If equal affection cannot be,
Let the more loving one be me.

— W. H. Auden.

☾

Storms can be frightening, surfing the nook and corner of every street like wolves on hunt, howling, warning every soul in their wake, alarming everyone of nature's fury. Storms can be destructive, powerful, reminding us of what they are capable of: turning the world upside down. Is it really the wrath of God Lord?

The windows rattle loudly and he blinks open his eyes, feeling light-headed from his sleep. The noise from the maddening weather outside keeps waking him up. Shifting in the couch, he casts a lingering look to his daughter, making sure she's peacefully asleep, before pulling up the blanket over his body and closing his eyes again. The cries of nature soon starts fading in the background as sleep takes him once more.

"Do you love me?"

"Do you doubt me?"

"Of course not. But I need to be told every now and then."

"I love you."

She smiles at his words and he naturally smiles back, putting his arm around her and hugging her to his side.

"Ask me more often and I shall tell you more often, but it will still never be enough to define the extent of my love for you."

She grins up at him. "My poet, look at you. Those literature classes at the university are taking a toll on you."

"Do you blame me?"

"Never. I don't mind you not being able to put your love for me into words. Undefined love is good; it's limitless." She twirls the ring on his ring finger, toying with it, before locking their fingers together. "I don't want you to belittle love by comparing it with anything worldly either. After all, comparison will only limit it."

"Look at you, my poet," he teases her and chuckles. She pulls away and playfully punches his arm.

"Don't mimic me. Did I say too much?"

He pulls her back to himself and kisses the side of her head. "Nothing you say is ever too much for me."

She gazes at him tenderly, the look in her eyes melting his heart to warm honey. He leans forward and nudges her nose with his.

"What?" he whispers.

She places her palm on the side of his face. "Janan zama (my love). Do you know you're the greatest blessing God has bestowed upon me?"

He only smiles.

Her expression turns serious as she mumbles, "You're virtue, I'm sin. I never deserved you."

He frowns in displeasure. "Shirin--"

She puts her hand over his mouth, shushing him. "I know you don't want to hear this, but it's the truth."

He clutches her wrist and removes her hand. "And I've told you a million times I don't want to have a conversation upon this said truth, neither with you nor anyone else."

He gets up to leave but she quickly grasps his forearm with both hands. "Why did you marry me?"

He shakes his head in disapproval and she looks at him desperately.

"Please, I know you're too good for me. If you give me an answer, I can be at peace."

"Is the fact that I love you not enough for you?" His tones comes out harsher than intended and he instantly regrets it in front of her vulnerability. He bites the inside of his cheeks and sits back down, exhaling heavily. "Nothing is too good for anyone, Shirin. What we strive for, we deserve. If there is good in it for us, we achieve it. Now don't you strive for my love?"

She nods. "I do, very much so."

"Then God has bestowed it upon you and created love for you in my heart. This is why I married you, because we strived for each other's love and found good for ourselves in each other. Because God thought us to be good for each other. The past has nothing to do with where we are today; let it go and you'll be at peace."

She swallows and gingerly reaches forward to touch his face with her fingertips, tracing his features with dedication.

"You know, I've each of your details memorized. Not just physical, but your habits too, likes and dislikes. You're etched on my heart." She lifts her gaze to his, and he finds himself sinking into her pupils. She smiles. "I love you, Mikael, but your goodness scares me. Is that possible?"

He doesn't answer and closes his eyes as her fingers trace his eyelids. They fall to his lips next and he feather kisses them.

"How can a man like you marry a woman like me, and then love her so good that reality becomes impossible to accept?" Her hands drop to his chest, resting upon his heart. "Are you a dream, Mikael? Maybe just a fantasy of mine."

"Shirin..." He leans towards her, eyes begging her to stop. "Zama jaan."

"How can you love a prostitute?"

The sound of thunder has his eyes snapping open, breaking his sleep again. He keeps lying face-up on the couch, staring at the ceiling, trying to put in order his dysthymic breathing. Seven years since her death, her memories still haunt her. Seven years and yet her ghost still homes his heart, bites his bones, never leaving. Isn't it a long enough time to forget someone? But you don't forget love. Maybe it fades, but never dies. For when has past ever died after all? Some things remain, always a fragment of our memories, hardly ever forgotten.

He pushes up himself and finds color to the sky, the dawn breaking, the sky lightening. He inhales deeply and holds in his breath a moment before releasing it. The dull ache in his chest remains. He casts another look at Zimal and finds her still asleep, then gets up and tiptoes out of the room into the corridor.

Outside it's quiet and empty. He walks down to the dead end of the corridor where a long glass window is overlooking the back of the hospital building. Despite the faint blue of the sky, the heavy gray clouds still loam over the land and the rain is falling, although now not as insanely. He stares out of the window mindlessly.

How can you...

"My Lord." He covers his face with both hands, then lowers them and takes out his wallet, opening it to Shirin's photo, eyes gluing to it longingly.

She's like jarred pieces of glass, and despite their cutting edges, he's holding onto those pieces with both hands, bleeding himself wounded, unable to just drop the glass and let go-- to let himself heal. He touches the photo with his ring finger, first her eyes and then her lips.

Someone clears their throat and he looks away from the picture to the source of the voice.

"I'm starting to think what a lucky woman your wife must be to have a husband like you." Banafsha smiles at him. "You always gazes at her like that?"

He pockets his wallet and turns to face her. "Like what?"

"Like a desperate lover." She wraps her arms around herself. "I'm sorry, I cannot describe romance any better."

He smiles and shakes his head. "You've never loved, doctor?"

"Not romantically, no."

"It doesn't always have to be romantic to be valued, neither always needed to be described. Feelings are to be felt foremost; the helplessly at loss of words you are, the more intense they are."

Her lips curl up to one side, eyes glittering with amusement. "What do you teach on the campus, professor?"

Mikael chuckles as he leans against the wall, humming. "Take a guess."

"Well if you're teaching my brother and he's being philosophical and artsy lately, I'd say something similar."

"Close. Literature. Poetry, to be precise."

She grins widely at his answer, putting her hands in the pockets of her overall now. Her stethoscope rests casually around her neck and an intricately patterned pencil is sticking out of the rubber band of her ponytail.

"Explains your romanticism. Your classes are open to new admissions?" she asks jokingly.

He smirks. "Depends upon who wants to enroll. You want to learn romance, doctor?"

To that, she laughs. "I'm afraid I might fail, sir."

Her laughter makes the brown of her orbs burn like ambers-- brilliant and warm. It makes her look carefree and close by to him, as if she's not the distant and crude woman from their nikah night-- as if Banafsha can be loved too. He bites his lips as they naturally pull back into a smile.

"But," she says and his attention focuses again, "you intrigue me. Poetry hasn't been my field of interest, although maybe off campus, you can read it to me someday. Maybe I can understand it too. And who knows, maybe love wouldn't be so bland to me then."

"Then that's a deal, doctor," he promises. "If you only give me a chance to teach you how to love."

"Why does it sound like cheating for two committed people?" she reminds him subtly and he's quick to catch her point. For him, she sees Shirin. For herself, she's with Aurang, ignorant to the truth of Mikael.

"Does it?"

"I'd like to meet your wife," she suggests and he stiffens. "I'm just curious, excuse me please. She much be so bewitching for you to be always staring at her photograph when she's not around."

When he doesn't answer, Banafsha tilts her head questioningly.

"I'm sorry, did you mind?"

He straightens and shakes his head. "She's... dead."

Her eyes widen with disbelief and she shifts in unease. "I'm sorry, I just thought..."

"It's okay, I understand why you got the impression." He smiles dismissively and changes the topic. "Why are you here so early, doctor? Didn't you run a late shift last night?"

She nods. "I've to perform a surgery in an hour. Got an emergency call. But I decided to see you first."

"See me first?" He raises both eyebrows in surprise before smirking, amused. "Careful, doc, or I might assume you've developed a fondness for me."

She laughs again, not minding his humor. "A vain assumption. We've only met twice before. I came to ask about your daughter. How is she doing?"

"Good, thank you."

"Zimal," she says, "that's her name, right?"

Mikael gazes at her, something soft blossoming in his chest, not bothering to ask her how she knows it. "Yes."

Banafsha smiles at him. "That's a beautiful name."

He only smiles back.

For a moment, he feels like seconds freezing as the air between them charges up, or maybe it's just him. Yet he cannot help thinking if Banafsha feels the same. The feeble sunrays slip through the glass window and dances across her features, highlighting one side of her face, skimming her cheekbone and kissing her irises into blended shades of brown and gold. He swallows, resisting the urge to touch her face.

Banafsha. He almost says her name but his tongue fails to form it. Banafsha sounds like a fantasy to him. He blinks, looking away from her. The silence vibrates loudly with heavy tension, and then she finally tears it apart.

"Mikael?"

His gaze sweeps to hers again, quietly awaiting to what she has to say.

"Can I see her?"

"Who?"

"Zimal."

He looks at her in perplexity, unsure of why she wants to, but nods. "Okay, but she might still be asleep."

"No problem."

He walks back to the room and Banafsha follows after him. Slowly, he opens the door and steps inside, letting her in too before closing the door. To his surprise, he finds Zimal awake, curiously watching both him and the woman by his side. Mikael smiles at her tenderly.

"My angel, when did you wake up?"

He moves to her side and kisses her head, running his fingers through her hair lovingly.

"Some time ago." Zimal looks up at him. "Where were you, baba?"

"I was outside with the doctor here." He gestures towards Banafsha. "Did you get scared?"

She shakes her head before shifting her eyes to Banafsha.

"Doctor here wanted to meet you, guday (doll)," Mikael tells her.

Banafsha smiles at her and steps closer. "Hello, sweet one."

"Hello," Zimal greets back coyly.

"How are you feeling now?"

"Better."

"That's good."

Zimal gives her a small smile of her own, fidgeting with her blanket.

"My name is Banafsha, Zimal," Banafsha tells her and leans down, gently placing her hand over her heart. "You can call me Afsha."

Mikael watches with amazement and fascination as Banafsha introduces herself to his daughter, her kind gestures stunning him. She's different. This side of her is new to him. But then maybe it's only her professional side with the patients. In everyday life, outside the hospital wall, she must go back to being Banafsha Humayun, Humayun Asad's daughter-- ruthless and savage. He sighs mentally.

"You're beautiful, Afsha," Zimal compliments and Banafsha chuckles softly.

"Thank you, so are you." She straightens back and looks at him. "Mikael, I had another reason too to see you."

The way she says it makes anxiety instantly tug at his nerves. He moves around the bed towards her, and she steps away from Zimal.

"Is everything okay?" he asks quietly, impatiently.

"I went to the laboratory to check her reports," she tells him and his heart leaps to his throat. "Her doctor will bring them to you in a while and explain to you everything."

Fear constricts his airway but he manages to choke. "W-what's wrong with her?"

"ASD: atrial septal defect. In layman terms, what we call hole in the heart."

☾

So, thoughts on the chapter?

Due to windstorm in my city for four days, the writing and publishing of this chapter had to be delayed.

Your thoughts on the plot so far?

Any idea on what surprises await next?

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☾