He was ready to be disappointed. She didnâ€™t remember, but this was home. If home didnâ€™t do it, then what would? He didnâ€™t want to think about never having his Nehmahati back. The girl was so much like her, and just not her. Kalab was dutiful and adored her because of just how like his dear hear she was. At the same time, it hurt him that she was such a reminder that he might never have the other half of himself back.<br/><br/>And then she stopped. He was torn between actual fear for his dear heart and curiosity over what was happening. Even outwardly he could see the tension in her stillness. The moment when hostile terror was replaced by exultant grief. Only he didnâ€™t know why. Not knowing why made him wary for an instant. What if the demon had done something? A demon could not bring his Nehmahati back though, and only his dear heart could say his name like that. Like it was a prayer.<br/><br/>He took stock and realized that he felt right in a way he hadnâ€™t in decades. The caution all gone, he put his hand over hers, finding himself reveling in the touch of her fingers on his skin. â€œFar, far too long, dear heart.â€ She was what mattered to him. Kalab turned her hand over and kissed the palm. â€œA hundred years, a thousand, an eternity.â€ He reached out to pull her close, unwilling to admit that he didnâ€™t know and hadnâ€™t even tried to keep track. â€œI missed you,â€ he breathed, almost to himself. â€œI found youâ€¦â€ louder and wondrously amused.