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When Farah and Saul finally see each other again, after Farah has risen from the dead and after Saul has finally recovered from endless months of torture in the Solarian dungeons, they are unable to move towards each other. Both are stuck, still with the relief and hearts heavy from their forced separation. Never before have they spent so much time apart. Their closeness feeds their bond, but their distance has more than starved it. It’s gone, an empty spindle in both of their chests.
Farah remembers feeling Saul in her bones every time she looked into his eyes, but the man in front of her now is more or less a stranger. His mind is a fortress, and though she wants to, she will never prod his mind with her magic. That kind of invasion is just—it is something she has sworn to never do.
Saul remembers Farah as warm honey that creeps through his blood with a thickness that comforts him as much as it suffocates him. He remembers thinking that he could drown in her if it were possible. She’s all sunshine and summer sun, an impossibly idyllic perfection that taunts him when she’s near.
Their reunion is bittersweet. They’re both breathing, alive, but without that connection to the other, neither are truly living. Farah is the first to step forward, and she places a delicate hand on Saul’s cheek, as if her touch could reignite their bond. It doesn’t. She still feels empty. Tears swell in her eyes, reddens them until they finally spill over and slip off her cheeks. Saul is quick to pull her into his chest. His arms come around her, slide behind her shoulders. Her nose presses into his throat just as one of his hands creeps up her back and tangles in the underside of her neatly pinned hair.
“It’s okay, love.” He murmurs, but the crack in his voice betrays him. “It will be okay.”
Months go by, nearly an entire semester before they break. Being together and feeling so alone is too painful; it fractures their minds until they’re both screaming at each other in the open corridor. Communication has never been a problem for them, but then again, they’ve never really had to communicate. The inability to feel one another eats at their souls until they're angry and bitter and exhausted.
But then Saul snaps. He reaches forward and grabs Farah by the back of the neck. He drags her forward so his nose hits her cheek and his lips cover her own. Farah struggles to hold back a surprised gasp, but that’s all the specialist needs to feel to know that she feels the same. This rage, this pain…it’s from the silence inside them. The string that tied them together has been severed until they’re only echoes of the pair they once were. The touch of skin on skin is comforting, though, and a timid relationship different to the one they’ve always known blossoms between the two.
Another year goes by, eventless and mundane to others but thrilling to Saul and Farah. They share stolen kisses in empty corridors, sneak from each other’s rooms late at night—or very early in the morning—, and finally make use of some of the abandoned rooms throughout the East Wing. It’s exciting, a new adventure full of discoveries for both of them. Their bond is still gone, still creates a void in their chests, but in some ways, they’ve come to know each other even better without it. Farah recognizes each subtle change on Saul’s face, memorizes every twitch of his brows and dimple on his face. Saul commits her voice to memory. Each syllable she speaks, each tone or heavy sigh she lets out sends shivers down his spine. He knows what she feels just from the lilt in her laughter or soft chokes in her cries. In some ways, this is better than the bond. They communicate openly now. Neither have to prod an invisible string to get the truth because they’ve become accustomed to just saying it. Moreover, neither are shy about those three little words that hung like curtains between them for so many years. They see everything now. They finally see each other.
It’s a rainy Friday evening in the middle of November when Saul gets down on one knee, and for the first time, he is truly grateful that their bond has been severed. Farah, his beautiful, clueless Farah, is completely in the dark about his plans. Her face is full of awe, stuck in surprise when he lowers himself to the ground and takes her hand.
“My love,” he whispers. It is only them standing in a circle of flower petals and dimly lit candles in front of the fountain where they met all those years ago. The lights from the school glow behind them, drape over their faces while the fiery wicks of the candles make shadows dance over their bodies. “I have waited over 25 years to do this.”
He doesn’t get the chance to ask, because Farah falls to her knees in front of him and presses her lips to his so quickly that they forget where they are.
“Yes,” she whispers. They both laugh breathlessly.
Seven months later, on the twelfth day of June, Saul stands in between two trees at the end of several rows of hollowed logs draped in soft green moss. Lights twinkle above him, hanging delicately from the white chiffon drapery Terra hung that morning. An aisle has been cleared, and their closest friends and family sit in rapture as Farah steps into the middle at the other end. She is a vision in white, in lace and ivory that hangs from her like dew drops in the misty afternoon. Saul chokes on his breath. Tears fall traitorously from his eyes, and he lets them. She has her arm linked through Sky’s elbow as he guides her over the pine straw and leaves. Sam stands behind Saul, and Terra stands on the opposite side of the altar. As Farah walks, she blooms delicate white flowers behind her. It’s stunning. It’s everything Saul has dreamed of for over 25 years.
Sky stops them both in front of Saul, let’s out a small chuckle when Farah forgets that she can’t just run into his arms. Both of them are a mess of tears as they long to touch. When she finally steps up, Farah hands her bouquet to Terra so Saul can grip both of her hands in his. His are big where hers are small, steady where hers are shaking, and warm where hers are not. It’s like coming home. Neither are sure what is said during the ceremony. Neither really pay attention. Farah looks so beautiful, and Saul scrutinizes every detail until it is burned into his mind: her smile, the way her tears leave light trails through her makeup, the way her eyelashes fan over her pink cheeks. Saul looks a mess, Farah thinks, but it is the most beautiful she has ever seen him. He tries not to cry, but he does. And she’s grateful to not feel him in that moment, because she’s sure if they still had that bond, neither would be able to make it through their vows.
When Ben clears his throat, Saul jumps at Farah. His arms wrap around her waist and drag her body to his. Her shaky hands grip his cheeks as he dips her backwards into a heated embrace. And the sky opens up. Rain starts to pour down over them, echoing in the loud applause of their audience. And then there’s warmth in their chests. Through the grey cover of steam that rises as water hits the ground, a golden light erupts from between them. It feels as though something is being tied back together, an invisible string once broken now reconnected.
Farah pulls back in shock when everything that is purely Saul floods her soul. His love for her, his anguish, his fear, his happiness, his grace, his mind. They all crack against her frantic heart, and from the looks on his face, hers crack against his as well. It’s heavier than before, so much deeper than it has ever been. It’s almost overwhelming, the renewal of this bond, and it feels stronger the harder it begins to rain. She chuckles, her finger coming up to trace the delicate line of his nose and brow.
“Water makes knots stronger,” she whispers against his lips, and Saul smiles at her. Drops of rain splash against their faces as they are reborn together in a summer storm.