THE NAVARASA POTION SHOP by Akshaya Raman
Ma had always told Kiran that true love couldn’t be bought.
“You can buy knowledge, friendship, even justice for the right price,” Ma would say. “But not love.”
Kiran believed her mother as she navigated her first awkward crush, her first hesitant kiss, her first loving girlfriend. And then she had her first painful breakup. And somewhere among a box of lavender cupcakes, a Netflix show binge, and two dozen phone calls to her friends, Kiran realized Ma had been wrong.
Love could be bought—if you knew where to look.
From the outside, there was nothing noteworthy about the Navarasa Potion Shop. A simple wooden sign carved with the store’s name hung from the lime-green awning, swinging in the cool spring breeze. Kiran pushed open the door.
Coconut and rose. Sage and saffron. Ocean waves and flickering flames.
She breathed deeply, inhaling scents that were no longer singular but a harmonious blend of fragrant notes and familiar feelings.
The marvel of a thousand clay lamps floating down a winding river. The terror of a plunging drop off a jagged seaside cliff. The victory of a battle waged and won on the soccer field.
The girl behind the counter was not the old Indian aunty that Kiran’s friends had told her to expect but a young girl barely older than Kiran. And she had the most beautiful hair. It was waist length, parted to one side, and wavy in that magazine-photoshoot-on-the-beach way. That run-your-hands-through-it-forever way.
“Can I help you?” Her voice had the smooth rasp of coffee shop singers. She ran her eyes over Kiran, from her messy bun down to her scuffed sneakers, and then back up to meet Kiran’s gaze. There was an intensity in that look, a blend of curiosity and intimacy, that made Kiran’s stomach flip. This girl could tell entire stories just with her eyes.
“That’s my mother.” The girl tucked her curtain of black hair behind her ear, revealing five gold piercings lining the outer shell.
Kiran pointed to the wooden shelves full of delicate glass bottles. “Do they really work?”
“Sure.” The girl put her elbows on the counter and leaned forward. “What are you in the mood for? World peace? Vigilante justice? Zombie apocalypse?”
“Oh—” Wait. “You have potions that can cause a zombie apocalypse?”
The girl smiled dryly. “Joke.” She laced her fingers together. “How can I help you?”
Kiran’s face heated. She’d spent the whole drive thinking about the words she wanted to say, but somehow it was easier to imagine saying them to an aunty than a girl who could be her classmate. “Um.” Kiran toyed with the hem of her tank top. “I’m looking for… a love potion.”
“Oh.” For a second Kiran thought the girl sounded disappointed, but when Kiran looked up, her face was expressionless. “Over there.” She gestured to the cabinets with a dismissive wave. “The pink ones.”
The navarasa, Kiran recalled from bharatanatyam dance lessons, consisted of nine universal emotions you could evoke through art. Kiran’s eyes wandered over the bottles, taking in the nine colors meant to represent the nine emotions. Adbutha, or wonder, shimmered like trapped sunlight, warm and radiant. Raudra, or anger, beckoned like a decadent pomegranate tart, bloody and brutal. Peace. Laughter. Fear. And then Kiran saw it. Sringara. Love. It was the pale pink of rosebuds awash in dawn’s glow, and it tugged her forward, both enticing and warning.
She pulled the stopper out of the bottle and inhaled. Crushed rose petals and flecks of sandalwood. The space between her heartbeats grew, the gaps filled with intoxicating emotions and memories of Alia.
The bliss of rosewater cupcakes and lazy kisses on sun-warmed grass.
It was as if the very fabric of the world around her had been ripped apart and painstakingly sewn back together in way that made sense.
The girl at the counter had that wry smile on her face again as Kiran approached, but now Kiran noticed a small dimple in her right cheek. This close, she could that the girl’s eyes were not black as she’d thought, but a very dark brown, deep and soulful and expressive. Every flick, every glance, was filled with intention.
Yes, Kiran meant to say. “What’s your name?” She slid the bottle across the counter.
The girl raised an eyebrow. “Rohini.”
“So, Kiran,” Rohini asked, smiling brightly as she rang up the purchase, “whose choice are you intending to take away with this?”
Kiran’s smile fell. She was beginning to see the seams and the rips in the universe again, the way things didn’t quite fit together. She couldn’t stand the judgment exuding from this girl. Alia still loved her; Kiran just needed her to remember how much.
“It’s not like that. My girlfriend broke up with me because we’re going to different colleges in the fall.”
Rohini wrapped the bottle in tissue and slipped it into a bag. “That doesn’t change anything.”
The effects of the potion Kiran had inhaled were fading away, and she felt… ordinary. Empty. “If you hate it so much, why do you sell it?”
The girl’s expression darkened. “It’s a family business.”
Kiran snatched the bag off the counter. “Well, your family might want to consider hiring someone else.”
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