A Garden Of Hydrangeas

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Chapter 22.

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Glory belongs to the Creator as His creation rises over the world He made. The call to prayer like a natural alarm over the hearts of humans, with every word that was called out with pride, people rose from their deep sleeps. They rubbed their eyes and washed out that which was left of sleep inside of them. A light azure blue sky brushed over the horizon, waking up the newly weds. Flowers opened their buds and the pollen spilled out into the world — even in the dead of winter. The flowers outside his window curved into the bedroom, the rose petals flown all over the floors from the intensity of the zephyr.

Dusky lights danced over the dark skies and threatened to spill into the bedroom. It smelt of lust, of love and an emotion so strong that nothing else had managed to penetrate it's fortified walls just yet. In the love nest of the newly weds, the aroma of dried roses and tears acted as the gentle alarm. With achy bones, heavy eyes and swollen lips they shifted underneath the thick duvets. The furry blankets thrown on top of the silk covered duvet kept the cold at bay, and their bare skin from freezing. Warmth from each others bodies kept them going, their legs entangled and the sheets stained with the irrevocable truth of their union.

They had slept like two young babes sated by their mother's milk. After the resounding sounds of their passion, not even the energy to move the tiniest of their toes remained in them. They had, well and truly, satiated their hunger for each other. By the time they got done, going at it again and again like feral animals — they were two halves of one soul. The sound of their alarms broke the web of peace, his hands turning the phones off. With eyes still shut, he took a deep breath, feeling the win in his tousled hair and the soft press of his wife's body against his own — Arham woke up from the dreams of his future feeing nothing short of a king.

His fingers stroked her knotted back, softly massaging the skin. She shifted under his touch, taking deep breaths, trembling almost at the instant comfort. A vague pain in the region between her legs, intensified as she gained her senses. Her hands pressed against her lower belly to calm the tremors inside, the apples of her cheeks once more stroked a peachy red — it was her first morning. The morning after. She squealed still unable to believe her reality was as sweet as her dreams. Her hands found their way to his face, pressing along the sides of them to make sure it was not a play of light — not a distraught hallucination.

He smiled into her hands, his lips brushing through the inner well of her palms. His eyes opened softly, breaking the spell of sleep, his hands tightened around her waist, pulling her in closer. The soft sunlight that was still trapped beneath the grey clouds of terror, escaped through a single sliver and fell in to the centre of his eyes, the hazel of the pronounced. The green flecks in his eyes fought with the strong brown radial muscles. Every inch of his eye was filled with a watery fluid that reflected her sleepy face to near perfection. From the scrunch of her nose to the very small bruise on the corner of her lips. Her face was captured in between the glass walls of his for ever after.

"Sahaar mo pa kheyr." Filza murmured, her voice dissolved all the remainders of slumber from his being.
[Good morning.]

Arham stretched his arms, flexing the toned torso and biceps he had spent a good amount of hours perfecting in the gym. He smiled slyly at her direction, running a hand over her knotted hair — there was something about hearing the woman you married greet you in her mother tongue.
Something rustic.
Something beyond the description of cultural.
It was the purest of sensations, the white that filled the vision at such innocent gestures.