The minute I heard my first love story,

I started looking for you, not knowing

how blind that was.

Lovers don’t finally meet somewhere.

They’re in each other all along.

— Jalaluddin Rumi

God is magnificent, possessor of all might and glory. He's the artist and the sky is His canvas; He's the king and the universe His kingdom. For who else can hold such powers to turn the sands of time and heal hearts? It is Him to answer prayers and bestow blessings and peace upon His beings-- the eternal and absolute Lord. It is Him to have kept him steadfast for so long-- to have still kept his pieces together into form.

The clouds rumble and the thunder roars as the sky turns into monochromatic shades of gray. The rain soon follows in fat droplets, tearing apart the deafening silence his ears were trying to get accustomed to but failing. He looks out through the wall window to the changing colors of the weather, grateful for the uproarious sounds in the dead still environment of the library. A smile kisses his lips.

"Ah, dear Lord, how You listen to the hearts," he mumbles to himself and then looks down to the history book he's holding in his hand, staring at the page he has been reading whilst standing in front of the bookshelf. "Sultan Mehmed Fateh." He hums, then repeats the name, pondering over it, before closing the book and putting it back into its place.

He pockets his hands and looks around, people quietly reading books or working on their laptops, busy in their own little worlds, oblivious to the havoc in one another, as if each one of them is living in an isolated box, utterly silent. He turns on his heels and starts walking out of the library.

"This place still reminds me of a graveyard, habibi." He looks up at the sky once he's out in the rain, the raindrops hitting his face forcefully. He takes off his spectacles and closes his eyes. "And this silence is not peaceful as you'd tell me how it was, but haunting to me. Because you're not here, Leyla." He opens his eyes back and sighs. "More than three years and you're still not with me."

He lets the rain soak him as his mind starts wandering, going back to the day when he had first met her. The day was the same as this one, of a beautiful summer when it was raining, when they met in a library, and how afterwards things changed between them to the point where they got married. He cannot believe how much she changed him. He cannot believe of his decision of marrying her in those harsh circumstances of his life, but he doesn't regret it one bit. She's still his wife, and always will be for he cannot think of losing her, yet he's all alone. Has she left him for real? Has she forgotten him? Where is she? Why can't he go looking for her? Maybe this fear of being rejected is keeping him from finding her, for living with this slight hope of having her again as part of his life is still better than being without her.

Dismissing his thoughts, he gets to his car and drives out of his university to his home. When he parks into his garage, he straight away makes his way towards the stable.

"Marhaba, sweet one." He walks towards a black mare and stops in front of her stall. She neighs and he begins rubbing her mane tenderly. "I wanted to go out for a ride with you. The weather is good and I hope you won't mind a little rain." She lowers her head, as if understanding her master. He chuckles and starts saddling her. "Thank you. I really needed company."

Her voice resonates from the most distant corners of his memories, echoing in his head. She was happy that day with him, and he was happy too when he first met her. They ended up soaking in the rain together. Why does he remember everything so well? As if the details are pinned to his recollection like a wood carved with a sharp metal. It's an aching nostalgia, like some malignant disease refusing to leave his body and only spreading. Yet he makes no attempts to save himself-- he's only basking in her memories either to be warmed up in her love or to be burnt to ashes in her absence. One just does not forget about their hearts at all.

"Come on."

He gets on the horse and pulls the reins. The mare trots out of her stall. He guides her out of the stable into the open until he feels the touch of rain over his skin again. The mare gallops like a wild beast away from everything and he doesn't know what he's trying to run away from-- maybe from his own self.

The air howls around him like wolves on hunt and the sky appear dark and enraged. He rides towards the beach and slows down, his mare trotting around now. He dismounts her and walks towards a wooden shade of a stand, tying the mare there too before sitting on the bench. His gaze collides with the sky again.

"Some people will fill the gaps in you with their own flesh so they become a part of you," he speaks as he pets his mare. "Forgetting them is like cutting a part of your body and throwing it away."

His bangs stick to his forehead and poke his eyes. He blinks, running his fingers through his hair and pushing it back.

He watches the waves come and go, touching the shore every time like some lover, leaving hurried caresses. He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees, his sight getting lost into the sea.

"Remarry," he huffs. "How do I remarry? Can anyone find me another Leyla?" He looks back at the mare. "A man can have only one heart." His gaze shifts again to the sky. "God Himself said so."

Something insides him wails at the tragedy his fate has brought upon him, but he refrains from bringing any complaints upon his tongue, trying to remain patient.

"If someday she and I have a son together," he smiles, as if talking to his Lord this time, "we'll name him Fateh."

"And if we have a daughter together?"

He stills. His body goes numb. Is he hallucinating again? He couldn't be mistaken in recognizing the very familiar voice-- a voice that plagues his dreams even so long afterwards. His head whips to look over his shoulder, and his heart both tears apart then stitch back together at what his eyes see.

The breeze feels cooler than the usual hot winds of the summer back at her home. She's grateful for the weather-- it's strong but it's beautiful, like her lover. The air smells of nostalgia and old diaries, laden with memories, circling around her in a hurricane. She can feel the weight of them over her heart, but him being in front of her has her heart forgotten all its pain.

He stands up and turns around, walking towards her slowly as if his steps might dislodge a trap if he hurries-- as if he's afraid of being woken up from a dream. But the disheveled state of him could very well earn him the accusation of being drunk, except that his gait is steady. His appearance, however, is not so: his clothes are soaked and the skin of his arms and chest clearly shows off through the thin fabric of his white shirt. And his hair lie wet and disheveled upon his head, the stray strands sticking out and to his forehead.

His golden orbs glitter and take her away once more as she loses herself into them-- the sun in them melts her to nothing. His pupils dilate, taking on that predatory glance, and she can very well find the man in him she has always homed in her bosom. Every inch of him is the same as how she had left him, yet she knows this might be her heart betraying her eyes. Their love will always be young to her.

"When we have a daughter together, if God's wills," he stops a few feet away from her, looking intently at her, "we'll name her Zhalay."

"Zhalay?" she repeats inquisitively and catches his lips twitch. "What's behind the names?"

"Fateh," he begins to explain, "meaning conqueror, was the title given to the seventh Ottoman ruler, Sultan Mehmed, when he conquered Byzantine Empire only at the age of twenty one." He smiles, toying with the ring on his finger, before motioning towards the sea. "This is my favorite place in the city."

She smiles back and nods. "Waleed told me I could find you here."

The skepticism is his irises remains. Is he still not accepting it as a reality? He stares at her a long moment before asking, "You know why is it so?"

She steps closer to him. Her umbrella is protecting her from the rain but he remains soaking. "Tell me."

"I was here one day on the beach, shortly after returning back home when we parted." He pauses, glancing at her before continuing, "There was a little girl here who mistook me for her father and came running to me, calling me baba. That was the first time a child called me that."

She silently listens to him, her throat constricting at the ache in his voice. He missed her, and she has missed him too. She cannot ignore his longing for the lost times, neither her own.

"Her name was Zhalay," he tells her. "She had eyes dark as you."

She moves closer until they're inches away and brings him under the shade of her umbrella. "I like these names," she whispers between them. "We'll keep them, if God wills."

He exhales and lifts his hand to her face, his fingers hovering over her cheekbones but not touching. She patiently wait for him to make contact.

"Ya Rabbi," he murmurs and lowers back his hand. "I can't be made fool again by my own mind."

She drops her umbrella so now the rain is falling over both of them. Lifting her own hands to his face, she holds it, caressing the angles of his jaw, and feels him shiver at her touch as his eyes go wide.

"I've missed you, every second of every day. And if you're dreaming, then I'm dreaming too. And if we're together in some other world, then let's just stay here forever."

He lets out an incredulous laugh, urgently gripping both of her wrists and not letting her release his face, holding her close to him. He keeps searching her eyes for something, appearing lost, until he's satisfied and guided towards her. He grins at her and she smiles.

"Leyla?" he calls her, as if needing her to answer for approval of her presence.

"I'm here. I'm with you."

And to her utter surprise, he starts weeping like a baby as his body trembles and he falls to his knees. A pang shoots through her at seeing him like that, but she understands him as her own self.

"Burq," she says his name softly and settle beside him on the wet sand, the falling rain and roaring clouds being the last things on her mind.

"I'm just happy." He looks at her and wipes away his tears. "Or maybe I'm ecstatic, or euphoric? Which is a stronger word?"

She only leans forward and kisses his temple in reply. "I don't know. But I think my body has found its heart again. Is there a word for it?"

He chuckles and shakes his head. "I've asked God for you so much so that it became like breathing to me. But when you wouldn't come, I thought maybe breathing and living aren't the same things-- that I was breathing anyway, but that not everyone who breathes is living. So I asked God to make me live," he reaches to graze his fingers down her face, "but that I couldn't live without you." He pulls her towards himself. "There's a word for what you've asked of me."

"What?"

He puts his palm against her nape and presses his lips to her forehead, before resting his forehead against hers. "Qalbi."

Her own tears begin to fall but she smiles against them. Putting her arms around his shoulders, she pecks his lips and embraces him. He hugs her back to his body, encircling his arm around her waist.

"Habibi?"

"Yes?"

"Leyla belongs to Burq like a heart to one's body. She shall never leave him again."

She chuckles in amusement and love before pulling away slightly, looking up into his eyes as she rests her palm against his beating heart. What does he know? Her body is but an empty shell without him, with numb emotions and dead desires. He himself is her heart.

"Leyla promises she will never leave Burq again, but if God wishes and death takes her."

He looks out to the sea again, eyes appearing distant, still holding her to himself, until finally he whispers, "Death will only bring eternity, qalbi." He gazes back at her as the corners of his lips pull upwards. "Do you believe in happily ever after?"

And she realizes: in this life, even without immortal bliss, love itself is eternity. But in the eternal life, happily ever after does exit. So she grins at her husband and locks their fingers together.

"I do."

➳

Thank you to each of you who's reading this. I'm sincerely grateful to you for joining me on this journey to the end. And I'm deeply humbled for all the love I've received on this book.

Sending you all love and well wishes,

Laiba.

You can also check out my writings on my Instagram account, growingupincolors (link in my profile bio).

➳

Check out my other book:

How far can one go to achieve their dreams? To progress in her medical career, Banafsha can do anything, including submitting to her parents' desire of an out of the blues marriage and an off the check list groom. Later on deciding to escape her unwanted relationship and rather unneeded husband, she flies out of her hometown to a foreign place. But when fate lands her into the arms of Mikael, going so far as doing anything for your dreams turns things complicated.

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