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❝Angels don't lie, but you do. If I'm a devil, what are you?❞
When Burq loses his memory in an accident and doesn't remember his own wife anymore, Leyla finds it a chance to escape her beastly husband and pretends to be his friend...
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The early autumn sun is slowly slipping down in the sky. The beach sand is warm under his bare feet and the air is cool with an exotic scent in it. He inhales deeply.
She stands close to the shore as the waves come and go, staring out at the distant horizon. Something is on her mind. Something always is.
He walks towards her, quietly coming to stand behind her. She's oblivious to his presence until he places his hands on her waist, and she stiffens before relaxing to his touch.
"What are you thinking of, habibi?"
She tilts her head to look at him. "A lot of things."
"Do these things include me somewhere?"
"They do."
"Entertain me with your thoughts then."
She chuckles lightly, trying to step away from him, but he quickly puts his arms around her, embracing her. She turns around to face him, draping her arms around his shoulders. Their faces lock in a close angle.
"I was thinking of the colors I like," she tells him.
"What are they?"
"I like the vermillion shades of sky at dusk, and blood red and of deep blue ocean." She tangles her fingers in the hair at his nape and he grins. "I like the color of lavender fields, winter nights, and fiery dawns. But most of all," she lifts her head so their lips are almost touching, "I like the color of lighting bolts and your brilliant eyes."
He hugs her closer to himself so as to feel her heart beating against his own chest. He tucks back a strand of her hair, resting his forehead against hers.
"And you know what I like?" he asks her.
"What?" she asks back in a whisper.
"I like the color of your words, Leyla."
His eyes snap open and the images in his head are washed away as if water being sprayed on a wet painting. He urgently tries to grasp what little he can, but only one word makes sense:
Leyla.
Did he just dream about her? But then why are there lingering feelings associated to it? As if a lost memory being recalled. He frowns deeply, turning to look at the lamp laying on his side table, the crescent moon shape glowing brightly. The wind-chime chimes outside his window and gets his attention. Everything just reminds him of her.
"Damnation," he curses out loud and tugs at his bangs, his sleep totally gone now. It cannot be.
He knows they're something more. What she told him that morning in the café only proved his doubts. But he still has no title for their relationship. He couldn't have an affair with her. No, he's no such man. But what did they have then?
