He’d forgotten that happiness wasn’t a banging, violent emotion like all the others that bombarded him every moment. Happiness was soft. Uneventful. It was holding Indira’s hand. Sitting next to her on the couch and listening to her talk. It was a quiet cup of coffee with her next to him reading a magazine. It was teasing her, being goofy and pretending to pass out after sniffing her feet, making her shriek in outrage and giggle. Happiness was them.
