1.2 | Highway of Lights ✓

07 | destination

07
d e s t i n a t i o n

NOAH IS A few steps on top of me. My palm is being wrapped by his firmly, his long arm outstretched behind him. I chance a glance at him. With me looking up at him, his shoulders look broad, while the muscles under the short sleeves of his shirt tense up. I start counting the number of times we touch each other in half a day—and I find myself losing counts.

This is ridiculous.

Not because of how he keeps holding my hand, but my heart always races every time he does that. Which is again, ridiculous.

When we talk about physical touch, my mom is always the first one to pop into my head. The way my mother held my tiny hand to guide me in the streets, the way she hugged me to sleep when I was sick, the way she caressed my head all the time. My mom seems to be the only one that makes me feel safe with her touches.

Noah turns his head around to me. "You alright?" he asks, concerned.

I snap my eyes to him and nod. "Yeah, keep going." I add a smile so that I don't sound rude.

Just as I think we've finally reached the top, a pile of steep and uneven rocks appear in front of us.

"Those are not even stairs!" I grimace.

Noah traces the rocky slope with his finger in the air. "The rocks are actually steps, and it's possible to reach the top."

"Oh goodness." I sigh. "I'm not used to hiking, you know."

"Obviously." He quirks his eyebrows. "Anyway, we could stop here if you want to," he says, searching for my answer from my face.

"Nah, just go." The words slip out of my mouth unexpectedly, and it startles me how brisk my reaction is. Half an hour ago I was worrying there might not be a destination, but here I am, urging Noah to guide me again.

My feet meet each level of the rocks as Noah continues to pull me up. And I have to admit—Noah's touch feels safe. The kind of safe that I haven't felt for long since I have left her.

"Don't step onto the tiny rocks," he insists. "Go for the grass if there's no safe step, that'll prevent you from falling."

"Okay." I laugh. "Professional enough."

He says with a snicker, "Also, don't pull me backward."

"Did I?" I loosen my grip on his arm a bit.

He proceeds to climb up the steps. "Just in case you depend too much on a professional."

Rolling my eyes, I give him an amused grin.

"Almost there," Noah says, panting for breath. "Ready for the view?"

"How do you know if the view is actually worth our climb?" I laugh in between breaths.

He stops walking, and I angle my head up. He's already standing on the top. "I'm pretty sure you won't be disappointed," he replies.

I immediately dash up the remaining few steps and gaze across the scenery in front of me.

Flaring and gray crags rise one above the other to the summit. The cliffs plunge, which creates the steep slopes that soar into the sky; miles of carved rocks are slowly eroded away by the Colorado River.

If the Grand Canyon down there is beautiful, it looks spectacular when looking from here—vast and deep, vibrant and natural.

I blink away the gradually-forming tears in my eyes.