And thus the heart will break, yet brokenly live on.

— Lord Byron

He stares at the spines of the books in the bookshelf with an empty mind. His gaze sails across each, followed by his agile fingers touching them one by one, until he finds the one Leyla had picked up randomly that day she was narrating the story of Adam and Hawwa to him— that day when she told him who she was to him.

Taking the book with him, he walks out of his study room towards his patio. The snow isn't falling, but the atmosphere is freezing. Soon, winter will dissolve into spring and he cannot wait for the season to change. He cannot enjoy winter with his splinted leg anyways. But then again, he'll be getting rid of this cast soon too.

He flips open the book. Instead of choosing from his mother's history books collection that day, she had picked up a poetry book of his. A smile tugs at his lips. He traces the alphabets with his fingers before reading them out loud:

"Kill me and burn me / Among my perishing bones / then pass my remains / Among the ruined graves," he looks up at the sky, finishing, "You will find my love's secret."

For a very long time, his eyes wander in the sky aimlessly, searching for something unknown— something invisible. He keeps pondering about the things he hasn't ever thought of before, sending his mind into unrest. Then he looks down and starts reading another poem:

"You glide between the heart and its casings as tears glide from the eyelid," he pauses, adjusting his glasses. "You dwell in my inwardness, in the depths of my heart, as souls dwell in bodies," he pauses again, repeating the words, before proceeding, "Nothing passes from rest to motion unless you move it in hidden ways." He smiles again and closes the book. "Oh new moon."

He tosses his head back, closing his eyes as his bangs fall over them. There's a chaos within his chest, a misorder in his musings. What is this love the poet talks about? What is this peace Leyla carries? Do they not feel pain?

What is this ache in every beat of his heart? What is this agony flowing in his veins? He feels as if his soul is missing a lot of vital pieces. He feels incomplete.

Waleed clears his throat before coming to place a tray in front of him on the table. "Your tea, my lord."

He opens his eyes and looks at him. "She didn't call again?"

Waleed lowers his gaze apologetically. "No, my lord."

"Sit with me, Waleed," Burq asks him, sitting straighter himself.

Waleed sits on the chair besides him, filling a teacup for Burq. Burq motions for him to fill one for himself too.

"Do you read poetry, Waleed?"

Waleed looks at him, a little taken aback by the casual question. "Not much, my lord. But I've read some."

Burq gesture towards the book he's holding. "Have you read of Mansur Al Hallaj?"

"Ah, yes. He talks about love with God, does he not?"

"He does," Burq clutches the book tighter, "beautifully so." He tilts his head. "What is the secret of love, Waleed?"

Waleed seems to think over his query, taking a while before answering, "Our prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) said, the heart of a man lies between the fingers of God. He turns it in whatever direction he wants. What we can do is to pray to Him to turn our hearts towards faith, His love, because that's the right direction."

"So the secret of love is to ask Him for it?"

"Yes, my lord. For the love of God is greater than any other love. And when we abandon our desires for God, He gives us what we desire and more."

Burq takes in his words, then chuckles softly. "I didn't know you were so philosophical."

Waleed smiles sheepishly. "Ah, no, my lord. These are not my words but her ladyship's."

Burq arches an eyebrow. "Leyla's?"

Waleed nods.

"How so?"

"You asked her one day what she desired the most. She replied that the love of God, for it's the greatest of all love. And that only His love can fulfill all her desires," Waleed tells him. "I was serving you breakfast at the table that morning. It was her ladyship's birthday and you wanted to give her a present, so you asked her this question and she answered with this."

Burq searches his memory for the event but comes up empty-handed. "What did I gift her then?"

"A ruby and diamond necklace, my lord." Waleed nervously locks his fingers. "I know all this because she asked me to join you both on her birthday. It was at home."

Burq hums reassuringly. "Don't worry, I'm not thinking of you to be peeping around the house." He rest his elbows on his knees and leans forward. "Did she like my gift?"

"How can I know, my lord?"

"From her facial expression?" he suggests as if an obvious fact.

Didn't she get excited and hug him? Didn't it make her happy?

Waleed shakes his head, as if seeing through his thoughts. "She smiled and thanked you."

Burq knits his brows quizzically, feeling disappointed. "That's all?"

"I suppose extravagance never impresses her, my lord. She's your wife, you may know better."

He's right: she's different. But maybe he never knew her better. Maybe he still doesn't.

Waleed grins as he adds, "I baked her a birthday cake and she kept thanking me the whole day and told me how amazing that was. She got me a pen afterwards too. Her ladyship is so kind."

Burq frowns, reaching for his teacup and taking a sip. Did she like the cake more than his present? He needs to learn to bake a cake too.

Damnation.

He finds Waleed with his eyes again. "Did I love her?" he asks him frankly.

Waleed looks at him with surprise, baffled, before lowering his gaze. "As I said before, my lord, I didn't know of your feelings for her, neither of hers for you."

"But we lived under the same roof," Burq points out.

Waleed coughs awkwardly. "Pardon my straightforwardness, but you never shared the same room, my lord. She used the guest room for as long as she was here. And when she left, she returned everything that belonged to you."

Burq freezes for a moment, grinding his teeth as a flicker of fire burns his blood, before placing his cup back on the table. He doesn't know how to proceed the conversation, so he silently gazes into nothingness.

"But she made you really happy, my lord," Waleed speaks quietly after a few minutes. Burq looks back at him. "When you married her and brought her home, I really saw a change in you. You'd spend time together, go out together. Many times I had seen you laughing with her and I thought you were really over lady Doha, please excuse me. But then you both were still unaware of each other's little habits. So when you ask me if you loved each other, I wouldn't know the answer to this, your lordship. Because apparently, you both were a perfect couple. But actually, the reality of your relationship remained complicated, and I'm unaware of the details." Waleed threads his fingers uneasily. "So when I gave you the news of lord Raad and lady Doha's child, and things between you and her ladyship deteriorated, I couldn't help wishing if I never had given you the news."

Burq sighs and covers his face with his hands. "It wasn't your fault. It's mine."

"I apologize if I'm forgetting my limits, but can I say something else?" Waleed asks for permission.

Burq nods. "Go ahead."

"I don't know of your feelings towards her, neither I'm sure of her, but I think her ladyship really loves you, my lord."

Burq feels the upward twitch of his lips. "How can you say this?"

"After how you both parted, I didn't expect her to come back. But when I told her about your accident, she actually came back to you. She really cares for you, my lord. I..." Waleed hesitates.

"I what?" Burq urges for him to continue.

Waleed swallows before saying, "Every time she has stayed the night with you, in the hospital or here at home, I've seen her— heard her— praying for you and crying for you, my lord."

Burq stares at him in amazement. "You did?"

"Yes," Waleed replies reassuringly. "I admire her and respect her a great deal. But as you asked me to be your friend, then as your friend my honest advice to you will be that she's a keeper."

Burq laughs at this and looks at Waleed in amusement. "Ah, I'll take this advice wholeheartedly. But let me tell you a secret."

"What is it, your lordship?"

"The next time I lose my memory and ask you if I loved Leyla, you've to tell me that I did."

Waleed blinks, eyes widening, suddenly grinning from ear to ear. "Really, my lord?"

"Really." Burq looks down at his hands, rubbing his vacant ring finger. "I've actually fallen for my lady." He smiles.

Later that day he goes to the market and buys himself a prayer mat. He buys one for Leyla too. On returning home, he prepares to offer the prayer.

He remembers how after his mother's death, he slowly stopped worshipping God and detached from everything. How from punctual everyday prayers it reduced only to Friday prayers, and then restricting praying only to holy days before stopping altogether.

He rolls out the prayer mat and sits on a chair behind it, unable to stand and offer prayer properly. He still remembers the wordings though, thankfully haven't forgotten those.

"Allah is the Greatest," he starts, steadying his breathing. "Glory be to You, O Allah, and all praises are due unto You, and blessed is Your name and high is Your majesty and none is worthy of worship but You." He proceeds with the recitation until he reaches the verses, "You alone do we worship and You alone do we ask for help. Lead us along the straight path."

The straight path. His mind keeps reciting the same verses even though his tongue has moved forward.

Has he been off the straight path— the right path— all along? Is this what Leyla asks God in every prayer and so God has given her peace? Is this what he has been missing?

He finishes the recitation and raises his hands to his face for prayer.

"You know me more than I know myself. My pride has brought me no good. Indeed, You're the ultimate King," he prays sincerely. "My Lord, I want to ask you for something I don't have words for. This is not worldly; this is not something my wealth can buy me. But You know what's in my heart. My soul is rusted, polish it. My heart is broken, heal it. Ease my pain, take away this malcontent. Guide me, my Lord." He lowers his hand and places them over his heart. "I ask for Your benevolence; give me Your love."

He keeps sitting on the chair, having finished his prayers, staring at the prayer mat until he hears the doorbell ring. His heart jumps.

Leyla.

Waleed goes towards the door but Burq stops him. "I'll go check myself."

He grabs hold of his crutches and hurries towards the door. Taking a moment to compose his expression instead of looking like a foolish man, he opens the door, and his jaw goes slack. His brain cannot register his sight. He blinks, once, twice. Is he dreaming again?

"Raad?" Burq utters in disbelief.

His brother smiles, but his eyes remain anxious. "Salam, akhi."

Burq grips the door handle tightly. "What the hell are you doing at my house?"

His smile disappears. "So I'm not welcomed here?"

"No."

Burq tries to close the door on his face but Raad quickly steps forward to stop him.

"Wait, baba has send me to you."

Burq halts, unsure of what he has heard. "What?"

Raad inhales deeply, hesitating, before finally saying, "Baba and umi wants you back home, Burq."

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Thoughts?

The original Muslim prayer is in Arabic. The translation of the few verses used in this chapter is taken from Google.

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