Power Cut

The power went out at nine-thirty on a Friday. Rahul found one candle and his phone torch and was making peace with reading all evening when he heard the knock. His neighbour from across the hall — Sia, graphic designer, owner of a very opinionated cat — standing in his doorway with an expression of mild despair. "I have wine," she said. "You look like you might have candles." He had one candle. "One candle," he said. "But come in." He'd known her for four months — the length of time they'd both lived on the seventh floor. She was easy company: direct, funny, made strong opinions on small things. He'd considered whether he was attracted to her and concluded: obviously yes, and also she hadn't given any indication that was mutual, so he'd set it aside. They sat in his living room by candlelight, passing her wine, and talked for two hours. The dark softened things. She was in one corner of the sofa and he was in the other and over the course of those two hours the gap between them had quietly closed without either of them appearing to move. "Rahul," Sia said. "Yes." "I'm going to say something and I want you to just take it calmly." "Okay." "I've been attracted to you since approximately the second week I moved in and I have been successfully not acting on it because I value the neighbourly equilibrium and I didn't want to presume." He took a breath. "Sia," he said. "Same." A pause. Then she laughed — a real laugh, relief in it — and shifted across the gap between them, and he met her halfway. She tasted like red wine and smelled like something floral and she kissed him like she'd already thought about it, which he supposed she had. He pulled her into his lap and felt her warmth settle against him and the careful four months of not-presuming became something much more direct and honest. His hands moved up her back, under her shirt, and she made a quiet sound against his mouth and ground herself against him. They took the candle to the bedroom and made good use of the low light. He took his time with her, following the sounds she made, the way she moved, finding what she responded to and returning to it until she was gripping his shoulder and barely keeping quiet. She was generous in return — her hands, her mouth, the low decisive way she said what she wanted. He gave her everything she asked for. Afterwards the power was still out. It came back sometime around midnight, lights blinking on, but by then neither of them noticed. "Neighbourly equilibrium," Rahul said into her hair. "Destroyed," Sia agreed. "Or improved," he said. "Improved," she said.