Gunnah e Shab

36. Yours • تمہاری

"Speak of her over my grave and watch how she brings me back to life." — Mahmoud Darwish

Azmaray fiddled with the leather binding of his journal. He had lost it a week back and was surprised to find it inside Laila's suitcase. They had landed in Istanbul last night for their overdue honeymoon, and as he took out Laila's dress he was shocked to find the black worn out journal in between her clothes. He fingered the warm manilla pages, turning them over, all the while is mind still ran wild in curiosity about its sudden appearance. His hand stilled as it came across a page filled in red glittery writing, the crooked handwriting and red pen were the farthest from his black, cursive words.

Two pages filled with 'Laila loves Azmaray'. Pages of confession. Tiny hearts littered across, dated a few days back. She had not said the words to his face, yet. He waited until the day she had enough courage would arrive. However it seemed that the little thief knew how she felt and was only making him suffer. Hiding the journal back in it's previous spot he took out the outfit she had requested before heading to take a shower. A sharp orange turtleneck, one made of the softest cashmere. And a pair of medium washed jeans, that were snug around her legs and made them look longer. Placing them on the hook inside the en-suite Azmaray straightened up the room, running his hand through his hair to loosen them up just a little bit.

Laila hummed under her breath, swaying under the spray of luke warm water. Her hands massaged the skin of her scalp her body still tingling from the toe curling pleasure Azmaray had gifted her with just this morning. Her bones were sated and at the root of her soul there was nothing but endless peace. Running the complementary rose scented soap on her skin she washed each inch of herself throughly, her mind clouded with what if's.

"Laila if you want to have breakfast we need to leave the room now," Azmaray knocked on the shower's glass door.

"Oh. Give me ten minutes," she replied.

Stepping out and wrapping her hair in the fluffy towel, she got dressed in a matter of seconds. Promising herself that she would come clean about her feelings to Azmaray. He deserved to know how she felt, the intensity of her feelings was not something she could bare, all by herself. Drinking in her form in the vanity's mirror, Laila smiled in appreciation. Her skin was glowing, the apples of her cheeks naturally a shade of red. Her eyes were gleaming with something, something she could not put a finger on. The dull pecan of her eyes was like a polished wood now. She rubbed the nude lipstick on her lips, her hands hastily grabbing her crossbody bag as Azmaray dragged her out, their stomachs rumbling in unison.

"You look pretty," he spoke.

She kissed his cheek in reply. Her hand held on to his as they crossed the threshold and went inside the luxurious elevator. The floors made of marble and three walls made of thick gorilla glass. Laila fixed her hair, looking into one of the mirrors. Passing the couple that was with them a smile. The two returned the smiles and soon turned their attention to their young child, who was flailing his arms inside the sleek pram. Laila rested her head on Azmaray's arms feeling worn our already.

The doors opened with a light bell sound coming through the speakers. The young couple moving towards the exit of the seven star hotel whilst they moved into the large dinning hall. The room was painted a cream, long rows of buffet styled tables set up, smells of fresh breads wafting in the room. Waiters ran in and out of the place bringing in more freshly prepared breakfast items. Round tables with white linen table cloth covered the rest of the room and on top of them were maroon embossed menu cards, for guests who wanted to order something specific.