In the opulent world of modern-day Pakistan, Layla Malik, once the wild heiress to a political dynasty, has transformed herself into a formidable force of ambition and revenge. Her heart scarred by betrayal, she stands at the helm of her family's em...
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1 2 : a r i s k y g a m b l e
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I sat alone in my opulent study, a sanctuary of polished mahogany and soft lamplight. The room exuded an air of grandeur and sophistication, much like the woman who occupied it. My fingers traced the curves of an antique inkwell, a relic from a bygone era, much like my own past. The dim glow of the desk lamp played upon the lustrous strands of my ebony hair, casting intricate shadows across my elegant profile.
Amidst the sea of official documents and tomes that surrounded me, one piece of paper stood out. A letter, elegant in its simplicity, sat atop my cluttered desk. I took it in my hand, feeling the weight of its import before breaking the seal. My eyes scanned the graceful cursive, each word a sonnet, and my heart danced to their rhythm.
My Dearest Lee Lee,
Thoughts of you have become a relentless tempest in my mind, battering me with each passing moment. Everywhere I look, there's a reminder of you - in the way the sunlight hits the trees, in the sound of a bird's song, in the soft caress of the wind on my skin. My thoughts are consumed by the memory of your sparkling eyes, the sound of your laughter, and the way our hands fit together like pieces of a puzzle. I'm left with a thousand unanswered questions, and a heart that beats faster at the mere thought of you.
Which is why I'm writing this letter to you today.
Last night, when I lay in my garden, reading the Greek novel The Island by Victoria Hislop, watching the dark night cradle the moon in its arms, I was reminded of you. You're like the moon; hauntingly beautiful, but achingly distant with a part of you always shrouded in mystery. The more I gazed into the darkness of the night, the more I could not stop thinking about you. At that moment, I realised I missed you. But, I believe the Greeks would probably disagree with my choice of words. Because in Greece they don't really say, I miss you. They say Μου λείπεις which loosely translates to "You are missing from me." ;)
I know, it's a subtle difference, but I hope it conveys a sense of loss that I think "I miss you" fails to capture.
I was eight, probably nine, when my grandfather told me the best way to succeed is to be different. Create. Innovate. Imagine. I have held on to those words ever since. And today they've brought me here, holding a pen and paper, struggling to put my thoughts into words. While there is nothing new or original about sending a handwritten letter, I hope, in an era of emails and text messages, it will perhaps serve to bring a smile to your face. And if that didn't work, the little sadist in you might find some dark pleasure in the knowledge that this isn't the first letter I have attempted to write today. RIP trees!!
