I am the dream you are dreaming.

When you want to awaken, I am that wanting.

— Rainer Maria Rilke

The first snow of winter falls like soft cotton from the sky. Leyla extends her palm into the air, feeling a cold prick before the snowflake melts on her warm skin. She smiles and lifts up her face.

"The snow is falling, Lawangeen, and you're not here. Knowing how much you loved snowfalls, I pray it's snowing for you in heavens too." She places her hand over her heart. "I love you, brother. Soon, I'll bring you justice, prove Gulalai modest, and give your son our family's name he rightfully deserves. And Spogmay and I will be free again." She sigh and her breath mists before disappearing. "Rest in peace, best friend."

She turns around and walks back inside the house. She watches Spogmay sitting in the swinging chair by the window, in the living room. Mustafa sits on her lap, wrapped in a giant blanket as Spogmay lovingly pats his back, lulling him to sleep.

"The panda is sleeping again?" Leyla chuckles, walking towards them.

"The prince does as he please." Spogmay smiles, placing a kiss on his head. He stirs.

"Where's Gul?" Leyla asks.

"In her bedroom, missing her husband."

A pang shoots through her breastbone. "I'll go check on her."

"Brekhna," Spogmay stops her. "Her loss is great. Let her mourn him. Our sympathies won't lessen her pain, but the tears she shed might."

Leyla bites her tongue, looking out of the window.

"Love is such a terrible bargain," Spogmay says and Leyla turns to meet her eyes. "Gulalai defied her family in lala's love; lala (brother) left Zarbakhta in Gulalai's love; Zarbakhta refused to marry anyone else in lala's love." She chuckles ironically. "Asfandyar couldn't stand lala rejecting his sister for an outsider, and then the last straw broke when lala canceled your wedding to him. He went crazy in your love and murdered our brother. And to escape that madman, you married that arrogant Arab. Then to add cherry to the topping, you fell in love with him and forgot even your principles. And Burq? He married you to substitute his ex but failed and couldn't reciprocate your love." Spogmay clicks her tongue. "Why must these triangles be so tragic, sister?"

Leyla finds it difficult to balm the ache in her chest. It's deep and it's searing. And she's helpless because she knows what Spogmay is saying is true.

"When has any human fought and won against their faith?" Leyla wraps her arms around herself. "When has a heart ever succumbed to logic?"

"A slave of desire is no good, Brekhna."

"Love and desire are no synonyms, my moon."

Spogmay shakes her head, as if in dismay. "Burq is no different than Asfandyar. Just because his hands aren't bloodied doesn't mean he's any better."

"You're quick to criticize someone you haven't known enough."

Spogmay's dark eyes burn with a consuming fire. "You wouldn't like me listing my reasons; you won't be able to stomach them."

"Spogmay," Leyla drops her tone warningly. "Whatever happened between me and my husband is our personal affair. I've forgiven him for that. You better not speak of it if you can't do the same."

Leyla turns around to leave but Spogmay's remark shatters her resolve.

"When a husband raises a finger at his wife's fidelity, it's no more their personal affair but the whole world talks about it."

Leyla clenches her hands so hard that she feels her nails piercing her palms. She grits her teeth and faces her sister back.

"We're Pashtuns, sister," Spogmay adds. "We don't leave stains upon our honor."

"We both have the same blood in our veins, Spogmay. If you're a Khanzada, I'm too," Leyla agrees. "By one God we all worship, and who alone is to be worshipped, Burq himself will bear witness of my chastity. And Asfandyar will confess all his sins in front of our families."

Spogmay smirks. "I expect nothing less." Her expression becomes stone cold. "Everyone will have to beg for my forgiveness before they're forgiven in the court of God. May our Lord favors us." She hugs Mustafa closer to her bosom.

Oppression and injustice, Almighty has even forbidden upon himself. So never feel alone when you're wronged, my sweet daughter, for God is the best of helpers.

Her mother's words ring in her ears. Leyla unclenches her fists, her shoulders dropping. "He will, my moon. He surely will."

➳

"How do you feel, Mr. Aziz?" the doctor asks.

"Liberated," he answers in a single word, eyeing the splint on his leg in place of the previous cast. Leyla can see the glee in his orbs.

He flexes his legs at his knee and smiles, looking up at her and catching her gaze. She gives him a small smile of her own.

"Careful, Mr. Aziz. You still have to be very vigilant with your leg. Do not put any pressure on it; it can affect the healing process," the doctor warns. "You're lucky to have been saved from the complications and trouble of going through a surgery."

"I understand. I'm just glad to have upgraded from wheelchair to crutches," Burq replies with an underlying sarcasm.

Leyla shakes her head at him disapprovingly before directing to the doctor. "I'll take good care of him."

"You already have been taking good care of me, habibi. Very, very good care."

Her face burns at his remark. She sheepishly clears her throat. "Burq," she nudges him subtly, "let's just get over with the checkup and go home."

In other words: please, stay quiet.

He smirks as he stares at her a moment longer. "Of course."

"We'll be starting your physiotherapy sessions in a week. Your cooperation during the process is highly required for good results."

Burq just nods and Leyla notes every instruction the doctor gives him, making sure not to miss any precautions.

"It might take another two to three months before you're on your feet again. We'll keep tracking your recovery rate all this while."

She cannot believe it has been two months already. Time has been flying.

After they're done at the hospital, they leave for home. Burq is silent the whole way, thinking something her own self cannot help wondering about. He seems a little lost— a little different.

Once they reach home, Leyla and Waleed both help him with his crutches. He's quick to take hold of them.

"I cannot believe I'm walking again," he comments, then corrects, "half walking."

Leyla chuckles, keeping close to him for support. "Why, has your good leg gone numb from not being used too?" she teases.

"All my body kind of has. I'm glad to have gotten rid of that wheelchair."

"I told you to be optimistic. See, you got better sooner than expected and didn't even need a surgery."

His lips curl up ironically to one side. "I'm still a handicap, habibi."

She doesn't reply until they're inside. Burq insists to watch snow from the patio despite Leyla's unheard protests of how he should keep himself warm instead. So she also ends up with him outside on the patio. He's stubborn.

"Waleed?" Burq calls him.

"Yes, my lord?"

"Bring me almond milk and dates. And green tea and pistachios for Leyla."

She smiles despite herself. He has picked up on her likings.

Waleed leaves and once they're alone, Leyla answers to his previous comment.

"At some point in our lives, I believe we're all handicaps," she speaks and Burq turns to her. "Broken, either physically or emotionally. But time heals all wounds; if not entirely, then enough to let us live."

"I don't desire a life where I've to live in any such way."

"But life is a trust of God, and we've to live it either we desire so or not."

He looks out at the clouded sky and white snow, leaning back into his chair. "But ain't that cruel, habibi? Ain't God unfair sometimes?"

She follows his gaze into nothingness. "No, He's far from it. For He lets us live despite us not always living the way He has taught us to live. We break His rules and wrong ourselves. Yet He gives us what we ask of Him, and gives us peace after pain."

Lawangeen. Her heart aches but she shushes it, afraid she'll complain to God and might upset Him, or defy all His blessings in the process of mourning what has been lost. Her brother has found a better place, she consoles herself.

When she looks back at Burq, he's already staring at her. She tilts her head in question.

"I see pain in your eyes. Are you a handicap too?" he asks.

A sardonic smile graces her lips and she rubs her ring finger subconsciously. "Emotionally, we all are."

When his eyes linger on the movements of her fingers, she clasps her hands together.

"Right," he affirms. "Emotionally, the pain of every individual makes them a handicap. But I see peace in your eyes too, Leyla, and not everyone can have that."

"You do?"

"I do. Don't you?"

"I don't know."

He reaches inside his pocket and pulls out something. Leyla watches with interest as he extends his arm to her, holding something on his open palm. He gestures for her to take it, and she does so curiously, eyeing the bronze object. She turns it around to find her reflection staring back at her.

"A mirror." She grins. It's vintage and regal with an intricate design; she traces it delicately with her fingers. "It's beautiful."

"I bought it from an antique shop."

Her gaze urgently meets his. "You went to an antique shop?"

"I did."

"May I know why?"

He bites his lip as he seemingly thinks for a moment. "I had a dream, Leyla, about us."

She moves her chair closer to him so they're almost touching. "Tell me about it."

"We were in an antique shop," he begins, "and you told me how you loved such places. I asked you what was there to love about old things, and you said the fact that unlike people, things remain, even if a million years old, carrying memories that otherwise would've died with people."

The line of his jaw is peppered with a faint stubble. He's never clean-shaven. It makes him appear rugged, handsome— masculine. He looks irresistible to touch.

Leyla glances away, the dream he's describing bringing back memories. What does he know?

"I got this mirror from the same antique shop I saw in my dream. It reminded me of you," Burq adds and Leyla brings the mirror closer to her chest. "I bought it for you."

She smiles heartily, feeling warm inside. "Thank you, Burq. I love it."

"I'm glad." He returns her smile. "Is my dream a memory, habibi?" he asks, and Leyla knows he knows the truth. There's no point in lying to him.

"It is," she confirms. "I learnt about your obsession with swords and horses that day, when you found a sword and a horse statue in the shop," she adds lightly. "You're getting your memories back?"

"I've had a few, but I remember them vaguely."

"It'll get better with time."

Burq reaches over to cup the back of her hand in his as she holds onto the mirror, lifting it up to their face so both of their reflections are visible through it.

She looks through the mirror at him. As always, his golden orbs glitter, almost magically, like fireflies in the dark. And like a lantern losing itself to the sky, she loses herself to them.

"My memories might get better with time." Burq lets go of her hand and turns his face to her. She does the same, and their noses are close to touching. There are merely a few inches between them. "But what about my feelings?"

Leyla swallows the lump in her throat as she assures him, "You'll forget her."

"But I don't want to home anyone else in my heart afterwards."

"This is something out of our control."

"Even for you?"

"Well, I'm a human too."

"Yes, but a very scrupulous one."

Leyla pulls away slightly as his irises take on a deeper hue. "What is that supposed to mean?"

He brushes his thumb across her cheekbone, pushing away a few stray strands of her hair back, searching her eyes for something she doesn't know about— something unknown— before answering brazenly, "I mean you're not someone I expected to kiss me in my sleep."

➳

➳