The Northern Lights

Chapter 2. A Cigarette far from Paris

2002. France.

Eden's lips craved another cigarette. He finds it harder to sleep at night now. He wasn't aware of it, that he was so deeply depressed. Who would have? He always had a wide smile that acted as a mask. The disguise was so convincing almost fooled himself. The narrow streets of Bondy are quiet tonight, he thinks, arms wrapped around Azra. His suicidal thoughts come and go, like the sun on a cloudy day, always present but temporarily forgotten.

Azra is deep asleep, she had had a long day teaching her geography class. Today they learnt about how millennia ago, the continents used to fit together in one supercontinent. She noticed that her husband was less exciting and youthful as he usually was, but thought that it was inevitable, telling herself that dullness always came with aging. Now she questions that idea. The passing of time didn't change the undying love she felt for him; the loyalty and trust.

Despite his efforts to sleep again, he can't bear the feeling of needing smoke to fill his lungs. The whispers of cold breezes and singing of crickets become louder now. His eyes are heavy, though they feel like this no matter how much sleep he gets. Trying not to wake her, he smoothly slides his arm out from underneath hers before softly removing the blanket that laid on top of him.

His arm dangles to the bottom draw where he hides his secret stash of cigarettes, only ever opened for the sporadic craving. Azra has been trying to make him quit for years, begging that he never taste tobacco on his lips again. He would if he could. But pain lingers in his heart, in his lungs and in his soul. A pain so indescribable he'd rather huff the toxic fumes of cigarettes than try to describe it. He needs the cigarettes as much as they need him, they are two stars that orbit one another.

The drawer had not been open in months, Eden wouldn't be surprised if there were an ocean of cobwebs inside. His fingers are met with the ice-cold wooden handle in the dark room. It is difficult to slide it open silently. Pull too aggressively and a squeak would scream into his wife's ears. Azra's chest is steady, her mind drifting off into a fantasy of its own. Eden was sitting beside the woman of his dreams, his best friend and yet, he still felt so desperately alone. There is an emptiness in his chest tonight. A tumour of negative thoughts.

He has finally slid it open, the round wooden knob his hand grasped was now warm with his touch. In it, the Bible and Quora sit still, collecting dust and giving an unwanted reminder as to why Eden hasn't seen his parents in so long. Why the didn't show up on the best day of his life.

Their wedding was quite beautiful, in the countryside of France, in the outdoors like they had always planned, where the sun created a hue of warmth with its golden tones. Eden wouldn't have changed a thing, despite their disapproving families not attending. The empty seats they left behind solidified what the newly wedded couple already knew, religions can bring people together but are better at dividing people apart. Their families were close minded; held concrete beliefs that were unable to grasp the concept of acceptance.

Under the sacred books lies a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Eden forgot what it looked like, just remembers that it was a cool colour, one that didn't evoke any aggression or warmth.

Eden tip toes towards the glass door to the balcony, before sliding it open softly. The cold breeze ignites against his skin, and rushes into their room. His hairs raise under his cream sweater that was given many Christmases ago by his late Grandma. It was far too small for him, but he always refused to listen to Azra's fashion advice. He misses her deeply, not a day goes by where he doesn't miss her. She was the only one that accepted Azra, invested in her adventurous soul. The breeze has calmed, but the air is still chilly outside.

He pulls out a cigarette and places it in his mouth. The busy city of Paris is not far, it's lights beaconing in the ever so dark landscape like a cluster of stars in the night sky. He had been there many times, though he gets sick of all the noise and people. He enjoys the quietness of his home, the calmness of the suburbs. His hand comes closer to his mouth, flicking the lighter.