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One day, they held hands for the first time. It was mid-March. The air was cold and heavy with moisture. They were walking past a pizza parlor, and Nirmala put her hand in his. The first thing Gautama noticed was the calluses on her palms. But, as soon as he had closed his hand around hers, he had the feeling that he would never need anything else. All the other things he worried about—his research, what job he would get, what might happen to his family in India—none of this mattered, because this thing was O. He looked on YouTube for guidance on kissing. He watched a video in which an old white-haired couple kissed and then told each other what they had liked about the kiss.