing lines, looking at the wrong camera, she was amateurish, which was completely plausible considering she had never co-hosted a show in her life, but it was sensing the unease from the people she interviewed that bothered her the most—the Indian rapper on tour, the four cocky Mancuians—all responded with disdain or sarcasm.

The audience glared too, like surly teenagers at a pantomime, arms crossed high on their chests. She was an actress, and damn good at it if she may add, but failing at co-hosting was something she was never going to forget. Actors thrived on these moments, they were taught to improvise in times of need, Quinn's improvising had failed, miserably. She didn't know much about the media, but she could recognize a car crash. By the time the last band played out her hand had come over to cover her face. There was a lot of irony about these days, but surely not to the extent that booing is good.

She wasn't going to cry. She wasn't going to dwell on it. No one watched this show unless they were in India, according to Toby. And who did she know that was in India? Certainly not Rachel and that was all that mattered. She was going back to her four and a half star hotel that was more likely to be a two star hotel and finish her letter to Rachel before she ran out of courage to say everything she'd wanted.

What's happening with you work-wise? How is the play coming along? Are you traveling to different states or what? I am extremely proud of you, Rach. You're back where you belong and I have no doubt that you're amazing on that stage. I know you've reminded me a million times! I promise to see one of your shows when I come back! It's first on my to-do list! Have you been in contact with anyone else? How's Santana doing? Brittany? Puck? Puck hasn't annoyed me lately which is surprising. He's usually bugging me about Candy and getting me to introduce him to her. I still haven't told him that she bats for the lesbian team so don't say anything! Your last email made me laugh so much Rach. I'm still laughing while thinking about it. I hope you're not upset that I haven't replied to you I had no idea that when I got to India I wouldn't have any service and that my hotel was a crappy 2 star posing as a 4 star and there would be no internet. But do not fear, I'm sending out this letter today as soon as I finish it!

Which brings me to the reason why I'm writing to you drunk. It's the only way I have enough courage to say everything. Are you ready? You might want to sit down...

The hotel phone beside her scary mattress bed rang loudly and she almost dropped the glass of wine in her hand. She groaned in frustration, she needed to get this out of her system before she loses the courage. Picking it up she said warily, "Hello?"

"What is Snoop Dogg's favorite weather? Drizzle. Does that ring a bell, Q?"

"Ha. That's so funny, Santana. I'm tumbling over from laughter." She said, trying to not sound annoyed.

"Is that how you greet me?"

Quinn finished her drink in one gulp and said, "How'd you find me?"

Quinn heard Santana take a deep breath over the phone. "I called your agent, who gave me the number to the hotel you stayed in in Hong Kong. Then I called her back and she remembered you were in India—"

"Okay, I get it. You called Kelly."

"You're one hard person to get in contact with, Quinn. Why's your phone not working?"

Quinn shuffled down the bed to pick up her phone. It was on and there was signal. Stupid thing. "I don't know. It's on." She wondered whether Rachel has been trying to contact her.

"So, how are you?" She could picture Santana leaning back and stretching out her legs.

"Alright," Quinn shrugged, not really knowing what to say. I hate being here. I hate all the traveling. I hate being away from Rachel. "Can't complain. Free hotel, free flights."

"Lucky bitch. I should've gone into acting."

"I think the only role you'll be good at is the mean bitch role. You'll scare all the casting directors off."

"Hey, if it gets me to Hong Kong and India, I'd gladly do anything for it."

This time Quinn did laugh, but only slightly. "How are you? How's everyone?" How's Rachel.

Santana's enthusiasm picked up. "Got an A on my Advocacy Tax finals, top of the class. No big deal. Brittany's still on tour dancing. Puck is well, Puck. He has a new girlfriend every week. Kurt's still Kurt. Mercedes—"

"Got it. They're all the same."

"Rachel," Santana whispered and Quinn held the phone closer to her ear. "Rachel's been asking about you. In fact, she can't stop talking about you. It's like high school all over again." Hearing Rachel's name jolted her back into the world. She didn't say anything and Santana said, "Have you spoken to her?"

"Sometimes, mostly through emails. The last time we spoke on the phone was when I was in Hawaii. I feel like I'm on another planet and have no idea what's happening in the real world."

"Are you sure you're in India and not Krypton."

"Krypton's not real."

"That's exactly my point. It's like you went to another planet."

Quinn chuckled as she said, "I probably did. Tell me what's been happening. Like really tell me."

While Santana was talking about their friends, Quinn's mind wanders to a memory of spreading out on a blanket with Rachel beside her. They're both lying in the sun in her backyard in Lima. This was before graduation. They hear the sound of the ice cream truck and Rachel runs to buy one cone of ice cream with two scoops. They had become one of those couples that share. Except Rachel didn't really share it with her and only gave Quinn the ice cream cone once she ate the two scoops. Later on, she falls asleep on Rachel's lap. She's not sure how long she was sleeping for, but when she becomes conscious she feels Rachel stroking her hair and kissing her forehead, and then Rachel is whispering,

"I love the way you capture your bottom lip between your teeth when you're nervous. I love the way you burn your eyes into me, as if you're seeing me fresh every time. I love the dark streak in you that wants to kill the world, and the soft streak that is sorry afterwards. I love the way you laugh as though you're surprised you can laugh at all. I love the way you kiss my breath away. I love the confusion I see in your eyes when you realize that you are happy."

The memory ends there. It's painful to think of something so pleasant and so far away. Somewhere the past changed. She doesn't want the present. She wasn't even sure if there was a conceivable future. In the middle of such moments contentment is absolute: there is only herself, there is only Rachel, the two of them drifting on an endless sea of love.

"—You're going to buy us all dinner when you come back, Quinn. You're making the big monies now."

Quinn pushed herself up on the mattress, her back leaning against the wall because there was no headrest. Really, it was a bed on top of another bed against a wall. "I can't wait to see everyone and be back in the real world."

"We all miss you."

"Even you?"

Santana laughed and Quinn got her answer. "Did you ever think your life would be like this?"

"Are you asking me seriously or joking? No one wants this life—"

"That's not what I mean you, idiot," Santana cut her off. "I meant, traveling and seeing the world."

"I wouldn't quite call it seeing the world. If I'm lucky I get a few hours off to go sightseeing."

"Sounds like the high life if you ask me."

"It's a good thing no one's asking you."

They talk and banter for a little while longer and then Santana said, "Well, I should go. This call isn't free." They say their goodbyes and Quinn promises to call her when she's back in the real world.

Since I've come back to the hotel I've drank (drunken? dronk?) some more alcohol, wine this time and then Santana called which put me a bit behind schedule and I drank another glass and so I am now ready to say this. We've known each other for a long time Rach. You're the only person who really knows me, everything about me. It hurts so much that you don't remember any of it. I do pull away when I'm reminded of the woman, the 22 year old you that I love so much. I pull away because I know she's going to disappear again at some point and I don't want to get close enough to get hurt again.

The future is unclear for us. I have my doubts, and I have my faith. But I know that I love you and I can't see my life with anyone else but you whether you're 16 or 22. Here's the thing Rach, time apart from one another is good the only problem is I can't—no, I won't stay away from you. As often and as much as I tell myself that I should, I just can't do it. The day you told me you were still in love with Finn I had intended to leave and give us some space except I couldn't. You did annoy me with the constant calling, on the other hand the fact that you NEEDED me meant so much more. When I'm with you I'm flying, I'm unaware of everything around me and all I see is you. I don't know what you're going to think of this so I'm just going to say it. I want to be with you. It's pointless acting as though we're not going to get back together because we are. It's you and me Rach, I've never been apart from you for this long and even when I am I'm always thinking about you and you're always thinking about me so why can't we just be together and think about each other. That way I can tease you like I used to for my own amusement. God I miss those moments. It was a vibrant, golden time, our love. Full of excitement and unlimited opportunity. There wasn't a single sign on the horizon of imminent downturn (very poetic I know—yeap that's it, I'm going back to college once this is over!).

So time for another breather before the next paragraph because I've barely gotten started. This letter builds to a life-changing climax. I wonder if you're ready for it.

Quinn stood a little unsteadily and steeled herself for the showers. She made a bet with herself that the water would be cold and if she won then she'd get to have another drink. If she lost, it would still involve another drink. She was deeply tanned now, or as Rachel had said, a light, golden glow. Except now it was a darker, golden glow. She had also lost some weight, but secretly didn't mind it. It's been promotions after promotions, interviews, she has had to re-shoot some scenes, meeting fans, photoshoots with the cast—it has been three months of non-stop commitment. Her trip to India, as unexpected as it was, she welcomed the privacy and mini-holiday and the fact that she could step outside and not have a paparazzo follow her and hide behind a bush. How dumb did they think she was? Let me just hide behind a bush and hold my camera in the air, Quinn won't notice anything.

Sobered by the cold shower, she had another drink as a reward—because she won it fair and square by betting with herself. And then she saw the letter. Eight blue sheets densely written on both sides. She wasn't finished with it yet. She stared at it as if an intruder had left it behind, and with her new sobriety came the first twinge of doubt. Picking it up gingerly, she glanced at the page at random and immediately looked away, her mouth puckered tight. All those capitals and exclamation marks and awful jokes. She had expressed in the letter how drunk she was, she had used the word 'dronk' which wasn't even a real word, she wrote a line of poetry she didn't even know she could write. It's pointless acting as though we're not going to get back together because we are. It's you and me Rach—what was she thinking? What seemed urgent and touching an hour ago now seemed mawkish and gauche. Clearly the letter would change everything, and weren't things fine just the way they are?

She drank some more.

Alright I'm back just took a shower. Had another drink two to be exact. You're probably thinking I'm such a drunk. Anyway Rach, if you don't want to hear—read—what I have to say stop reading now. Here goes.

I was running back to my room in the rain once the show was over—the rain is warm here, hot even sometimes, not like American rain—I was, like I said, pretty drunk and I found myself thinking about you and thinking about what a shame Rachel isn't here to see this and experience this and I had this revelation and it's this.

You should be here with me. In India. I haven't seen you in 3 months, it's about time we saw each other don't you think?

And this is my big idea, and it might be insane, but I'm going to write it before I change my mind. Follow these simple instructions.

1. —Leave your job right now. Let them find someone else to take over Anne Frank. Put that dress in your bag that you love so much as a gift to yourself and just leave. Think what that would feel like. Walk out, right now.

2. —I also think that you should leave the apartment and come live with me. I know it was originally our place but the one I found is so much better. It's got a view of the Brooklyn Bridge and you love that bridge. You're always talking about how you want to go for a run every morning if you lived closer to it and now you can and I'll be home waiting for you because I am no longer as athletic as I used to be but I have a feeling that you'll change that if you got the chance. Well here's your chance Rachel! When I get back to the REALWORLD I'm going to move all your stuff in and I'll do it myself if I have to because that's the kind of amazing person that I am. We'll be ROOMMATES. That's providing that you can overcome your sexual attraction to me haha. If worse comes to worse I'll lock you in your room at night. Anyway, now the big one—

3. —As soon as you've read this, go to the travel agency and book an OPEN RETURN flight to Delhi. This letter will arrive in 2 days I'm guessing. Today is the 17th you'll get it on the 19th, book a flight to arrive here on the 21st. Once you get here don't come to this hotel its crap. Get a train to Agra and stay in one of the hotels there. Once you arrive go to the Taj Mahal. Perhaps you've heard of it—big white building, he built it for his wife—don't forget to see the Taj Mahal at sunrise, DO NOT AND I MEAN DO NOT go any later. You'll be sharing the place with 20, 000 people instead of 20. Then at precisely midday you stand directly under the center of the dome with a red rose in one hand and a copy of The Fault In Our Stars in the other and I will come and find you. Rach I will be carrying a white rose and the copy of Howards End and when I see you I will throw it at your head. And then I will hug you.

Isn't that the greatest idea you've ever heard in your life?

Ah typical drunk Quinn you say, isn't she forgetting something? Social security and work ethic? Well don't worry, we won't be here long. I'm only here for another week which means when you arrive on the 21st we'd have to go back 3 days later. Now you're probably thinking I'm going to India just to spend 3 days with you?! Well Rachel, the length isn't the point it's the time you'll be spending with me that counts! We'll do things, you can tell me again about how you met Barbra Streisand and I'll pretend to be interested. I'll show you some pictures and we'll have dinner and hold hands and have people judge and look at us all weird because lesbians aren't out and proud over here, but hey that's okay it'll be FUN because you'll be with ME! Oh my guide book tells me that there's a full moon party on the 23rd—imagine staying awake all night not because you're worried about the future but because it'll be FUN!

For a thousand dollars, I'm guessing that's how much the ticket is, you could change your life Rachel! You won't have to worry about money or anything because I'll pay for everything else! How's that? You make more than me but let's forget that at the moment. OH! I thought of number 4! I'll leave my job and we can live here! No, we'll travel the world! With what money you ask? We could get odd jobs! Of course we have to come home at some point but that's not for a while. By the way I found some really cool things on the internet regarding me and you, you'll really enjoy this story and if you meet me at the Taj Mahal I will tell you all about it, but ONLY if you meet me.

On the wall in front of me is this massive sort of praying mantis thing and he's looking at me as if to say shut up now so I will. I'm going to find a post box and send this before I change my mind. Not because I think you coming here is a bad idea—it isn't, it's a great idea and you have to come—but I think I might have said too much. The last time we spoke in person I was telling you that I don't want to be with 16 year old Rachel and now I'm telling you to come here but it's been 3 months and I miss you and I want to see you! Sorry if this has annoyed you. The main thing is that I think about you a lot, that's all. Call me sentimental but there's no one in the world I'd rather like to see get dysentery more than you haha.

Taj Mahal 21st October, 12 midday! If you don't come I'm going to throw the book at your head when I get back. Minus the hug.

I will find you!
Love, Quinn.

Quinn stretched and scratched her scalp, drained the last of her wine glass and picked up the letter, tapped the edges together and laid the stack solemnly in front of her. She shook the cramp out of her hand; eleven pages written at great length, the most she had written since her finals. Stretching her arms above her head in satisfaction she thought: this isn't a letter, it's a gift. Did she really want Rachel with her in India? Would she have to kiss Rachel at the Taj Mahal? Would Rachel agree to be with her and not as two people who pretend that there's nothing going on but as an actual couple? Did she really want to see Rachel that much?

Yes, she decided, she did. Because for all its obvious idiocy, there was sincere affection, more than affection, in what she had written. She could always say she was drunk if things didn't pan out the way she hoped. That much was at least true.

Without further hesitation she packed the letter into an airmail envelope and slipped it into her copy of Howards End, next to Rachel's written dedication. Then she headed off to find a post box.

Dear Quinn,
Since I currently have no idea where you are atm (are you happy that I've finally used abbreviations?) I'm trusting that your agent will forward this to you. A great novel for your journey. Travel well and return safely with no tattoos. Be good, or as good as you are able. I'll miss you.

Lots of love, Rachel.
October 12th.

•••

February 10th, 2012

"Finn Hudson, you putrescent piece of scum!"

Finn's skin instantly paled, his face shrivelled around his bones the closer Quinn approached him. She could sense his intimidation, but he didn't flinch. Instead he ignored her by pretending to rummage through his locker. Quinn's pulse began to race, the last remnants of her self-control incinerated as her temper took over. Fuelled by unbearable anger, Quinn found a way to channel brute power within herself to ignore the stares and the constant chanting of fight, fight, fight. Students had crowded virtually around every inch of the hallway.

She didn't know where she found the strength, but somehow she grabbed onto his shirt and spun him around, pushing his back against the lockers. Finn stiffened, and while he looked calm with his hands in the air, she could feel the tense vibration of his body as he forced himself not to react. Quinn took in quick shallow breaths, her skin turned hot like burning coals. Gone from her mind were any consciousness that they were in school and Rachel's feelings. The rage building inside her was explosive, and instead of trying to diffuse it like she usually would, she surrendered to it.

"Why'd you do it?" She yelled. She could see sweat dripping down his face.

"Quinn, calm—"

"Don't you dare tell me to calm down. I want to know why you did it."

Finn's eyes glinting with sudden unease. "I—she—she shouldn't be with you."

"This is about Rachel? You did it because you want Rachel all to yourself?"

He took a long breath and his lips twitched in what might've been a smile, or maybe just a grimace of pain. "I don't know why I did it. I did it because seeing you two making out in that room angered me. She shouldn't be with you. You've done nothing but hurt her and she's forgiven you for everything!"

It chilled her—conscious or otherwise—to see how closely he walked the line between right and wrong. Not that she was a saint herself. There was a time, not too long ago, that she would've done anything to seize Finn out of Rachel's grasp, but there was a line she wouldn't have crossed and this was it. To have gotten Finn, she would've done it cunningly, manipulatively, secretly, not at the expense of exposing (if Finn had one) his biggest secret. To the whole school, no less. There were other alternatives, but he'd chosen the one he knew best: being stupid.

Finn stared at her, his expression questioning. "What do you say to her, Quinn? Why does she forgive you so easily?"

She was about to say something until she heard someone yell, "Punch him, Quinn."

She took a deep breath and stepped away from him, registering the mob of fifty teenagers huddled around them, shouting and cheering as though they were at a football game.

"This isn't over." She said tonelessly to Finn.

"What is this? What's going on?" Sue Sylvester broke through the crowd to part them. She locked her eyes onto Quinn for a second and then shouted, "Look at you all, scattered around like animals in the wild. Get to class." Quinn didn't get far enough before she was stopped by her coach. "Gay Lady! Last warning or you're off the team. Santana's enough of a delinquent I don't need another one."

Quinn merely acknowledged the threat, spinning around to see Rachel. She read the fear and panic on Rachel's face. Stunned, she couldn't move, guilt hammering through her. Rachel broke eye contact and Quinn sighed heavily, making her way to the other girl's locker.

"Hey," Rachel didn't say anything. Quinn shuddered, Rachel's sudden coldness hurt beyond words. "Why didn't you tell me it was Finn? I had to hear it from Santana."

Rachel didn't look at her when she spoke, "And how may I have done that, Quinn, when you've refused to answer my calls for days? Every time I try to talk to you at school you go the other way."

A punch in the gut. Okay, she deserved that. "Rachel—"

"I have to get to class."

She grabbed her hand. "I'm sorry. I know it doesn't mean anything and I've—"

"Get a room, lesbians!"

Quinn instantly dropped Rachel's hand at the remark, almost throwing it away from her. She was wracked with a spasm of irritation. Why did she always retreat to that side of herself? Rachel noticed and said, "Quinn, if you can't be with me now, it's going to affect our relationship in the future. You're never going to see these people again, and you're still afraid. What happens when the entire world finds out? I'm not going to lie when someone asks me who the love of my life is."

Though she understood that her hyper-emotional state was a normal reaction to her rage, it didn't ease the nausea and hollow despair at seeing the hurt in Rachel's eyes. She didn't miss the faint tightening of Rachel's mouth, or how her gaze slid from Quinn's. Rachel shrugged as if knowing Quinn was never going to put her first—she accepted the fact that Quinn would find excuses to stay away, excuses to not come out.

"Rachel, tell me what to do."

"I can't do that."

"You always have the answers."

"You either want to be with me or you don't."

Quinn turned briefly and caught her gaze—dark, shuttered, the lids half-lowered. "Of course I want to be with you."

"You have a funny way of showing it. We have to whisper in the middle of the hallway. You won't hold my hand. You broke up with me."

"That—"

"Quinn," Rachel reasoned, her voice was strained. "The entire school already knows. And you're still here. The world didn't end." With that, she walked away and Quinn stared at her retrieving back.

How incredibly awkward. Considering the physical and emotional intimacies they had shared in the past few months, and what they'd been through, the simple act of communicating shouldn't be so difficult. Had they nothing to say to each other anymore? She could almost hear the walls coming down with a solid finality.

She wanted to kick herself for her stubbornness and complacency. Everything she has said and done in the past few months told Rachel that she wanted to be with her; how could she break through to herself? Squash the fear. Rachel was not going to force her into a relationship, she knew that much. Being with Finn, as horrible as it was, it made her stronger. She would want to keep her dignity intact despite the gathering hurt.

For the past few days, Quinn has tried to tell herself that she must accept certain private inevitabilities. Like this fear, for example. The fear of the whole world knowing her secret, the fear of having people judge and ridicule her for no reason other than being gay. She will carry it with her like a virus, and while this fear will not improve, nonetheless she will learn to live with it as if it were a minor irritation. Then her mind would drift—for no particular reason—to the outlook of her life and she'll realize that it's narrowing, that things are closing off, and it's as if her breath has been taken away from her as when a roller coaster begins its plummet. The outlook is undeniably narrowing. The horizon is shrinking. It's hard to swallow, and her heart starts to pound.

And then Rachel would appear in her mind—entirely uninvited—and she thinks, I can do this for Rachel. I can get through this narrow like passing a storm. It'll be like a second chance. To turn bad fortune into good.

She continued to chant it throughout the day to give her some form of courage. And when the time came, everything in her body screamed out, you're whipped.

Quinn stood at the top of the stairs outside the courtyard, microphone in hand, the band settling themselves at the bottom. She saw Rachel sitting despondently with the glee kids and she perked up when she saw Quinn. Quinn noticed the way Rachel's eyes darted from her to the microphone to the band. Then suddenly everyone was turning around and staring at her. The wicked pounding in her heart returned. She felt like her head was going to explode. She wasn't aware of the rush of activities around her. The footsteps on the concrete, the chatter and murmurs.

The band started playing without waiting for her to be ready and she felt tingling with elation, yet half-afraid to move. Rachel was standing now, waiting for her in the narrowing; she had to prove that they can get through anything together. She got a light ripple of applause and that seemed to be all the encouragement she needed.

I'm pretty sure we almost broke up last night
I threw my phone across the room at you
I was expecting some dramatic turn away but you stayed

She sang for Rachel, but she wanted nothing more than to throw herself in Rachel's arms and hug her as hard as she could. She'd missed the press of Rachel's body against hers, their arms around each other, her quiet strength and quick mind.

Before you I only dated self-indulgent takers who took their problems out on me
But you carry my groceries and now I'm always laughing
And I love you because you've given me no choice but to stay stay stay

As she got closer, amusement touched Rachel's eyes. Quinn reached across and took her hand, the heat of Rachel's body, the scent of Rachel's daisies, hit her like a visceral jolt, making her knees weak and the rest of her go all shaky.

You took the time to memorize my fears, my hopes, my dreams
I just like hanging out with you all the time
All those times you didn't leave it's been occurring to me
I would like to hang out with you for my whole life

A wide, answering smile broke across Rachel's face, reminding Quinn all over again why she'd fallen in love with her. She had so much heart, touching her like no one she'd ever known. Quinn wanted to stop in the middle of the song, fling her arms around Rachel's neck and kiss her until both of them could hardly breathe. Instead, she sang out the last few lines,

Stay stay stay I've been loving you for quite some time time time
You think that it's funny when I'm mad mad mad
But I think that it's best if we both stay stay stay stay

A sudden inspiration took over her. Probably a crazy inspiration, but Quinn fixed Rachel with an intense stare and stood up on the table. Rachel just stared at her, rubbing the back of her neck, looking so unsure of herself.

"Quinn, what are you doing? Get down." She demanded.

Quinn focused on her face with that unnerving intensity. "Rachel Berry, I love you." She spoke into the microphone. The courtyard was gathering force. Everyone was watching them.

"Quinn!" Rachel said sternly, but her smile was widening. "You don't have to do this. You love me, okay, now get down."

"No, you're right, I'm never going to see these people again—"

"Hey!" Puck shouted from her right. "What the hell? What are we?"

"Yeah, Quinn, do we not matter?" Brittany said.

Quinn rolled her eyes. Why did she have friends again? "I'm not going to see most of these people again—"

"Because you all suck." Santana shouted.

"Shut up, Santana," she turned back to Rachel. "It doesn't matter who knows about us because I love you and that's all that matters. You love me for who I am and our friends accept us for who we are. So, I'm shouting it from the rooftops—"

"Technically, you're on a table." Rachel said.

"Do you want me to do this or not?"

"Carry on."

"So, I'm shouting it from this table that I love you and people can throw slushies and call us names and make fun of us but it's not going to change anything."

She got down from the table and kissed Rachel, soft as snow. She could hardly register the half-hearted little ripple of applause (mainly from the glee kids) as Rachel's body arched with tentative pleasure, and through every bone in her body, Quinn felt a thrum of quiet, quiet joy.

•••

October 21st, 2016

Quinn sat in the very last carriage of the stationary train and waited for the other passengers to leave. She had her overnight bag on the seat next to her. She checked out of her hotel first thing in the morning—she decided that she would be staying with Rachel at her hotel—assuming she would be seeing Rachel today. Acting completely out of character, Rachel hasn't contacted her in the past few days. No calls, no texts. Nothing. At times Quinn wondered whether Rachel had received her letter at all. Things like that tend to happen—letters get misplaced, gifts take longer than usual to arrive, customs delay packages. Occasionally, however, fate dictated that you had to take a chance.

Getting ready this morning, she was putting her faith in their relationship and soon she will have her answer regarding their future—all it took was for Rachel to either be waiting for her at the Taj Mahal, or not.

On the table in front of her lay Howards End. She had finally finished the book just as the train entered Agra. It was the first novel she had finished in some months, she figured she owed it to Rachel to finish it even though she had a hard time enjoying it.

Waiting for the carriage to clear, she turned once more to the inside of the back cover where Rachel had written her dedication for Quinn. She traced her fingers lightly over the letters. She could still feel the faint marks of pen to paper. Please be there Rach. Be there waiting for me. The last time they had spoken, in theory, Quinn was drunk and Rachel was reading her thoughts through a letter. Things had been said. What did Rachel think? Did Rachel want to be with her? Was it too soon to try again? She picked up her bag, the white rose, and joined the last few passengers as they waited to step down the platform.

How can she explain this? The letter seemed like such a simple gesture, then today she woke up and realized that she had spent three days waiting for this moment. The churning was back in her stomach. If she didn't see Rachel, then she'd hope that Rachel was just running late. She was losing faith. Rachel was the only one who could restore it. She forced herself to believe in her heart that it'll never be over between them no matter how hard the universe tried to drive the course of their lives into oblivion.

The Taj Mahal was the first thing she noticed. You couldn't exactly miss it even from thirty miles away, it was huge and white and it blinded you if the sun were behind it. Then her eyes dart around looking for a tiny brunette standing beneath it, there were too many people; they were all tiny and brunette from her distance. The closer she got her hands started to shake, her legs were trembling, she was afraid if she'd stop walking her limbs might fall off. It felt like finding Wally. First she looked for the color red—the rose she told Rachel to hold, then she looked for blue—the color of the book she told Rachel to bring, and then she looked for brown hair, and just as easily, the search was complete.

With her heart almost about to burst from her chest, Rachel turned around and smiled at her. Red rose in one hand. The Fault In Our Stars in the other. Quinn quickened her pace. Rachel began to feel self-conscious as she waited wondering what to do with her hands, her eyes. The distance between them seemed immense; smile and stare, smile and stare for one-hundred feet? Seventy feet. Quinn looked at her shoes, then back at Rachel. She took in Rachel's appearance; her hair was shorter, a little passed her shoulders, her bangs were brushed across her forehead, and she had more color in her face, the summer face that Quinn remembered. Better dressed too, high shoes, a smart dark skirt, a pale grey shirt unbuttoned a touch too far below her neck.

Rachel scanned her eyes around one last time and she started to move her feet. She must have gotten tired of standing there staring off into the distance. Thirty feet. Quinn was reminded of the first time Rachel opened her eyes after the accident. She had felt several things then. The same applies now, except its amplified: she feels relieved because Rachel is here. She feels her heart ache with absolute content. Ten feet. People say that in or near overdose you drift into a profound stasis broken up only by endless falling snowflakes. The whole world disappears and nothing exists, you're trapped inside the thickness of boundaries, you feel immense warmth running through your veins.

The moment Rachel collapsed into her embrace, Quinn feels the thing that feels like love.

Rachel was the first to break the spell. "Before you say anything, Quinn, I only came because I didn't want you to stand here in this heat waiting for hours."

Quinn smiled and brushed her thumb across Rachel's bangs intimately. "Lies. You came because you miss me." Then she swirled a finger around Rachel's curls. "I like this look."

"You should've seen it two weeks ago. I looked like a collaborator!" Rachel said. Quinn's face didn't move. She let Rachel talk, "I went to a Parisian hairdresser for the first time. Terrifying! As soon as he started trimming my ends I kept thinking, please stop, please stop. The funny thing is, he was talking to me in French and my head was nodding back and forth while he kept cutting. He said something in English about contemporary dance or can-man-ever-truly-be-free. I don't understand that," Rachel stopped talking and Quinn's eyes were still fixed on her. "I'm talking too much, aren't I?"

Quinn touched the hair on her back. She hadn't wanted Rachel to stop talking. "Well, I think it suits you. It's like there's a fancy-dress party and you've come as the Sophisticated American Modern Princess."

"Or a Call Girl."

"But a High-Class Call Girl."

"Didn't see that one coming," she laughed. "Oh, before I forget," she handed Quinn the red rose and took the white rose out of Quinn's hand. "I believe this one is mine. Also, um... I leave tonight."

"What?"

"Quinn, irrationally, you gave me one day's notice. My agent's already booked me in for an interview tomorrow."

Quinn chewed on her bottom lip nervously. She was not expecting this. "So, we only have a few hours?"

Rachel nodded, taking Quinn's hand. "I didn't have a way of contacting you. Your phone doesn't seem to be working."

"When did you get here?"

"Four in the morning."

It wasn't the fact that Rachel being with her for one day was bad. It's just that once Rachel left it would be bad. Because the pain seemed potentially endless. And the antidote to that pain was Rachel. "Well, I'm glad you came."

"Couldn't leave you here to acquire heat exhaustion could I?"

The walked away from the Taj Mahal, the air was stifling and fume-filled; a typical day in India, muggy, with thick grey clouds threatening rain. In anticipation of this journey, Quinn had memorized a scenic walk, or as scenic as possible in the dust and traffic of the city. "Did you go inside the building?"

"Yeah," Rachel took out her phone and showed Quinn some pictures. "It's so beautiful! I could live here."

"As in in the country?"

"As in inside the Taj Mahal."

Quinn frowned. "You're insane."

"Think about it, Quinn," Rachel chirped, her eyes lit like stars. "The building is large enough to house us and a thousand other animals just like we said in high school that we'd live in a mansion full of animals."

Slowly, Quinn felt a relishing flash of familiar pleasure reach to her heart and it held in there for a moment, then fled her body in one last warm push. "You remembered that?"

Rachel frowned and kept her eyes ahead, they walked a little further, trotting down stone steps. "I do. You said to me, Finn's going to come knocking on our two storey house and say, hey, remember that time I caught you guys making out on the piano, and like you said you were dating and like I went all crazy on you? That was a funny moment so like I'm really sorry. And I corrected you by saying that we are going to live in a mansion, which by the way, has yet to happen. Where's my mansion, Quinn?"

"I don't know whether I should be surprised that you remember that entire dialogue so effortlessly or that you expect me to buy you a mansion? You make more money than me, Rachel."

"Once your movie is a success the money will be pouring in."

They stopped at a little bar by the water's edge. "You'll get your mansion when I get my flying car."

Rachel pulled out a chair. "I'll hold you to that."

"I don't doubt it."

They sat for a moment staring at the water and Quinn immediately regretted the self-conscious scenic choice of the venue. This was terrible, like a blind date. She fumbled for something to say but Rachel beat her to it,

"Shall we have wine or—"

"Better not, I've sort of stopped." Quinn answered.

"Oh, really? It was only three days ago you were sending drunk letters."

Quinn ducked her head, embarrassed. "You read it all?"

"Well, yeah, how else would I know where to meet you?"

Quinn shrugged. "I thought you would've skipped once you realized how drunk I was."

Rachel blinked hard, shook her head then nudged Quinn's hand with hers. "And miss out on your drunken slur and messy handwriting? Never."

Quinn smiled and nudged Rachel's hand back. "I meant everything I said."

Rachel lightly ran the tips of her fingers across Quinn's. The sensation made her shiver, equivalent to an ice cube running down your back. "I know." She didn't say anything more and Quinn was slightly confused.

Rachel began humming a tune that sounded familiar but she couldn't completely absorb in it because the waitress arrived, and they ordered their drinks. On the table in front of Quinn was a copy of Howards End. Warily, Rachel poked it with her finger. "Have you read it yet?"

"Can't get past page three."

"Not funny, Quinn."

"I thought it was alright. I had a difficult time getting invested. I only finished it today on the train." Quinn eyed the book on Rachel's side of the table. "Is that your diary?"

She moved it closer towards her, as if embarrassed it was out in view for the public. "Yeah."

"Why are you reading it?"

"To get familiar with my memories."

Quinn rummaged through her bag and took out a pen. "Sign it for me."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"No, I want it."

"This is private, Quinn. I can't just give it to you."

"Sure you can. It's not like I haven't read it."

"That's an invasion of privacy. Write your own diary." Rachel poured some sugar into her cup of coffee. After she took a sip there was a line of foam on her top lip and Quinn wanted to lean in and lick it.

She shook the thought of out her head and poked Rachel with the pen. "Come on, Rach, let me have it. Sign it for me."

"And why do you want my signature on this particular book?"

"2012 was our year. A good year," she said, pretending to need to use the restroom. "Write something personal with today's date, in case you get even more famous than you already are and I need the cash."

"A napkin works just as well."

"Yes, but I can't tell people that this is Rachel Berry's personal diary. Trust me, Rach, it'll make me rich one day."

In the small cubicle, Quinn stood and wondered how long she can keep this up. At some point they would need to talk, it was insane to tip-toe around the subject like this. She flushed the toilet for effect, washed her hands and dried them on her hair, then stepped back out onto the pavement, where Rachel had just closed the book. She went to read the dedication but Rachel placed her hand over the cover.

"When I'm not around, please."

Quinn placed it in her bag. They both stared out into the water again, watching the wind blow it into light ripples. Rachel hummed that tune again, it sounded extremely familiar, especially the further she hummed. Then Quinn heard her mumbling softly, Stay stay stay, I've been loving you for quite some time time time.

Quinn leaned across the table. "So. How's things?"

"Fantastic, actually. Every show has been sold out so far. I'm loving every minute of the strenuous work."

"Have you spoken to anyone else?"

"Kurt mostly. Santana and Brittany have come around a few times. I'm glad everyone is no longer bitter about me holding them hostage."

"Until you do something else." Quinn laughed.

Rachel wrinkled her nose in annoyance. "I don't miss this at all."

"Oh, come on, Rach, you miss me teasing you. It's amusing—"

"For you."

Quinn examined Rachel's features and the other girl blushed from her intense gaze. Quinn saw a small smile tug at the corner of her lips. "You know, one time, we were sitting at a cafe in L.A overlooking the water, just like this. I was teasing you—"

"As you do."

"I think it was about how short your skirt was—"

"It can tend to get quite hot in L.A."

"So I'm there teasing you and laughing to myself because you were pouting and out of nowhere this pigeon flies by knocking over my drink and it spilled on my jeans, making it seem as though I had wet my pants and then it takes off with my piece of fish. I had to walk home like that."

Rachel started to laugh. It was kind of electric, like sinking yourself into a great song and immersing yourself to the lullaby. Quinn continued, "You never let me live it down. For years when we bickered your counter argument was always, remember that time a pigeon stole your food and you wet your pants. You'll just throw it in out of nowhere."

Rachel wiped her eyes careful to not smudge her make-up, half giggling. "Why are you telling me this now? Wouldn't you want me to forget it?"

Quinn played with the straw in her drink. "You'll have something to use against me, seeing as I'm much wittier than you."

"You just like to take pleasure in seeing me pout and whine."

"It's adorable."

Sitting here with Rachel now gave her a sense of pleasure she thought she'd never be able to feel again. It was the apex of anticipation. Being with Rachel was and always will be the high point of her life. For a long time they had been going in two different directions, and now it seems they had met at a crossroad and would be heading into one. Her heart was full of hope. It was a good starting point.

"Tell me about this life of yours, Quinn."

"What about it?"

"If I'm not mistaken," Rachel started counting off on her fingers. "Canada, Mexico, Hawaii, Hong Kong, and now India. If you keep this up you would have traveled the world."

"I don't go for a holiday. My break in India is the longest I've ever had thus far."

"Are you excited about the movie?"

"I'm more excited for this to end. I have one more interview here and then once the movie comes out they'll be more promotions and interviews."

"Honestly, Quinn, for someone who lives such a ravishing life and is great at her job, you're one miserable lady."

Quinn didn't know how to tell her that it was the horror and panic of not having Rachel by her side which made her miserable a lot of the time. The past ten months has given her a startling glimpse into the precarious nature of her independence. But of course, she had to learn to deal with it the hard way.

Rachel grabbed her hand. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Should we go?" She stood abruptly and grabbed her bag. "I'm staying with you tonight, by the way. Then I guess I'll just stay in your hotel. I checked out of mine this morning." Rachel began walking in the direction of the hotel and Quinn stopped her, "We don't have to go there now."

"I have a surprise for you."

"What is it?"

"Surprise—" Rachel said matter-of-factly. "—to strike or occur with a sudden feeling of wonder or astonishment. Just in case you've forgotten your English."

Quinn rolled her eyes and sniggered. "Shut up, Rachel."

"Are you staying with me in my room?"

They walked the length of the canal. Quinn let her hand slide along the wall. "No, Rachel, I've booked myself a spot outside your bedroom door. They gave me a pillow and a blanket."

"Am I supposed to laugh?"

"It's quite funny."

"But you're not funny."

"I don't know why you can't just admit that I'm funny. We've been together for years. You can't deny it anymore."

"At least some things have remained the same." Rachel said.

"What do you mean?"

"This particular predicament we have here. You've stated that for years I have yet to admit that you're amusing. Which goes to show that if I didn't admit it then, I'm not going to admit now. Lately I feel like every time you tease me, I find myself saying, you're not funny, Quinn."

"You used to say it a lot. Well, you still do now."

"What do you think it is? All these snippets and the unconscious things I find myself saying?"

"I don't know." She honestly didn't. To know that Rachel was remembering some parts of their life was electrifying to say the least. She felt almost high at times. The highest being the time at Santana and Brittany's wedding and hearing Rachel sing the first line to She Is Love.

"Do you think I'll ever get it back?"

"I don't know, Rach. Maybe these snippets are all that you're going to get." Quinn curled her arm around her shoulders and squeezed. "There'll be more memories." They walked like this, a little self-consciously but it was easy. The bag in Quinn's hand banged against her leg and she took her arm away when the discomfort became too much.

As they walked, the mood gradually lifted. The blanker of the cloud had broken when they passed a Temple. The city was gaudy, scrappy, full of noise and life. Quinn kept stealing glances at Rachel and whenever she got caught Rachel smiled at her brightly. They continued east along the border of a town, climbing a hill, Quinn pointed to a bar she had gone to when she last visited this town, and she talked about the local history as though she knew everything about Indian culture.

Eventually they turned down a quiet side street, the blinkering sign said Mootell. They entered an enclosed courtyard, cluttered and rundown and overlooked by apartments on all sides. Washing hung from rusting balconies, pot plants wilted in the evening sun. The courtyard echoed with the noise of competing TVs and children playing football with a tennis ball, and Quinn found herself falling in love all over again. Rachel was not one to gloat about her notoriety and this was proof of that. Sure, she had her prima donna moments, huge demands, she'd joke about a mansion and being rich, but she was not one to spend hundreds of dollars a day on a room she didn't need. It was the simple things that mattered.

"Wait here." Rachel said and she bounced—adorably— to the front desk and talked in hushed whispers to the man behind it. He smiled and nodded. Quinn saw that Rachel slipped him some money and her first thought was that Rachel had turned to a life of crime, then Rachel was by her side smiling that maddening smile and she was reminded of how in love she is.

"I know this wasn't what you had expected," she said, pressing the light switch which was on a timer. "And I did want to find something more urban and chic that would make you feel better seeing as you spent days in a less than satisfactory room, but this was the only place I could find on such short notice which met my demands on getting your surprise in order. Fifth floor. Sorry."

They began the steep ascent of the wrought-iron stairs, tightly curled and seemingly sheering away from the wall in places. Rachel was suddenly conscious of the fact that Quinn's eyes were exactly eye level with her backside and she began nervously reaching back to her skirt to smooth down creases that weren't there. As they reached the landing of the third floor the timer of the light clocked off, and they found themselves in darkness for a moment, Rachel fumbled behind her to find Quinn's hand and leading her up the stairs until they stood outside a door. In the dim light from the window, they smiled at each other.

"Are you ready?" Rachel said, placing the key in the hole.

"I'm not going to be attacked by pigeons or something, am I?"

The door opened onto a small but pleasant room with scuffed grey-painted floorboards, a small neat desk overlooking the courtyard, a bed in the middle, a large cast-iron affair, quaint and cumbersome like something from a farmhouse. But it was the candles that had her heart bursting and pumping blood vigorously. The tens of glorious purple candles, nestled firmly around the room in iron-cast candle sticks. The windows were cracked open, and the breeze from outside sent the candles billowing. In the far corner of the room laid a plaid blanket, a basket in the middle, and Quinn wanted to cry from joy when she noticed the box of Krispy Kreme Doughnuts.

"Our first date," Rachel began. "You made me a picnic. I know this isn't ideal, I mean, picnics are outside, but I didn't want to spoil the surprise by carrying a basket and a blanket and—"

"I love it." Quinn said, she put her bag by the bed. The evening sunlight shone through the curtains, drawing attention to the artificial picnic in the corner. "Three questions. One, how did you know I was going to come back with you—"

"Call it my psychic—"

"I wouldn't call it that."

"—or just intuition."

Quinn nodded. "Two, how long have these candles been burning for?"

"A while. Which is why I opted for long candles."

"Three. Where did you get these?" She referred to the donuts. "I've been here a week and haven't seen a Krispy Kreme anywhere."

"I paid that nice gentleman at the front to get it for me. Although, I don't know how true to the American donuts they are. For all we know, he could've just gotten regular donuts and put it in a Krispy Kreme box which he probably imported from China."

"What do you remember from that day?" Quinn sat crossed legged on the blanket, rummaging through the basket. Two sandwiches, drinks, cups and strawberries. She really wanted to cry tears of joy now.

Rachel did the same. "I was riding my bike to rehearsals a few weeks back and I saw this couple having a picnic at Central Park. And then I remembered having a picnic with you. You were feeding me the donuts and then we spent the rest of the afternoon kissing. Oh, and Brittany took our strawberries."

"You never used to let me eat these," Quinn said, tearing the donut and putting it in her mouth. "You were still bitter with me for forcing you to eat them that you said—due to that incident and your uncaring nature regarding my diet, I ban you from ever eating it again—of course being me, and not listening, I still had some."

"Which would not have pleased me."

"Nope. It did lead to lots of angry sex, so win-win."

There was a time, not too long ago, when she thought the possibility of rekindling their relationship had dissolved, and she endeavored to harden herself against Rachel's indifference. A remark like that would've caused no more pain, than say, a tennis ball being thrown sharply at her head and it would have no effect on her heart. Right now, the tennis ball turned into a base ball and it was coming thick and fast into her heart. The pain was beautiful.

Rachel laughed. "Do you want to hear about my meeting with Barbra Streisand?"

She placed a finger on her chin. "Do I? I don't think so. No, I don't. I've heard enough of that story."

"I really did meet her this time!"

"No!" She bit into the donut. "If you start talking I'm going to tune you out. That's also another talented skill I possess behind mocking you."

But Rachel told her anyway, the usual narrative about being backstage at an award show and Barbra Streisand had just presented and made her way towards Rachel who stood stock still, eyes bulging, and Quinn made a conscious effort not to listen and just watch her mouth instead. It was a nice mouth and if she were fearless and bold—why did she choose not to get drunk at lunch?—she would lean over and kiss Rachel, and it occurred to her that she's been the one that has always initiated the kisses between them. Not that she minded. She wondered why Rachel never initiated? Perhaps Quinn wasn't kissable? No, that's impossible. Would it be really strange now to kiss Rachel again? What might happen if she were to do it? Rachel would most likely kiss her back. If memory serves her correctly, Rachel hasn't once pushed her away. Take the initiative, put the donut down, hold onto Rachel's head while she's still talking and kiss her—

"—so Barbra calls me an hour later and says, it's so nice to finally hear you talk."

Quinn let her head loll to the window to watch the evening light start to fade now, she heard prosperous people yelling, kids shouting at each other, the smell of burnt barbecues. She looked back to Rachel, still narrating the story of her life, then back at the window as a bird flew by, then another bird joined in and they stood at the window sill talking in bird language and she thought, I wish I could speak bird language so I can join in on your conversation.

"You're not even listening to me!"

"Yeah, I stopped listening a while ago."

Rachel flung her arms in the air in frustration. "You're impossible to deal with."

Quinn grinned. "Do you want to see photos of my adventures?"

"No." She huffed.

"I've spent three months listening to you—"

"We haven't exactly spoken in three months."

"Let me rephrase. Every time we've spoken in the past three months you always tell me that story and I think it's time you pretended to be interested in my life."

"Fine. Show me." Rachel straightened out her skirt and swiped through the pictures on Quinn's phone.

Quinn watched her as she sat biting her lip, she'd mumble, wow and oh that's so cool and I can't believe you went there. At often times, Quinn would sit quietly and watch her laugh or tell a story or reading a book and feel absolutely sure that Rachel was the most adorable person she's ever met. Sometimes she almost wanted to interrupt her and say it out of the blue. But this wasn't one of those times. They had tip-toed around the topic long enough, and feeling slightly confident, she reached for Rachel's hand and said,

"We should be together, Rachel. I love you."

Rachel stared at her in awe. "I suppose we should discuss your letter."

"That was the idea."

"Okay," Rachel went to retrieve something from her bag, continuing to sing the song as she searched through it. You think that it's funny when I'm mad mad mad. But I think that it's best if we both stay stay stay. Where had she heard that from?

When she came back, Quinn's eleven page letter was in her hands and their knees bumped when she sat back down. "First point of order. I had a very difficult time reading your letter. Grammatically—"

"Here we again with the grammar errors."

"I didn't know when to stop or inhale a breath."

"You got through it either way."

"It was difficult."

"I was drunk. Second point."

Rachel rummaged through the pages. "Second point of order. Dronk is not a word."

"Yes, I do know English."

"I'm not sure you do, Quinn."

"Next point."

"Third point. I love the poetic sentence you wrote. I didn't know you had it in you," she teased, and was serious again. "It's hard for me to understand your feelings. I can't imagine being in your shoes and having to watch the love of your life forgetting everything in regards to your relationship."

"The same applies to me," Quinn said. "It's gotta be harder on you. Losing five years and finding out that you're married to me, no less."

"It wasn't that bad."

"You were quite shocked, Rach. I should've taken a photo," she laughed. "Next point."

Rachel's smile was warm. "Fourth point. I did something to help with the memories," she handed Quinn a piece of paper with a timeline and underneath were little descriptions. "I've been getting sporadic memories. The latest one being our first date. So I decided to make a timeline and what I've noticed is that I only seem to be getting memories from 2012."

"What's this one?" Quinn pointed to the date 2014 on the paper.

"Oh, that was, I might be wrong, a dream I had on opening night of Avenue Q and you came to see me right after your finals. You drove me home and said, do you really think I wouldn't come—"

"That was real."

"Oh okay, well, other than that, the rest have all been from 2012. I don't understand why?"

Quinn let her head fall backwards, resting it against the wall. "Maybe next year your memories will be of 2013, then 2014 the next year. I don't know how this works."

"If that's the case, and I'm assuming that when I do get my memories back it'll be sporadic, it might take years to remember everything."

"Yeah," Quinn said to the ceiling. "It might never happen."

Rachel placed her hand on top of Quinn's. "Fifth point of order. I think about you all the time, too. At the beginning it was friendly thoughts. The moment I fell in love with you it's increasingly become... intimate."

"Example?"

"Right now. Your shirt is low and your neck is exposed and I want to bite into it." Rachel's face remained as straight as ever. "I also want to kiss you."

"Why don't you?" Quinn sat up to decrease the distance between them. "Kiss me."

"I don't want to yet."

Quinn frowned and pouted. "Why not?"

"I'm not going to want to stop. And I have a flight to catch in a few hours. Now," Rachel pushed at Quinn's shoulder to increase their gap. "This is more important."

"I'm that irresistible."

"Hardly." Rachel's eyes said differently.

"Sixth point."

"Sixth point. I can't make any promises to grow up—"

"You seem wiser. This—" Quinn waved the paper in her hand. "—is twenty-two year old Rachel's doing. You're making a timeline in order to put the pieces together. Not only that, you've been reading your diary to distinguish the exact day and event."

"But I'm going to reverse back. That's what you're afraid of."

"We'll get through it."

"I'm afraid you're going to leave me. I've been scared since high school. The fear first started when your mom found out about us, then at one point you broke up with me. I didn't write much else. All I had written was: Quinn broke up with me today. I've always been afraid this would happen." Rachel looked so unhappy trying to smile back at her. The light from the candles made her pinned pupils disappear. Rachel drew her knees to her chest. "I think it's my biggest fear, Quinn. Even during our fall-out. I didn't know how to quell the despondence and foreboding when you left."

Quinn pulled Rachel into her and Rachel slumped into her arms, her side pressing into Quinn's chest, head on shoulder. She could feel Rachel's breaths on her neck. She knew of Rachel's fears—she had read her diary one time. Not the most conventional way to know your girlfriend's secret—which was why she didn't leave when her mom found out, also the reason she convinced her mom to meet Rachel, and the reason Quinn serenaded Rachel in high school. Other times there was a fury, the sweat would come quickly, with a hot flush running through her body, and she knew that that something in her stomach was uncoiling. Once it raged, it left her cold and shaking.

Every now and again Quinn would drift into a state of delirium where all the wrong she has done would haunt her mind. She'd stare out the window and watch the world unfold to ease her thoughts. But it was hard to focus on anything other than the terrible fact that when her other side took over, she'd lose control. It sat like a stone in her stomach.

Rachel reached out to squeeze her hand and lifted her head from Quinn's chest. "But you always came back."

Quinn was feeling a bundle of nerves and need. She stroked Rachel's hair for a while. "We promised each other a long time ago. I'll always come back for you."

They sat like that for a while. Rachel in her arms, the candles melting slowly. "I really think we can do this, Rach," Quinn rubbed her hand along Rachel's neck and shoulder. "I know it'll be hard. But I'm sure it'll be like a bridge, and once we're over it, it'll be okay."

"Can you describe what's over the other side of the bridge?" She asked.

Quinn stared out the window and coincidentally there was a cloud that looked like a ship. She imagined the ship sitting on the bay from the city docks. The ship was connected to a world that could answer the question. How do men build ships?

"I don't think I can describe it. But whatever it is, it'll be a place where the accident won't defy our lives, we can get back to really loving each other, more than we used to, without anything in-between," her mind was drifting into the unfamiliar territory of hope. "People say it's always greener on the other side, that's probably true for us. It'll be more peaceful—"

"It'll be peaceful once you stop teasing me." Rachel's laughter mingled with Quinn's, the sound of it raw and genuine.

"That's unlikely to ever happen." Quinn kissed the top of her head. "Have you made all your points?"

"No—"

"Typical."

"Seventh point." Rachel remained in Quinn's arms, she was beginning to feel a cramp coming on. She decided to endure the pain instead. "I cannot leave my job, and neither can you. Eighth point. I don't think it's wise to move back in together just yet."

Quinn saw that one coming, so she used the rehearsed excuse, "I was drunk."

"Yes, I've noticed."

She wriggled her leg from under Rachel's to stop the cramp. No luck. "My turn. Ninth point," Quinn said. "You have to remember that we're going to be apart a lot. This spontaneous idea I had? It doesn't happen often. In fact, never. The only time I've told you to drop everything and come see me is to New Haven, I've never told you to fly to another country for me before." Rachel finally shuffled her leg and Quinn's leg resumed pumping blood again. Quinn continued, "It took us two years to deal with the distance. And with your play getting more attention and me flying around countries, it's hard to be together."

"I know. That's what I'm afraid of."

"We should have a system."

"Like?

"When you act childish and selfish and needy, I have permission to yell at you."

"You yell at me regardless of the situation so I don't know how successful that system will be."

"Okay, fine, but Rachel," they faced each other, Quinn stroked her hair as she talked. "I can't always be there for you physically, but I'll always be there no matter what time it is. That's how we used to deal with it. You'd call or I'd call you at ridiculous hours because we had a bad day. And you'd listen to me talk, you'd say things that didn't really help but hearing your voice certainly made me feel better." The sun was setting and the candles lit the room of shadows. Quinn found it perplexing. "It never gets easier. We make the moments we're together count and it's much more special."

Rachel stared deeply into Quinn's eyes, then it dipped down to her mouth, she ran her bottom lip between her teeth. She leaned up and Quinn thought she was finally about to get her much rewarded kiss but Rachel placed her mouth within a whisper of Quinn's and said, "I'm going to shower before my flight."

Quinn exhaled in frustration, not missing the way Rachel seductively licked her lips before closing the bathroom door. She sat staring at the doorknob trying to compose herself before crossing the room to the small fridge and turning the light on in the process. She was going for the bottle of water but grabbed the beer instead, and noticed the bathroom door had swung open.

There was no shower curtain, and she could see Rachel standing side on beneath the cold water, eyes closed against the spray, head back, arms raised. But oh god, Rachel was turning now, and the bottle of beer slipped through her hand and exploded, fizzing and foaming, propelling itself nosily around the floor. She threw a towel over it as if capturing some wild rodent, then looked up to see Rachel with a towel loosely wrapped around her.

"Slipped out of my hand." She said, stamping the beer foam into the towel and not thinking about getting Rachel into bed.

Rachel frowned in confusion, grabbed a change of clothes and went back into the bathroom. The door swung open again and Quinn could not for the life of her turn her eyes away. She watched the wriggle of Rachel's hips as she pulled on her underwear, the concave curve of her back and arch shoulder blades as she fastened her bra, the raised arms and the blue summer dress coming down like a curtain.

"Quinn?"

"Yeah?" Quinn had moved to the window and pretended to be mesmerized by the city. She had thoughts of doing explicit things to naked Rachel.

"We should go now. From here to the airport is about two hours."

She slumped her forehead on the window and pushed out a breath. "Okay."

They caught the train to Delhi airport. What amazed Quinn the most about India were the lights. It seemed to pour from all directions at once, forming gleaming points on every window and leaf, heightening colors to surreal intensity. The outskirts of the city fell away, leaving countryside, barns, houses painted in bright pastels and white trim.

Rachel was singing again. And I love you because you have given me no choice but to, stay stay stay. I've been loving you for quite some time time time.

"What song is that?" Quinn asked.

"I have no idea," Rachel said. "I can't get it out of my head. Do you know it?"

"Sounds familiar." Why could she not figure it out?

They resumed staring out the window and Rachel pointed to some sights she had researched: the old and new painting museums, the university where they teach a course in translating English. Quinn gave them only passing attention. Mostly she looked at Rachel, filled with wonderment. There was a slight greasy sheen on her nose, her mouth still moving even though Quinn was certain Rachel knew she wasn't paying attention to her chatter, dark skin beneath the eyes that looked almost bruised, a badge of honor from all the late night rehearsals and deliberately staying up late. She had one of those faces where you were aware of the bones beneath the skin, as if even her skull would be attractive.

"You stare at me a lot, Quinn." Rachel said sheepishly.

Whatever happened between them in the past, whatever the future holds, whatever rows and repercussions loomed, Quinn knew very well that she will never want to kiss Rachel more than she does in this moment. "Explain again why you're unable to kiss me?"

Rachel seemed to be struggling for an answer. Quinn said, "Just one, Rachel."

"We're in public."

"That's never stopped us before."

"You said that they're not very accommodating to lesbians here."

"No one's even on this carriage."

Rachel didn't answer or comment; she was too busy staring at Quinn's lips. For a moment, however, it did look like she wanted to say something, something witty and cutting, but then she changed her mind and pressed her lips together, staring out the window again.

Quinn flung herself back onto the seat and resumed staring at Rachel. This time, Rachel had a wide smile on her face throughout the entire train ride.

Rachel's plane was due to leave at 11:15 p.m. Quinn anxiously checked her watch every five minutes hoping that time would stop. She was breathing so hard she couldn't speak. Her heart was beating so loudly she couldn't hear anything. Everywhere she looked she saw bilingual signs, neon lights that made her dizzy, people scampering back and forth, in and out of duty free stores, even the thought of duty free shopping couldn't do anything to ease her anxiety. All these things would've been bearable, funny even, in her normal life, her real life, back in New York. With Rachel. That sounded good.

She hated this part. Why didn't she just buy a ticket to go home?

She saw Rachel coming back from check-in and she got up from her seat. "Hey, Rach, I'll go home with you."

Rachel was touched, and said nervously, "You can't do that, Quinn."

"Why not?"

"Because you have an interview in two days."

"I've done enough interviews. I'll just tell Kelly I got food poisoning or something."

"Quinn," her hand cupped the side of Quinn's face fondly. "You can't do that for me."

"You came all the way here for me."

"Yes, but I don't have prior commitments."

"You haven't slept in almost nineteen hours."

"I can sleep on the plane."

"I—" She stopped herself not knowing what else to say. Was all this worth it, all this work and commitment? Maybe they could just not spend so much time apart. That's it! Starting today, turn over a new leaf. Avoid this kind of pain, get it under control.

Her stomach was rumbling with so much anticipation she didn't register Rachel stepping towards her until their lips were together. Rachel kissed the life out of her, firing her blood, igniting her senses. She could very well become addicted to this (again), she thought dazedly. Rachel's lips were soft, the perfect contrast to the hard battle of supremacy their tongues waged.

Suddenly, Rachel pulled back, her breathing ragged and unsteady. "We'll see each other in a few days. I'll even pick you up from the airport."

She smiled slowly, though how she was capable of the action when all she felt was dread she didn't know. She hated this part.

They walked around the duty free stores hand in hand. People glared at them, Quinn glared back, Rachel laughed. Rachel pulled a skirt off the rack from a clothing store, she examined the fabric, soft and pleasing to touch. The pattern was a bizarre swirl of clashing rainbow colors. Rachel held it up to ask for Quinn's opinion, who shook her head instantly, and Rachel pouted. A salesgirl came towards them, leaning in close to Rachel and caressing her forearm, pretending to look at the weird, patterned skirt. Quinn grunted and pulled her out of the store.

"That was rude, Quinn."

"She was flirting."

"I was asking for her opinion—"

"You asked me for my opinion and I said no. Maybe you should take that into consideration."

Around them groups of grim-faced accepting Americans gripped their hand-luggage and proceeded wearily towards their security check. Quinn and Rachel sat near the front of the security check, seeing as Quinn wasn't allowed in. The seats were packed with expectant passengers but their frustration and rage had turned into exhaustion, resigned collapse. Rachel was once again reading her book The Fault In Our Stars. Quinn watched in disgust the couple across from her kissing aggressively, the woman kneeling astride the man, his arms flung back in surrender, their fingers interlocked.

Rachel nudged her hard in the ribs. "It's rude to stare, Quinn."

"They should get a room," Quinn turned her body to face Rachel. "Oh, so hey, I haven't told you what I found on the internet regarding us."

Rachel closed her book and forced it into her bag. "I'm listening. Was it an article? What did this so called journalist have to say?"

"Don't journalists write in newspapers and stuff?"

"I don't know. Aren't they all journalists?"

"No, a magazine writer is a publicist."

"No, a publicist generates and manages publicity for a celebrity, or for work such as a book or film. You should know this Quinn. You're in the business."

Quinn snorted in amusement. "I certainly don't think I have a publicist."

"You probably do. It's all behind-the-scenes stuff. He could be taking half your money and you wouldn't even know."

"Oh geez, thanks for making me feel better about where my money goes."

"You'll need one when you pull a Lindsay Lohan and have to resurrect your career."

Quinn laughed so loud everyone turned to stare at her. "Are you calling me a delinquent?"

"You are friends with Santana Lopez. Anything's possible."

Continuing to stare at each other, Quinn thought that Rachel's soft expression was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen. Something she couldn't read glowed in those electric eyes. Her heart thumped in her chest. "Anyway, back to my story. It wasn't an article. Stop interrupting—"

"I wouldn't if you'd just get—"

"So I was surfing the web," Quinn said rather loudly to cut Rachel off.

"I don't think anyone uses that phrase anymore. And how did you come across it?"

"I—it just happened..."

"How can it just happen?"

"When you go on the net these things happen."

"You were Googling yourself?" Rachel's mouth curled into a wide grin when Quinn didn't reply. "I thought I was conceited."

Quinn tried to level her with a glare, but it was hard since it was soaked with love. They both burst into another round of laughter. When it subsided, she said, "Yes, so I Googled myself, okay? Everyone does. It's like taboo to admit it or something. Like masturbating."

Rachel laughed until her sides hurt. "Are you saying that you masturbate, Quinn?"

"Why would I?" She asked as if it were the most ridiculous question in the world. "I have you."

"You didn't have me for three months."

"That one time we had sex was enough to hold me off."

"According to my diary, you have the stamina of a fourteen year old boy. I find it hard to believe you could hold off for three months."

Quinn laughed again. She might be dreading their goodbye which was due to happen in another half an hour, but right now, joking with Rachel, life had never seemed more ripe with promise. "Are you going to let me tell this story?"

"Okay, no more interruptions."

"People write fan fiction about us. Isn't that cool?"

"You're telling me that you Googled your name and out came a fan fiction website, and you eased your curious mind by clicking on it?"

"Something like that. They call us Faberry. I've read some. There's a lot of really good ones."

Rachel leaned back in her seat. "What kind of stories involving you and I? And why are you even reading fan fiction about yourself?"

"I'm egocentric. I guess being around you has rubbed off on me." Quinn winked.

"First of all, Quinn, I do not read fan fiction. Although, if I did I would most likely grammatically criticize a lot of them—"

"Of course."

"—secondly, I cannot read fan fiction even if I wished to as I'm somewhat of a perfectionist and will most likely leave comments to the author criticizing their work. Which in turn will stop them from writing fan fiction about me. So it's best I not read anything fan-dedicated."

"Basically you'll just be criticizing everyone who has dedicated their words to you."

"Precisely."

"There's this really good one where we haven't seen each other in years and you're a famous star who's kind of had a bad patch in your career, so you went to a strip club and I work there."

"You're a stripper?"

"In the story, yes."

"How did that feel reading about you being a stripper?"

"I didn't read it—"

"Oh, I beg to differ, Quinn. I think you read it and you enjoyed it."

Quinn leaned over and her lips brushed Rachel's ear. "I'll strip for you."

Rachel turned her head and her mouth melted under Quinn's, warmth with familiarity and her breath came faster. Quinn kissed her way down the smooth curve of Rachel's neck and felt the other girl sigh. "Quinn, we should—"

"I know," she said, not making any attempts to stop. She moved up to kiss Rachel again, wanting her so much that she couldn't let go.

An announcement came over the airport public address system asking for travelers on the next Royal Jordanian flight to Los Angeles and New York to proceed to their gate. The confirmation acted as a balm on the exhausted travelers around Quinn and Rachel, and everyone began to talk excitedly amongst each other.

"That's me." Rachel said.

Quinn lost her breath and put her forehead on the other girl's shoulder. "I really hate this."

Rachel looked like she was about to cry. So Quinn said, "Are you okay? What is it?" Given the circumstances, it was a supremely stupid question.

Rachel reached for her hand, acknowledging what was about to happen. Quinn found herself counting down the minutes. There was a stitch on her side as though she had ran for miles, and an electric tingle in her fingertips and now Rachel was pulling her into a hug and they stood like that for what seemed like forever and Quinn really wished she could stop time. Everyone stared at them. They ignored it. Keep hugging, whatever happens do not let go. Then the announcement came again and all the hope fell out of her. It was like running into a brick wall.

Quinn kissed the top of Rachel's head. "It'll be okay." She had a real limited repertoire when it came to dealing with emotional situations. It was worse in times of stress or nerves.

"I don't want to go." Rachel said into Quinn's neck.

Quinn was thinking, I don't want you to go either. How about we just go back to the hotel and stay there for the rest of our lives? She should have said, We can do this, I'll see you in a couple of days. I love you. But instead she said, "It's okay, it'll be okay." Which is not the same thing. "You should go, Rach. You'll miss your flight." Incredible the things we say. She wiped Rachel's tears. She hated seeing Rachel cry. She had a hard time holding back her own tears.

Quinn stepped out from their bubble of embrace and raised her hand in a waving gesture. "You should go, Rach."

Rachel picked up her hand-luggage and bit her lip nervously before nodding. "Turn around at the same time?"

"One, two, three."

Quinn turned and started to walk away, baby steps. She was angry about everything. Angry with the world and angry at why they had to always be separating. She hated this. It never got easier. It should be easy by now. It was totally unnecessary. She had no idea what to do with her anger. All she knew was that she felt, or everything felt, hopeless and miserable. The airport seemed to hum with a terrible starkness.

She walked on. The exit sign was coming into view when she heard footsteps, the soles of smart shoes slapping hard onto the floor behind her, and even before she heard her name and turned she was smiling because she knew it would be Rachel.

Rachel jumped into her arms, crushing her lungs. She should probably get her ribs checked when she has a chance. They settled into each other, safe, warm and satisfied. Rachel pulled back slightly and said, "Tell me you love me."

All the despair left her, replaced with an edge of contentment, even enthusiasm. "I love you."

"Call me, or I'll call you," Rachel said. "But one of us has to call, yes? It's not a competition. You don't lose if you call first."

"Yes, Rachel, I'll call you."

Rachel said, "I love you," and put one hand on the back of Quinn's neck, and simultaneously Quinn placed one hand on her hip, and they kissed in the middle of the airport as all around them people hurried home in the bright light, and it was the sweetest kiss either of them had ever known.

"So, I should go." Rachel said, walking slowly backwards.

"I'll see you in a couple of days."

"I'll find you at the airport." Rachel turned on her heels and ran towards the security check.

On the train, Quinn read the dedication Rachel had written in her diary.

Quinn, I can't seem to get this song out of my head. You think that it's funny when I'm mad mad mad. But I think that it's best if we both stay stay stay. Funny, isn't it, how much it relates to you and I? Does it ring a bell to you?

I should not have written that first paragraph. Now I can't erase it because this book will be ruined. What to say? I love you? I miss you? Too sentimental. The fact of me being here is enough sentiment for one day. So um, your letter was very heartwarming. We should really talk about it but I'm kind of nervous, but hopefully a little later on. I'm glad I came. I'm even more grateful you came and met me. Sometimes with your sarcasm (which I find hard to understand) I can never know whether you're serious or not. You're taking a very long time in that restroom, I hope you didn't fall in.

I really do love you.
10/21/2016.

Rachel Barbra Berry.

The song hit her then. Quinn was remembering that moment, serenading to Rachel in front of the whole school. It seemed like a lifetime ago. They were really in love and had oodles of hope. The future was gleaming again. Happiness rushed all over her. It felt so foreign.

Like she said, her heart was full of hope. It was a good starting point.