Twisting Roses

4: His Brutal Joke

-Every twirling rose had me smiling a hopeless smile.-

The wind was blowing. A warm scent of rose was floating in the air. I was seeping in the beautiful scent as it leaned against a railing and peered at the crashing waves. 

After having lunch, Hammad and Behlul led the youngsters to their main terrace. Samiya Begum didn't want me to go, but after persistence from Hammad and Behlul, she allowed me to join the young crowd. We were guided up a glass staircase, which had me secretly squealing with delight; it felt like walking on air and led to an open terrace decorated with thick vines hanging from its railing and outdoor seaters placed in different corners. 

Sonia and Aliya had immediately begun taking pictures of the scenery while Demir allowed his cousins to point out the main gardens of their island. I chose to lean against one railing, far away from the group, and just breathe in the fresh air. 

This view...this place...I had never before been treated with such a luxurious opportunity. This whole world was so new and mysterious for me. 

Each day, I would be waking up with a new feeling...a new sensation. 

Slightly turning my head to stare at my husband, my heart stumbled as I noticed him finally smiling while listening to his energetic cousins. He rarely smiled, never in my presence. Yet, there was always this vulnerability...this wall echoing out of his heart that made me stop and stare. 

Drifting my gaze towards Sonia and Aliya, I felt stung with a hint of envy. Although Aliya had been cruel, she was a good friend. I could see the way her heart was always siding with her best friend. If Sonia was overly hospital towards her bestie, Aliya was always returning the favour. I wanted that. A friendship so fierce and strong...I wanted that. But, a duo can never be turned into a trio....especially when they never gave me a chance.

Turning back to the open air and free waves, I grabbed the railing and closed my eyes. Memories of the past would often strike me hard in lonely moments. Demir's attitude towards me reminded me of the summers I used to spend at my grandmother's place as an eight-year-old girl. 

My grandmother belonged to an extremely poor family and had been married to a rich businessman. Often, peering down from the gap between the stairs of her main staircase, I would watch my grandfather push her out of the house, threaten to slap her, degrade her for being extremely poor and then earn her apology with gifts. My parents weren't aware of this treatment at that time because they had to do double shifts to earn money for our family and put food on the table; my dad didn't like borrowing money from my grandpa so had me stay with my grandparents whenever he and mom were at work.   

I didn't like listening to my grandmother's cries, would rush down the staircase whenever I felt brave enough to confront my grandpa, but it was always my grandma who reprimanded me. She would pick me up and make me promise to not tell my parents. I didn't. For me, both my grandparents were heroes. They loved me. Grandpa loved me.

After every fight, my grandmother would wipe my flowing tears and assure me that Grandpa was a good person, and that she was his wife so didn't mind his harsh ways. I didn't get it back then, wanted to take her away from Grandpa, but she died with a peaceful smile on her face...like she had no regret being humiliated by her husband. Her husband was her world, and she forced me to believe that the best feeling in this world was taking care of someone. I believed in that fairytale, too. My whole life, I was taught to wholeheartedly care for someone, and that status does matter. 

My parents worked hard yet had to wait in queues for the rich to always be first in line. My grandmother...her heart was never good enough for her husband, and now I was stuck in the same queue of trying to be good enough for my husband-the charming and beastly knight; it was what I always believed him to be.