Aren't we all waiting to be read by someone, praying that they'll tell us that we make sense?
— Rudy Francisco
She watches him from the vast veranda of his country house, keeping herself hidden behind a pillar. The flames dance across his profile as they highlight his sharp features, glimmering in his joyous eyes as he laughs and dances around the fire with other men, making his eyes look less like a wild forest filled with vehemence of bellicose beasts.
His presence among the other is dominating, demanding attention, gripping her own orbs to him like a powerful magnet. Leyla feels bedazzled.
Here, being happy like this, he appears more like a human than a perilous animal on a hunt. She appreciates him being more lenient— a little pleasant, a little humble— instead of being fiery and unforgiving— instead of being a slave to his pride.
"Do you find him handsome?"
She turns around to find Zarbakhta standing behind her. Leyla only smiles at her and she returns her smile knowingly.
"You look beautiful, Zari," Leyla compliments instead.
The intricate embroidery on her engagement dress catches moonlight as she grins and twirls around. "May your brother think the same," Zarbakhta prays lightheartedly.
Leyla takes her hands in hers. "I think Lawangeen will be charmed."
"You think so?"
"I know so."
Zarbakhta looks at her through her lashes. "I don't know. I think he's not happy with our engagement. Does he feel forced because of our betrothal made by our families? You know you don't have to lie to me."
"If there was any such case, he would've mentioned it," Leyla assures firmly.
Zarbakhta sighs and looks down at their joined hands. "If he doesn't want this, then I really don't want to become the chains at his feet and hold him down."
"Don't you love him?"
"I do. Always have, always will. You know it."
"Then you won't become his chains but his wings to lift him high." Leyla pats her cheek, fixing her gaze. "And I'm not saying this because you're my best friend, but because I know you're an angel."
Zarbakhta's eyes water and she sniffs, swatting at Leyla's hands. "Don't get me emotional now. You'll ruin my make up."
Leyla chuckles and hugs her. She returns her embrace warmly.
"Thank you," Zarbakhta whispers to her and pulls away. She looks behind Leyla and tenses up. "Lala?"
Leyla turns to find him standing near her. She takes a step away to put some distance between them. His pupils seem to zoom on her movements.
"Get inside the house, Zari," he directs to his sister.
Zarbakhta shares a look with Leyla before leaving them both alone without a question.
Leyla faces him, lifting up her chin defiantly before his authoritative deportment, not backing away in case he decides to scare her away too. She notices the upward twitch of his lips.
He locks his hands behind his back, puffing out his chest and circling around her like a prowling lion before coming to stand in front of her. He smiles at her, but his irises retain their frost.
"Brekhna."
He has the kind of voice that penetrates the skin; it sends chills up one's spine. But she remains daring as she stares back at him.
"It's cold outside. What are you doing here?" he asks.
"Can I not come to see my brother's engagement celebration?" she asks in reply.
"The celebration for women is going inside the house. There are only men here."
"I needed air," she excuses. "The sky is clear and the moon is full."
He chuckles as he steps closer to her. His proximity is both frightening and exciting. "But look at the sky, it's starless. Because all the stars are here in your eyes, Brekhna." He reaches out to brush away her hair from her face. "Can you not confess that you came to see me here, khwagy (sweetheart)?"
She tries to move away from him but he's swift to grasp both of her elbows, pulling her back closer. Leyla puts her hands against his chest, gently pushing away, but he doesn't let go. She peeks around anxiously to make sure no one is around.
He leans forward and levels his mouth with her ear, his voice becoming tender as he speaks, "You look breathtaking tonight, my love."
"Asfand." She curls her fingers in his shirt. "If Lawangeen sees us together—"
"He's my friend to take care of," he dismisses her concern, "and you're my wife-to-be."
"To be, ain't yet." She carefully tugs herself free of him.
He disapprovingly narrows his eyes at her. "But will be, soon."
"Do I not have a say in this?"
"Do you not see me fit to be your husband?"
"I..."
She glimpses at him as the moonlight cast shadows across his face, making him appealing like a sin. He's a meticulous artwork, extraordinarily conspicuous with both his looks and personality. Zarbakhta is right: she does find him handsome, but unsettling at the same time.
"Anyone who comes between us, Brekhna," he speaks convincingly, "I'll destroy them. Then either I die or they die."
"Asfandyar," she scolds him, upset, putting her palm over his mouth. "You will not speak of any such thing again, let alone think of doing. Promise me?"
His expression softens in front of her. He takes hold of her wrist and removes her hand from his mouth. "Only if you promise to be mine?"
"We've been betrothed since childhood. You think I could ever think of another one? I cannot even consider."
He smiles contentedly at her response. "Were my friends to know a man like me is at a mercy of a woman, they'll find me laughable."
"Do you find it laughable?"
"I don't know." He cups her face and stares into eyes. She feels as if he's peering into her soul. "But I find you intensely loveable, Brekhna."
She knows excess of everything is bad, even love. But she doesn't know the intensity of his love might become his insanity.
So just smiles at him, unaware of what tomorrow might bring.
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"You've a good collection of history books here," she says as she runs her finger over the spine of each book. The bookshelf barely has an empty spot.
Burq looks up from his laptop to her. "These are all my late mother's."
"I gather she was a reader with an amazing taste."
"The best." Burq smiles longingly from his desk chair at her. "She always had an interesting story to tell for every occasion, like you."
Leyla walks over to him. His study room is large and quiet, but has a comforting air nonetheless. This is her first time she is exploring it closely.
"Does it mean you find my stories interesting?"
"Spellbinding."
"Are you calling me a sorceress now?" Leyla jokes, leaning on his desk beside him.
He swirls his chair to face her, his features lacking any humor as he answers her, "What do you call someone who bewitches people?"
"Why, who have I bewitched, my lord?"
His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows. Her focus remains sharp on him. "Do you really not see?"
The golden of his irises seems to glitter as his gaze battles with her. She smiles at what she sees there.
"Your hair has grown long," she comments and he glowers at her.
"These tricks of yours are getting old for me, habibi."
"But it looks good on you," she continues, referring to his hair.
"Leyla," Burq silences her disapprovingly. "Stop running away from me. Or do you want me to chase you?"
"We're past that stage."
"What do you mean?"
She inhales deeply and reaches forward to push back his bangs from his eyes. "What I see is admiration in there. Fascination too, maybe. Does it make me special in any way?"
"Does it not?"
How can she explain things to him? Every feeling is different. Once, she carried the same look in her eyes for Asfandyar. But then soon realized such feelings can be fleeting. Unless love and trust are rooted in a heart, what good are transitory opinions?
"No, Burq. It does not."
He licks his lips and glances away. "I respect your feelings, Leyla. But I can never give you more than this."
"I understand."
"This is not because of Doha. True, I did see my future with her. But I'm coming to realize I can be a whole person myself, without the concept of a better half," he rambles and then looks back at her. "Although I want to let you know I appreciate you a great deal in my life, habibi." He uneasily scratches his nose. "Thank you."
She smiles and pushes herself off his desk. She walks back towards his bookshelf and picks up a random book. "Remember the story of Adam and Satan I told you, Burq?"
"I do," he responds.
She looks at him over her shoulder. "Would you mind me proceeding with it?"
"I don't mind, habibi."
She opens the book and flips through the pages as she begins, "So when Satan was thrown out of the sky, God let Adam live in heaven. And he lived there, imagine in heaven, but he felt something missing— he felt lonely— although he didn't know where it came from. He was the only man back then." She turns around to face him and hugs the book to her chest. By the curious gleam in his orbs, she knows Burq is already arrested. "The narrations say that one day he was napping in heaven, and when he woke up, he found a woman standing beside him."
"Hawwa, Eve," he adds and she nods.
"When Adam saw her, this something he had been feeling, his loneliness, vanished immediately. He was shocked to see someone like him. So he asked her who she was, and she replied that she was a woman created by God. And Adam asked her why she was created, and she said," she moves nearer to him again, "so you may find your peace and tranquility with me. And thus, God gave Adam, a man, Hawwa as his wife, a woman. Now were Adam able to live alone, would he have needed Hawwa? As humans, this need of a man and woman for each other is natural, so God created us in pairs. God alone is only free of needs, and He is the all knower."
She closes the book and places it on the desk. Burq extends his hand to her and she takes it in both of hers. He gently tugs her towards himself.
"Tell me more," he requests.
"The angels upon seeing the expression of Adam asked him who this being was, since they knew Adam was given knowledge of things they weren't. And Adam replied with Hawwa, because she was a living being like him, and her name meant a living thing, alive. Some narrations say she was created from the left rib of Adam. And the left rib because on the left side is the heart, so a man shall keep his woman close to his heart like a rib is close to the heart. The other narrations say that like a rib," she lowers her voice dramatically, "a woman guards her man's heart."
She pauses and he eagerly lean towards her. She chuckles and shakes her head. Burq arches a questioning eyebrow.
"I'm sure the story doesn't end here," he says.
"It doesn't. But I'll narrate to you the details another time. For now, I'll wrap it up relating to this current moment." She subconsciously rubs her ring finger again. "Adam and Hawwa began living in heaven freely as husband and wife, except God warning them from going near the forbidden tree, as a test. But when Satan lied to them and led them astray, they disobeyed their Lord. Although when they realized their mistake, they repented and sought God's mercy and forgiveness. And that is what makes us human different than Satan: where he remained arrogant and didn't seek forgiveness, Adam and Hawwa did. This is a quality dear to God," Leyla adds meaningfully.
Burq listens earnestly. "They were sent down to earth afterwards, right?"
"Yes, for a time being to complete their mortal lives, like we all do. They both fell down in different places and immediately began to search for each other. You see, this search for our spouses is inherited." She smiles dreamily. "They met on the mountain of acquaintance, Mount Arafat, and from there they began their lives on earth," she ends and Burq grins up at her.
"I suppose this was your way of telling me the concept of being a whole person on my own can be lonely?"
"Well," she shrugs, "the concept of better half aside, I believe that a person can be whole on their own, but their other half can make them better."
Burq laughs quietly. "Very romantic, habibi. Does it mean I need to get married then?"
She bites back her own grin and clips up her hair. "Only if you can take a wife," she responds smoothly.
"You think I can't?"
She shrugs again.
"Well, if I ask you to marry me, what will be your answer?"
Her heartstrings hum. She knows he's only joking, but she can't help the memories of the first time rushing back to her.
"I've already answered that question for you. Do you want me to answer it again?"
She watches as the color drains from his irises and all the mirth leaves his eyes. His smile disappears.
"What?"
➳
Thoughts?
The story of Adam and Hawwa (peace be upon them) is one of my favorite love stories. Which is yours?
The YouTube link to their story is attached at the top.
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