Prince from Paradise | ✔

XVIII. Stone Hearts

Adar

"Are you okay?" he asked, worriedly glancing at the girl who tried her best to keep her heartache to herself.

Rabiya walked behind him, mute to most of his efforts to talk. Her hijab was draped over her head and across her shoulder, tightly wrapped to conceal the hair beneath. The moonlight shone against her high cheekbones, ample light kissing the gold of her skin, outlining her radiance through the cloak of night, highlighting her beauty through the midst of misfortune.

He was in awe.

Her delicate, soft lips, as inviting as can be, were sewed shut between them, silence as deafening as the sound of war behind them. Rabiya's dark eyes stared at the dirt roads under their feet, visage in deep contemplation, a ghostly expression painting her features. Even though she was right behind him, she seemed to be miles away.

He fell in sync with her steps, letting her catch up. "Rabiya," he whispered. "Sometimes talking relieves the burden."

She broke from her daze, staring up at him with big, doe-like eyes, full of wonder and confusion. "Pardon?"

"You're worried," he deducted.

Rabiya nodded, averting her gaze again. "Why wouldn't I be? We left them to fend for themselves. We should have stayed-"

"Shh," he hushed her, placing a finger to his lips. Adar gave her a sideways glance. "You would have gotten yourself killed if you stayed behind. Did you not see how many men were coming after you?"

"So it's better for my mother and grandmother to risk their lives instead?" she retorted hotly, eyes fierce with indignant flames.

Adar could have punched himself if he could. Why didn't I choose my words more carefully?

The smoke of her fury emitted from her body like trails of ferocity equal to a tigress hunting her prey. He managed to trigger the feral anger from her without meaning to and he had no idea how to reverse it.

Adar was never one who was good at talking to women. He spent his days under the tutelage of the most profound men in the village, being raised as their pupil. He had no time to even think about women until the day he saw Rabiya. When she came into his world, he was left defenseless and lost, trapped by the vortex of her presence and the strong currents of her perfection.

"I'm sorry if I angered you," he said gently, catching her off guard. "But you have to understand how much it pains me to even think about you lying in a pool of your own blood or being trampled by their arrogance."

"We shouldn't talk about this now," she tried to say, voice softer than she intended. He saw the faint blush on her cheeks. "We have to find help."

Adar frowned, but he understood what she meant. Now was not the time to declare his undying love for her. They had to fix the mess they left behind, the slaughter that would soon take place. Strategic planning clouded his judgment instead.

They were a couple miles away at this point and would soon reach the police department or at least the security forces for the war. The Pakistani soldiers would refuse to help their enemies even if Adar was against the revolution. In their eyes, he was still a part of Bangladesh, meaning Adar held loyalty to his new country. Nothing he said could make them believe otherwise.

On the other hand, the freedom fighters may reject typical village politics. There was a war on their hands, a country they had to salvage. Petty village drama meant nothing to them unless their was some political gain from it. If Adar even referenced the freedom fighters, they might recognize his name, and Adar would be imprisoned.