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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...
I still hold onto you from a distance The way starlight holds onto the vast void of night.
— April Green
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Leyla moves her head from side to side, pressing the pads of her thumbs against the back of her neck— it was stiff. She rolls her shoulders to release some tension, suppressing a yawn.
Sitting on the uncomfortable hospital couch all night and working on her laptop wasn't her plan, but then he asked her to stay.
Burq asked her to stay.
She couldn't say no, not to him.
Outside the window, the sunrise looks beautiful. This is the magic about Queenstown: it is like a piece of heaven on earth. Unable to resist, she stands up, putting her laptop in her place on the couch.
She walks over to the window, gaze tracing the rays of the sun as if surfing them, lost for a moment. A small bird on the windowsill chirps and she smiles at it, touching the glass, and the bird flies away.
Leyla looks back to where Burq is still lying on the bed, peacefully asleep. His tanned Arabian skin tone shines under the sunlight, reminding her of desert grains and hot wind. A small part of her still lingers in the lost times, and she is failing to retrieve it. Some things are out of our control, she thinks.
Will you marry me, Leyla?
His question plays in her mind like a ticking clock, the old memory feeling like yesterday. Yet when she tries to reach out for it, it dissolves into smoke as if it never was.
She takes cautious steps towards him, coming to stand at his side. His dark hair are naturally wavy, almost curly, and she gets an irresistible urge to run her fingers through them. She reaches a tentative hand forward to brush aside his bangs from his eyes, those closed lids hiding back his predatory glances.
If you think being my wife means being my queen, then you're wrong, habibi.
As if coming to her senses, she retracts her hand. She breathes through her mouth, letting her lungs catch some life. It still stings. His every word always will.
He isn't the kind of man women read books about, she knows. He has looks and he has the world on his palm, but he doesn't have one thing she seeks: a good heart.
She sighs, remembering the days when she was slowly getting to know him for the first time. He was always drunken on his pride, maybe still is, wearing an invisible crown. Behind these sharp cut features and tiger like eyes, his power is always on full display, to tell the people around him he is on the top.
And this is the thing Leyla can never admire about anyone: pride. Pride— it roots all sins.
She left him, but now she is back, and she doesn't know why.
