She was chaos and beauty intertwined.
A tornado of roses from divine.

— Shakieb Orgunwall

The heavy gray clouds are streaked by lightning, following by the roaring of thunder, load and angry. Autumn is quickly dissolving into winter.

Leyla looks through the long glass window to the slowly maddening sky, the afternoon preparing to slip into a dark evening. The wind must be chilly outside, but inside the living room is warm. She exhales and her breath fogs the glass. She makes a smiley face on it with her finger.

"The tea is here," Gulalai announces, walking into the living room and setting a tray with two cups and treats on the table. She sits on the couch and gestures for Leyla to join her.

Leyla walks up to her and sits down, picking up a macaroon and taking a bite.

"Mustafa," she calls her nephew who is sitting in front of the LED on the floor, playing with his train set. The three year old looks back to her. "Come here sweetie, eat something."

He just shakes his head and goes back to playing.

"Did you feed him already?" Leyla asks Gulalai.

She sighs, as if exhausted, gazing at her son both lovingly and dejectedly. "A little."

"Still keeps asking you about Lawangeen?"

Gulalai huffs sadly, twirling the wedding band on her ring finger. "What child wouldn't ask for their father?"

"I thought he's getting better."

"He is. He'll eventually forget and wouldn't even remember him once he grows up. But for now, he still misses his baba."

A child doesn't understand the definitions of relationships but only knows how to love. An innocent mind doesn't know hatred. Maybe that's why Mustafa still misses Lawangeen, even after half year later of his death, because he misses that love. Even though he might not remember his father once he grows up, but somewhere in his subconscious that love will remain.

She gets up, picking up the macaroons plate with her and going to sit beside her nephew. She cannot bring back her brother— his father— but she can still give him love, be that in a different form.

"What are you doing, jaan?" Leyla smiles at him.

"Making tracks for my train," he replies without looking up, appearing busy with his small brows furrowed.

Leyla chuckles softly. "Ah, where is it headed?"

"Home."

"Home?" she mumbles, and Mustafa nods. She strokes his hair. "Okay, but will you take me with you?"

"Of course." The child grins up at her and points to a block cabin. "You'll sit here, and I'll sit with you."

"Thank you. I'd love to go with you, captain. But," Leyla holds up a macaroon to him, "you'll eat this first so we can ride on full stomachs."

He quickly takes the treat from her and munches on it. Leyla pecks his head.

"Lily?" He lightly tugs her sleeve.

"Yes, darling?"

"Mamma will sit here," he points to another block, "and baba will sit with her."

Her heart makes a painful contraction and she releases her breath slowly. She looks at Gulalai who closes her eyes, stealing away her gaze. But Leyla doesn't miss the lone tear sliding down her cheek.

Sometimes, Leyla wonders, why do we humans have to be so helpless?

Mustafa was barely three year old when Lawangeen passed away, and now he's a little more than three. These last six months she has not only been trying to keep herself together, but those around her too. These last six months had been tragic, she feels, with losing her brother and getting married to a wrong man. She swallows and her throat burns. How can she fill the shoes of his father for her nephew, and her husband for her sister-in-law?

And with Burq in the picture, how can she be lying to him and still be a good wife? How can she be everything all at once?

Her eyes shift to the sky outside the window; it looks ready to pour. Getting to her feet, she walks back to sit on the couch and finishes her tea. The silence hangs heavy until Leyla finally tears it.

"I should get going now."

Gulalai doesn't question knowing what she's talking about. "It's probably going to rain," she simply states.

"Yeah."

A few more seconds slip by before Gulalai says, "Take care."

"I will." Leyla reaches out to squeeze her hand. "Will you be okay on your own? Do you need anything?"

"I'll be fine, don't worry." Gulalai smiles at her reassuringly.

Leyla smiles back and gets up. Grabbing her scarf and coat, she covers up and shoulders her bag. Gulalai hands her an umbrella and hugs her. Leyla kisses Mustafa goodbye before leaving.

The ride to the hospital is short but by the time Leyla reaches her destination, the clouds are raining down and it's dark. She rushes inside to escape the cold and getting soaked, rubbing her nose along as it feels frozen.

She finds Waleed outside Burq's room and greets him with a polite smile. He returns her greetings.

"How is he?" she asks the first thing on her mind.

"Better. They're discharging him tomorrow," Waleed informs her.

"They are?" Leyla beams. "That's great news. Are his reports clear?"

"Yes, my lady. His brain scans show slight swelling that'll get better with time, and he'll hopefully get back his memories."

Leyla slightly clenches her jaw but doesn't lose her composure. She doesn't know what awaits her after that. But she doesn't linger on it and asks instead, "What about his leg fracture?"

"The doctor said they would check his healing progress and see when to put him on rehabilitation. Hopefully he won't be needing a surgery, but the fracture will take time to heal completely."

She only nods, fumbling with her bag strap. Waleed clears his throat and Leyla looks at him, tilting her head as she notices his uneasy posture.

"Is something the matter, Waleed?"

His gaze tumbles around before meeting hers, as if scared of being heard. "My lady, his lordship asked me about you."

Her ears perk up. "What about me?"

"I think he doesn't believe you telling him you're his friend."

"What did he say?"

"He asked me what I knew about you. I told him I knew little, and didn't tell him that you're his wife. But he seemed unconvinced with what I said to him."

Leyla stares into space, thinking, the gears in her mind turning. Burq was a man with a seemingly easy aura, though a strong demeanor of dominance behind the pretense. He always sees too much, but speaks little of it. And what he speaks of always paint a fake portrait of himself for others, unless someone already knows him well enough. Just like Leyla had seen that fake portrait before getting too close and burning herself with the real picture. It was an experience hell in itself.

But Waleed telling him he doesn't know enough wouldn't be as suspicious, knowing how Burq keeps his personal life out of his servants' concerns.

"He can never suspect me to be his wife, even if not his friend," Leyla says.

"You spent little yet enough time with his lordship, my lady. You know him as much."

Leyla doesn't ask to elaborate knowing what Waleed meant. Her husband is a man with few friends and temporary companies. In the time she had spent with him, he never once introduced her to any of his friends, probably because he didn't have any here. And her telling him she was one now wasn't fitting in the image.

"Did he say anything in response to your information?" she inquires.

"Nothing, but his lordship speaks with his eyes. He wasn't pleased," Waleed adds.

She rubs the skin between her eyebrows, inhaling deeply. "I'm sorry. I'll handle it, don't worry. Is Burq asleep?"

"I don't know, my lady. I left him food earlier and he asked me not to disturb him again until called."

Leyla resists the urge to roll her eyes and gently knocks on the door, pushing it open and stepping inside quietly. She closes the door and slowly walks towards his bed.

His eyes are closed and the golden glow from the lamp highlights half of his face, the other half remaining dark. Leyla curls her fingers into fists so as not to reach out and touch him.

Taking off her coat and scarf, she goes to put them on the couch along with her bag before sitting down. She puts a cushion behind her and rests her head back on it, closing her eyes too.

For how long can this go on?

"I didn't think you'd come."

She jerks and straightens up at his voice, startled. Leyla stares at Burq who's already watching her, a little surprised at finding him awake. She thought he was asleep, but doesn't voice it out. Instead, she asks,

"You didn't want me to?"

"That's not— I..." Burq frowns, refraining from saying more.

Her lips twitch but she doesn't smile. His frustration is apparent at wanting her to be with him but not wanting to say it. What is the big deal in admitting our wills?

"You thought I wouldn't come after our disparity on a subject?"

"Something like that."

"Well, that was not the first time, but you certainly don't remember." Leyla stands up, walking back towards him. "Although you were right to assume I might not come. Someday I may actually not."

Someday when she won't be his wife anymore, she considers.

He inclines his head to an angle that causes his face to be fully illuminated now, the golden shade of his irises reflecting that of the lamp. Leyla holds herself from being pulled into them; there was a dangerous world in there which she no longer wishes to see, unlike before.

"Should I be worried about this?" Burq questions, although apparent that he isn't worried.

"I cannot govern your feelings for you."

"I'm sorry if we were any close for me to care about it, but I don't remember anything anymore."

In other words: I'm sorry but I'm not sorry, Leyla interprets.

"I know."

Even with a broken leg and wiped memory, he's still arrogant enough for her taste. She can make out the void interest on his features, flat and wooden, without any meticulosity for her opinions. He lives in his own wrecked world.

Leyla dismisses their conversation, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. "Did you eat?"

"No," he answers after a moment, as if adjusting to this change of subject.

"Why not? Didn't I tell you it's important for you to heal quickly?" Leyla finds the tray lying on the table and goes to check it. "The food is cold. I'll ask Waleed to warm it for you. Or would you like to eat something else?"

"I don't want to eat anything. I'm not hungry."

"Don't be a child, Burq," she scolds lightly.

He just scoffs and she narrows her eyes at him. Even feeding Mustafa was easier than dealing with Burq.

"I'll just ask Waleed to warm it for you then," she insists.

"I'll only eat on one condition," Burq declares.

She arches an eyebrow. How mighty of him to be still passing orders even on a hospital bed. This man is one of a kind, just not her kind. Then why does she always find it hard to deny him anything?

She crosses her arms, trying to appear stubborn in front of him. "What is it?"

He looks away to the lamp in the corner, speaking nothing. Leyla moves to the side of his bed to block his field of view, silently making him to acknowledge her.

"Burq?"

"I want to know." He swallows, lifting up his hand for her to take and she does so with hesitation, holding it in both of hers, forgetting again her principles. "Tell me," he asks.

"What about?"

"Talk to me about yourself."

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