I still hold onto you from a distance
The way starlight holds onto the vast void of night.

— April Green

Leyla moves her head from side to side, pressing the pads of her thumbs against the back of her neck— it was stiff. She rolls her shoulders to release some tension, suppressing a yawn.

Sitting on the uncomfortable hospital couch all night and working on her laptop wasn't her plan, but then he asked her to stay.

Burq asked her to stay.

She couldn't say no, not to him.

Outside the window, the sunrise looks beautiful. This is the magic about Queenstown: it is like a piece of heaven on earth. Unable to resist, she stands up, putting her laptop in her place on the couch.

She walks over to the window, gaze tracing the rays of the sun as if surfing them, lost for a moment. A small bird on the windowsill chirps and she smiles at it, touching the glass, and the bird flies away.

Leyla looks back to where Burq is still lying on the bed, peacefully asleep. His tanned Arabian skin tone shines under the sunlight, reminding her of desert grains and hot wind. A small part of her still lingers in the lost times, and she is failing to retrieve it. Some things are out of our control, she thinks.

Will you marry me, Leyla?

His question plays in her mind like a ticking clock, the old memory feeling like yesterday. Yet when she tries to reach out for it, it dissolves into smoke as if it never was.

She takes cautious steps towards him, coming to stand at his side. His dark hair are naturally wavy, almost curly, and she gets an irresistible urge to run her fingers through them. She reaches a tentative hand forward to brush aside his bangs from his eyes, those closed lids hiding back his predatory glances.

If you think being my wife means being my queen, then you're wrong, habibi.

As if coming to her senses, she retracts her hand. She breathes through her mouth, letting her lungs catch some life. It still stings. His every word always will.

He isn't the kind of man women read books about, she knows. He has looks and he has the world on his palm, but he doesn't have one thing she seeks: a good heart.

She sighs, remembering the days when she was slowly getting to know him for the first time. He was always drunken on his pride, maybe still is, wearing an invisible crown. Behind these sharp cut features and tiger like eyes, his power is always on full display, to tell the people around him he is on the top.

And this is the thing Leyla can never admire about anyone: pride. Pride— it roots all sins.

She left him, but now she is back, and she doesn't know why.

The silly part of her could never forget him, but the rational part knows she shouldn't forgive him— not so easily, not so soon.

But she owes him. Even though if he doesn't remember everything, she's a woman with honor. She cannot run away without paying him back.

He was there for her when she needed someone. Now she has to be here for him when he needs someone. Be it only one good deed of his to hold her back.

There is only one problem: loving Burq is not like the soft patter of rain on the tin roofs that gives you nostalgia. It's like baring yourself to a hailstorm that sings destruction. So can she take love out of the equation and stay with him?

"My lady," the butler announces his presence.

Leyla looks up from Burq's face to the man standing in the doorway, coming out of her trance. Her heart gallops like a wild stag at the interruption, feeling as if caught, but her expressions remain stoic.

"Waleed, come in," she permits.

He steps inside the room and Leyla walks around the bed, coming to stand in front of him.

"I didn't know your ladyship stayed the night at the hospital or I would have brought you breakfast," Waleed says, eyes downcast.

Leyla smiles. "It's no problem, really. But I should be going now. Waleed?"

The butler looks up at her. She glances at Burq before lowering her voice to say,

"He does not know my relationship to him. He shall not know," Leyla warns sternly, her eyes sending a strict message not to disobey.

Waleed hesitates, gaze flicking between his master and his lady. "I've been serving his lordship for years, my lady. Lying to him is not in my blood."

"I'm not asking you to lie to him. I'm only asking you not to tell him what he doesn't know."

The butler swallows thickly, still uncertain.

"Waleed?" Leyla urges him, convincing to agree.

"If his lordship finds out about this, it'll be very bad for both of us, my lady."

"I'll tell him in time before he finds out anything," Leyla promises. "But even if he does, I'll take the blame on myself. You won't be dragged into this, you've my word."

Waleed reluctantly nods and lowers his head respectfully.

Leyla smiles. "Thank you." She walks towards the couch and starts gathering her things. "I'll be leaving now. But I'll be back in the evening."

"What does I tell his lordship if he asks about you?" Waleed questions.

He never will, she knows. Burq is too proud to show his care even if he does. But then, he doesn't care— he never did.

Although she is aware of something else too: he doesn't like to be alone either, not for long. He has his moments of solitude, but lengthy silence and zero company don't appeal to him.

Like last night.

Stay, Leyla. It's dark outside, and inside of me too.

She never asked him what he actually meant, and he wouldn't have told her anyways. But a lot of things about him were a mystery to her. He was never truly her husband.

Leyla shoulders her bag, turning to look back at Waleed. "Tell him I had work to do."

He nods again. "Good day, my lady."

"Leyla. Just call me Leyla," she tells him. "Don't refer to me as the lady of the house."

Leyla sees the struggle in Waleed's posture at her request. But she just smiles at him encouragingly.

"Take care of him, Waleed."

She leaves the hospital and takes a taxi to her place. Kelvin Heights is only a short drive away from Queenstown, but the ride makes her anxious. Even here in New Zealand, away from her homeland, she can't help feeling chased. And this time, she was running away from her own husband. The question was: for how long?

He doesn't know she left him one month ago, for reasons she doesn't even want to think about. He doesn't remember what he had done to her.

And she doesn't want to remember either.

She rings the door bell and her sister-in-law comes to receive her in seconds, as if she was waiting for her all this while.

"Thank God you're back." She hugs Leyla. "I was worried."

"I'm sorry to be out all night without informing you," Leyla apologizes. "But it was an emergency, Gul."

Gulalai steps back from her, eyeing Leyla both with curiosity and uncertainty. But she sets aside her queries and asks her instead, "Is he okay?"

"Yeah, mostly." They both walk into the house as Leyla fills in Gulalai. "Has a fractured leg and an injured arm. Also lost his recent memories."

"What do you mean?" Gulalai asks with surprise.

"He doesn't remember me anymore, Gul. He doesn't know I'm his wife."

She stares at Leyla, mouth agape and taken aback. "Wait, what? Really?"

Leyla nods.

"Did you tell him?"

"No." Leyla drops her bag on the living room couch and makes her way to the kitchen. Gulalai follows her. "I told him I'm his friend."

"But what if he finds out, Leyla?"

"He wouldn't. I've asked Waleed not to tell him. And there's no other way he would."

Gulalai takes the kettle from Leyla's hand as she picks it up. "You must be tired. I'll make you breakfast."

"I'm fine."

"You look tired, must I say." She sternly gesture towards the kitchen stool. "Sit down."

Leyla smiles at her. More than her sister-in-law, Gulalai has always been her best friend. "Thank you."

"So, what makes you think Waleed won't tell Burq anything?" Gulalai glances at Leyla. "He's his servant, not yours."

"He won't tell him unless Burq asks him. He'll always be more faithful to him than me, I know. But I didn't have options."

"I'm sorry to say but I still don't like that pompous husband of yours. I never wished anything bad for him and I'm saddened by his accident, but God knows what strings to pull and when. See how He has brought that man to your mercy who treated you as if you were at his mercy?" Gulalai scoffs, turning her back to Leyla as she fills the kettle with water.

"I hope he gets better soon though," Leyla says, rubbing her vacant ring finger. She had taken off her wedding band after she left him, but she never got rid of it. Although she still doesn't need to wear it— maybe she never will.

Gulalai looks at her over her shoulder. "You're not forgetting your purpose because of him, right?"

How can she? That has become the sole mission of her life: to avenge her murdered brother.

Leyla frowns. "I never forgot my purpose because of him. Don't you think I would still be with him if I had, as his wife and not faking to be his friend instead?"

Gulalai sighs, turning back towards her. "I know. I'm sorry."

Leyla looks straight into her hazel green eyes, speaking firmly, "Your husband was my brother, Gul. His blood won't go wasted. I'll bring him justice, that's my promise to you."

"And I believe in you, more than my other person." Gulalai walks to the counter and takes her hands in hers. "Do you know why, Brekhna?"

Brekhna. Anyone who knows her real name hardly call her by it anymore. But having Gulalai call her that, Leyla knows she means her words.

"Why?" she questions.

Gulalai smiles softly. "Because you remind me so much of Lawangeen. Your brother was a strong man, and so are you, a strong woman."

Leyla smiles back at her, placing her hand on top of hers. "You are too, Gul."

Her irises shade melancholic as she shakes her head. But she doesn't say anything further and resumes making breakfast instead.

"Is Mustafa asleep?" Leyla asks her.

"Yes. He was asking for you last night."

"I missed my baby too. I'll go see him."

Leyla gets down the stool and walks towards her nephew's room— or technically Gulalai's room since she keeps her son close to her all the time. She soundlessly opens the door and steps inside.

The three year old lies asleep in the covers, snoring softly. The bed dips as Leyla quietly sits beside him. She lovingly strokes his soft hair, smiling to herself.

"Mustafa, jaan," she whispers, leaning down to peck his head.

Your brother is dead, forget him now. We're married and you should focus on serving me instead. Betray me and I'll destroy you, Leyla.

Burq's words replay in her head and she closes her eyes, exhaling through her mouth. A dull pain nests in her bosom. Her brother is not dead to her; he's right here with her, as Mustafa— his son.

Burq is wrong. And that's why she has to escape him. One way or the other, she'll get her divorce and fly back to Pakistan. She will send their culprit to his end, and no one can stop her.

Not even Burq.

Be Leyla become his destruction instead.

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