He looks up, she across. In the crowded corridor, their eyes meet. She recovers from her surprise first; she smiles in greeting. His lips faintly curve in response. The crowd sweeps them along.

“Obi-Wan?”

His attention snaps back to his companions. “Yes?”

“Your assessment of Xantalore’s political stability after your mission?”

“Of course,” he replies and continues.

Later, when they leave the Chancellor’s office, he isn’t surprised by the Nabooian handmaiden in the antechamber. She rises as they approach. Their gazes briefly meet; he remembers those eyes.

“Help you we may?”

“I’ve been sent to request Master Kenobi’s presence to renew an old acquaintance.”

He looks to the other Jedi. They glance at each other before the taller nods. “Of course,” he replies. “We will see you out the temple, Master Kenobi.”

He waits with the handmaiden as the two Jedi pass before he follows her from the chamber. Silence prevails during the trip to an apartment where the handmaiden vanishes; he is left in a sitting room.

He stands by the door, his hands clasped in the robe’s sleeves. The room, he notes, is small, its size an illusion created by large windows; the couches in the centre are bathed by the light from them. The couches appear comfortable, designed to set people at ease, but not for long conversations; he sees the hardness of their seat underneath. It is not a room that tells the culture of its owner; if he couldn’t tell by its details, he would not know this to be the room of ----

“Might I ask an impertinence?”

The familiar voice pulls his attention to the opposite end of the room and he steps away from the door, conscious of its invitation to leave; the appearance of the young woman encourages him to stay.

He nods.

She walks to the end of the couches and stops. Light bounces from straight hair, dances in her brown eyes; she has grown into the promise of her youth. She smiles and then her arms are around him, warm and sure. He doesn’t hesitate; he holds her close, an old friend. She half-turns, gesturing to the couches; she sits only when he does.

“Forgive my impertinence,” she says, sitting opposite.

He laughs, short and merry. “You are forgiven your impetuousness. What brings you to Coruscant?”

She folds her hands, rests them in her lap. “I am the Senator for Naboo.”

“I last knew your royalty and heard your people wanted you to stay.”

“And now I am Senator,” she smiles. “But I care not for such things right now. You are changed.”

“And you grown,” he replies. He remembers a poised girl and now a young woman sits before him.

A beautiful young woman.

Her fingers brush his cheek. “I like you better without the beard,” she tells him. “Is it to make you more distinguished among the Jedi?”

“It is my choice,” he answers. “In remembrance.”

Her hand falls away. “I have thought of you often.”

“And I –” How is he to answer? Was he to mention his wonderings of how she had grown, what she had become? His memories of her eyes, her hands, her smile? Oh, how he remembers her smile! “—also.”

She smiles; his lips curve in response. “It is wonderful to see you Obi-Wan,” she leans, taking one of his hands between hers. “You have been well?”

“I have,” he replies, covering her hands with his other. “It is—”

Words vanish, lost to sudden sensation soft and sweet. His lips part under hers and his eyes close. A hand rises to cup her cheek; forgotten instinct rules.

She pulls away, her eyes not moving from him. She stands, steps away from the couches. “Forgive my impertinent transgression, Master Jedi. I was forward where I should not have been.”

Sunlight surrounds; a halo around her hair, white gown accentuated. Her cheeks flush, a faint sunrise. He slowly rises, palms outward to reassure and calm. “Where was the transgression? I saw no forwardness, no impertinence.”

Her lips quirk; a wry, lopsided smile.

“Tell me,” he gently presses, “so I remain not ignorance.”

“I kissed a Jedi,” she quickly explains. “I trespassed where I should not.”

“Then,” a step forward, “why?”

Her cheeks brighten. “It was an impulse.” She laughs wryly. “A childish and foolish impulse from my girlhood.”

He stops, raises a quizzical brow.

Her cheeks do not subside. “I dreamed of you often,” she frankly admits. “A young Jedi committed to helping a cause that ended, for you, at such cost.”

He folds his arms, listening.

“And,” she continues, “handsome.”

An eyebrow arches; he’s never considered himself handsome and had not thought others would think him so.

“Against my judgement, I dreamed what it would be like to kiss you.” She looks to the ground briefly before regarding him once again. “Upon waking, I would remember you are a Jedi and that such a dream would not come true.”

“And yet, I was kissed.”

“And yet, you were kissed,” she laughs, free and warm now. “This is an opportunity I’d not thought to have.”

Quizzical once more, the brow rises.

“I’d not thought,” she smiles, “to see you and then I did. I was simply glad to see you well and then the impulse woke ...”

The memory of her lips on his arises; another memory for his collection that would accompany those of her smile, her hands. No distance now; he rests his hands on her shoulders. Blue eyes catch brown. “It was not,” he murmurs, “a childish and foolish impulse.”

Her face tilts towards his, framed by brown hair falling over her shoulders. “What would you name it?”

A corner of his lips quirks upward. “Curiosity,” he replies. “An indulgence of curiosity to banish ignorance.”

She straightens the earth brown robe, the fabric surprisingly smooth under her fingers. “This is the Jedi way?”

“We should not be shrouded in ignorance,” he answers, expression sombre and calm.

She doesn’t see the mischievous glint hidden in his eyes as his hands cradle her cheeks, as she leans closer and their lips meet, as her hands rest on his chest and eyes close. When he finally envelopes her in his arms.

To post your Feedback, click here