Letters In the Moonlight of Taj Mahal

Letters

"God is truly wise: He made pain so we'd have pleasure." - Unknown

Eight

The Present

He must have been delayed again. Maybe he tried to call me at the hotel.

There is only fifteen minutes left before I have to leave. And though I am looking forward to emailing Marc when I get back to the hotel, I dread walking through the door again alone. Somewhere inside me had lain the hope that he would come tonight, that we would spend these final moments gazing up at the Taj Mahal together, taking in its pearl-like glow.

"Oh, Marc," I whisper brokenly. "Where are you? Why are you not here?"

I don't know why, but within the last couple of minutes, my urgency to see him has grown. A while ago, a small group of tourists passed by talking about an accident that happened earlier. They said six people had been killed. My heart had instantly gone out to the loved ones awaiting their return. I also briefly experienced a moment of painful worry that I quickly pushed away.

Marc is fine, I know. He has to be, because we have a life ahead of us. A life of love and laughter, hope and happiness. Surely God would not take that away from us, not when He just brought us together.

Would you, Father? Would you take him from me now? "Please don't. Bring him to me. Please let him be all right."

Placing the finished letter in my purse, I stare down at my shadowed folded hands, my heart full and empty at the same time, my emotions waging a war inside me, and my mind still willing Marc to come. I don't think I could go back and face my life again without him.

Hearing approaching footsteps, I adjust my veil to hide the tears I can't seem to dry. Then the footsteps stop a few yards away. I glance in that direction, immediately pressing a hand to my heart.

A man is standing as still as a statue, staring at me. There is a bandage on his forehead and a small spot of blood has seeped through. When our eyes meet, he slowly limps closer and I stand, my heart instantly recognizing him.

Rushing to one another, he takes my face in his hands, immediately fastening his mouth to mine. Heat rushes through me, flames dancing in my stomach, the rhythm of them matching the rhythm of his lips molding to mine, moving against them with intensity. I wrap my arms around his neck as his own tighten around my waist, holding me as close as humanly possible, the tears streaking his dusty face mingling with my own. I knew we should probably move behind one of the trees and conceal ourselves a bit, but I didn't have the strength.

"My Lyla," he whispers against my lips. "I'm so sorry . . . I'm so sorry."

I sigh as his voice rumbles through me, my body melting against the solidness of his, the chiseled planes of his chest contoured to perfection.

Breaking the kiss, he buries his face in the curve of my neck, then presses his lips against my ear. "I'm so sorry," he whispers again.

I draw back just enough to look at his face, his indescribably-handsome face. "I heard about the accident," I finally said, emotion cracking my voice. "And I prayed you were not involved, that God would not take you from me when we have just found each other. I . . . I'm so grateful you are all right, and that you are here." I draw back a little more, lightly touching the bandage on his forehead, and then his arm, marveling that he is really here. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, a little sore, but I am all right. I was told a collision happened in front of us and when we swerved, we lost control." He stares into my eyes a long moment, allowing his gaze to slowly roam over my face, studying every single detail. He slides my scarf back, and the adoration in his eyes makes my knees weak. "You're so beautiful, even more beautiful than I dreamed you would be."