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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...
She was chaos and beauty intertwined. A tornado of roses from divine.
— Shakieb Orgunwall
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The heavy gray clouds are streaked by lightning, following by the roaring of thunder, load and angry. Autumn is quickly dissolving into winter.
Leyla looks through the long glass window to the slowly maddening sky, the afternoon preparing to slip into a dark evening. The wind must be chilly outside, but inside the living room is warm. She exhales and her breath fogs the glass. She makes a smiley face on it with her finger.
"The tea is here," Gulalai announces, walking into the living room and setting a tray with two cups and treats on the table. She sits on the couch and gestures for Leyla to join her.
Leyla walks up to her and sits down, picking up a macaroon and taking a bite.
"Mustafa," she calls her nephew who is sitting in front of the LED on the floor, playing with his train set. The three year old looks back to her. "Come here sweetie, eat something."
He just shakes his head and goes back to playing.
"Did you feed him already?" Leyla asks Gulalai.
She sighs, as if exhausted, gazing at her son both lovingly and dejectedly. "A little."
"Still keeps asking you about Lawangeen?"
Gulalai huffs sadly, twirling the wedding band on her ring finger. "What child wouldn't ask for their father?"
"I thought he's getting better."
"He is. He'll eventually forget and wouldn't even remember him once he grows up. But for now, he still misses his baba."
A child doesn't understand the definitions of relationships but only knows how to love. An innocent mind doesn't know hatred. Maybe that's why Mustafa still misses Lawangeen, even after half year later of his death, because he misses that love. Even though he might not remember his father once he grows up, but somewhere in his subconscious that love will remain.
She gets up, picking up the macaroons plate with her and going to sit beside her nephew. She cannot bring back her brother— his father— but she can still give him love, be that in a different form.
"What are you doing, jaan?" Leyla smiles at him.
"Making tracks for my train," he replies without looking up, appearing busy with his small brows furrowed.
Leyla chuckles softly. "Ah, where is it headed?"
"Home."
"Home?" she mumbles, and Mustafa nods. She strokes his hair. "Okay, but will you take me with you?"
"Of course." The child grins up at her and points to a block cabin. "You'll sit here, and I'll sit with you."
"Thank you. I'd love to go with you, captain. But," Leyla holds up a macaroon to him, "you'll eat this first so we can ride on full stomachs."
