At an early age I learned that people make mistakes, and you have to decide if their mistakes are bigger than your love for them.

—

Leyla dips her fingers in red and blue paints, running them over on a white chart, the colors mixing and creating purple where they meet. She looks at Mustafa and smiles.

"Now your turn, my baby."

Mustafa excitedly eyes the different colored paints. "But which one, Lily?"

"How about blue and yellow?"

"Which color will they create?"

"Why don't you try and see for yourself?"

Mustafa grins as he collects the paint on his little fingers. Leyla leans forward and places a kiss on his head. He rubs his fingers close to where Leyla had, creating green between the blue and yellow shades. His dark irises glow with ecstacy, resembling those of his late father's— reminding Leyla of Lawangeen whenever he would laugh at something. She misses her brother.

"It's green!" Mustafa exclaims, pulling Leyla back to the present.

She chuckles. "Wow, it's pretty."

"Yours is pretty too, Lily."

"Thank you, jaan."

Her phone begins to ring and she reaches out to pick it up from the coffee table, reading the caller's ID.

"Why don't you mix some more colors while I go talk to your aunt? You can show them to me once I'm done."

Mustafa nods and Leyla gets up from the floor, moving over to the couch and answering the call.

"Spogmay."

"Salam, sister."

"Salam," Leyla greets back. "How are you, love?"

"I was really well until Gul told me about you and Burq." Leyla could hear the hiss of annoyance in her younger sister's voice. "Brekhna, don't tell me you're back together with him."

"Of course I'm not," Leyla defends.

"You better not be after everything he did to you. I've been trying to connect with you for days but couldn't. I called Gul and she explained to me everything: how you've been busy taking care of your dearest husband," Spogmay finishes with a huff.

"Spogmay," Leyla shushes her warningly. "You didn't call me to argue with me over petty affairs, did you?"

"This is not a petty affair, sister. I haven't forgiven that man even if you have. I suggest you tell him the truth and get your divorce from him. With his memory gone, he wouldn't care much since he doesn't remember anything."

"It's not so simple."

"Why not?"

"This is my personal problem to deal with. I cannot just overlook what Burq did for me and leave him like this."

"He only gave you his name, that too for his own personal gains. This marriage was hollow from the beginning. Don't go searching for love in this."

Leyla grips the edge of the couch and releases her breath slowly, trying to lull the rising rage within her. She hates fighting with her sister, and she's in no mood even now.

"I will settle this myself, Spogmay. You don't have to worry. Just focus on your studies."

There was silence on her end before Spogmay groans in frustration. Compared to Leyla, she is feisty and unforgiving, like a hot sandstorm of a burning desert that is ready to melt whatever and whoever comes near.

"Brekhna," Spogmay says her name in a way that lets Leyla know she's chaining down her own fury with difficulty. "There are two men in this world I absolutely loathe with my every fiber: the one who killed my brother. And the one who threw my sister out of his car in the middle of nowhere, all alone at night in a mad weather. And he didn't even stop at that. Remember how he—"

"Spogmay, that's enough. He's your brother in law."

"He's my nothing!"

Leyla purses her lips as her tears begin to fall one by one. She stays quiet so her voice wouldn't waver and Spogmay wouldn't know she's crying. She cannot help but see how she is related to both of the men her sister hates.

"You were missing for two damn days and we found you in a terrible condition. And instead of being ashamed of himself, he did what?" Spogmay continues. "For the love of Almighty who is our Lord, now tell me how do I forgive this man and be okay with you two together again?"

"We're not together," Leyla manages to utter steadily.

"But you've forgotten everything, just like him."

"I've not!" Leyla finally snaps and Mustafa jumps, startled. He turns around to look at her and Leyla covers her eyes with her hand. "I'll talk to you later, Spogmay. Gul is not home and I've to take care of Mustafa."

"But—"

Leyla cuts the line without saying goodbye, now covering her face with both of her hands and sniffling quietly.

"Lily?" Mustafa calls her softly and Leyla looks up to find him standing in front of her, holding the tissue box to her in his paint-stained fingers and his own eyes glossy.

Leyla quickly brushes away her tears and pulls Mustafa to her chest, kissing him on both cheeks. "My heart. My life," she mumbles.

"Why are you crying, Lily?" he asks her.

"I'm fine, darling. I just got upset with aunt Spogmay over a tiny matter." Leyla flicks his nose, grinning. "See, I'm not crying now."

She takes some tissues from the box and wipes Mustafa's hands clean. She gets up and walks back towards where they were painting the chart on the floor.

"Show me your art now, jaan."

Mustafa grins up at her and nods.

They sit back down and Leyla tries to slip into the beautiful colors on the chart, out and away from the gray of her life.

➳

"Drive carefully, Burq. You're going too fast."

Leyla's request falls on deaf ears as Burq doesn't acknowledge her, the needle on the speedometer ticking up slowly.

The road is deserted but it's raining cats and dogs. The black of the night isn't helping them either to see anything clearly up ahead.

"Burq?" Leyla tries to get his attention again whilst calming her frantically beating heart.

"You better not speak if you don't want me throwing you out of my car," he replies rudely without sparing her a glance.

"If another vehicle comes in front of us, we're as good as dead," Leyla voices her concern nonetheless, nails digging into the side of the passenger seat.

"I'm not blind. I can see if there's any light up ahead."

"Just please slow down a bit."

And he hits the brakes, the car coming to an abrupt halt and throwing Leyla forward, having her seat belt both stopping her movement and choking her in the process.

Burq opens his door, going out of the car and walking around to Leyla's side, opening her door too. She looks up at him in confusion until he leans down to undo her seat belt and grabs her arm.

"Get out."

She cannot believe what she is hearing. She didn't think he would seriously throw her out of the car— her own husband?

"Wait, Burq—"

But he just jerks her up and she slams into him, hitting her forehead with the car's roof in the process.

The rain is showering down from the sky in fat droplets, feeling as if a dam has broken loose, soaking them both to the bones.

Burq pushes her away from him and strides back to the driver side.

"You cannot seriously leave me here alone. How am I going to get home?" Leyla protests.

"I don't know." He only briefly glances at her. "I don't care." And he gets back into the car.

"I don't even know this place!" Leyla shouts after him, stumbling forward. But he has already driven off, leaving her all by herself to the darkening night and heaving rain.

"Burq, how can you..." Leyla sobs, wrapping her arms around herself and lifting her face up to the sky. "God, what am I going to do?" She hysterically searches around. "Help me, please."

The memory is fresh like an open wound, bleeding and hurting. Some things imprint on our minds like souls to our bodies— you cannot separate them unless dead. Leyla cannot forget these memories either, no matter if Spogmay thinks otherwise. This one is from a bitter collection.

"If I didn't know you any better, I would've thought you're admiring me." Burq looks up from his laptop to Leyla. She's sitting opposite to him on the chair out in the backyard of his house. "You're staring, habibi."

Habibi. My love. Only recently Leyla is beginning to realize how empty his endearments always were.

She gives him a small smile and flips the page of the book in her hand, looking down now. "I just remembered something."

"Pray tell, what had you strangling me with that ferocity in your eyes."

"You don't want to know, believe me."

"I gather it isn't a pleasant memory of us together then."

"What makes you think it's about us?"

"Is it not?" Burq smirks. "What a shame."

Leyla's gaze has a frightening void when it finds Burq again. "There is no us. There never was."

His crooked lips rearrange into a thin line as he parallels her gaze. "Not so fond of me, are you, habibi?"

"Are you of me now?"

"I still barely know you enough."

"I was fond of you when I barely knew you enough."

By the blaze in Burq's orbs, Leyla knows he has gathered her irony. He hums deep in his throat, scrubbing his stubble. "I wonder why are you with me if you don't want to be? I reason with myself often, thinking of all the possibilities why you wouldn't leave."

Leyla closes her book, giving him her full attention. "Surely you have some theories then."

"Indeed. They involve some selfish causes."

She lets out a small laugh, leaning back in her chair. "I'm not with you for your money or property, or whatever materialistic reason you can think of."

"You're only paying me back for my kindness, you say." Burq gives her a grin of disbelief. "I cannot swallow this, habibi."

"Because you do not see yourself as kind?" Leyla remarks sarcastically and he chuckles.

"Partly, yes. But greatly because I know you do not see me as kind."

They silently stare at each other before Leyla finally blinks and glances away, smiling to herself. "You're a smart man, Burq. I like that about you."

"Thank you. Although I know that's still not enough to balance my flaws for you."

"Ain't we all flawed?"

"We are. But you detest mine, don't you?"

She locks his eyes, tilting her head. "I don't, but do you?"

"I don't see much of them to dislike myself for anything. I'm still better than many."

She smiles again, this time full of sorrow and sympathy, mystifying the man sitting in front of her. "Do you know what was the first sin ever committed?"

Burq raises both of his eyebrows with interest, a little incredulous at the twist in their conversation. "What?"

"When God decided to create mankind," Leyla begins, her voice gaining a distant touch, "He asked the angels to bring Him soil from the earth. The angels did so, collecting soil from everywhere— the infertile deserts and lush fertile lands, and mountains and valleys. The soil was red, white, brown, black; it was both soft and hard. God took that soil and turned it into clay, and then fashioned it into a human form. The soulless body of the man was left to dry, and then God blew soul into him. And he became alive."

Burq listens attentively. Although from the bewildered expression on his face, Leyla knows he has no idea of where she's going with her story. She continues,

"God named him Adam, and he became the first human. Adam was given knowledge by God and because of his knowledge, he became superior even to the angels. So God asked the angels to prostrate to him, out of honor and respect. And the angels, because they always obey God, prostrated. Except one." Leyla leans forward. "You know who?"

"Iblees. Satan," Burq answers and Leyla nods.

"Correct. He was a jinn, but since he was living among the angels up in the sky, he was considered one of them. Although where the angels were made of light, he was made of fire. Thus he refused to prostrate to Adam, saying he was better than a human made of clay. And that was how he became a sinner by disobeying God." Leyla holds Burq's eyes meaningfully. "And that was when the first sin was committed— pride, that made Satan think he was better than Adam. For that, he was cursed by God and sent down from the sky."

Burq only stares back at her silently, seemingly lost. Leyla reaches out and squeezes his hand.

"Adam was created from clay with different qualities and colors. The descendants of Adam, you see, are different in their qualities and colors too. But that doesn't make one any better than the other in the eyes of God, given we're are all children of the same man."

"What do you want to say exactly?" Burq questions.

"We're supposed to be better than Satan, Burq," Leyla elaborates, appearing sardonic. "What good is something that brings you God's wrath? Al Kibr, pride, is a disease of the heart. Then what good is your pride if it stains your heart and bans you from the skies— the heavens?"

➳

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➳