A/N: MUST READ So, I debated so much posting this baby. It's different from everything I've written…and yet same, if you know what I mean. So many obstacles have been covered concerning love—but what about something that is so likely to happen in countries that are becoming multi-cultural. Heck, America is a cultural melting-pot; there are bound to be some obstacles such as language, culture and religion concerning lovers. And so dear reader, I bring this story which is so very close to my heart because it is a reflection of some of my fears, of my friends' fears… Inspired by a dream a few nights ago, the story haunted me till I had to pen it down.
If you would like to read, please read with an open mind…or if you want something more for light entertainment, please read some of my other stories.
Dedicated to Aina-lass (Ryuu Angel), who has been the sort of friend very few have and I am overwhelmingly grateful to have. You know the deepest part of me, the things I've never told cousins who've been like sisters to me since I was born, the things nobody will ever know because I would simply DIEE of embarassment. I VOW things will be perfect for you, lass. I do vow. wink Book a ticket to Gretna Greene for me will you, ten years from now? Doona worry, b-teddy isn't into the fantasy of elopement. xD
I. So Far AwaySometimes I think I hear your voice
In my head, whispering promises
Of things that could never be.
Effusive, warm, earthy smell; the scent of happiness, of consuming passion, of dreams all condensed into this one moment, holding everything so still, so fast, so clear, so blurred. The fragrance permeated through the room, lacing into the laughter into the knowing winks and the light innuendo-laden remarks.
But she knew the source of the scent. It was the bridal henna, the herbal mix that was being tattooed onto her hands till her elbow, the mix that gently bound itself to her feet, an initiation, a warning of the step she was to make.
Into marriage.
Intoxication almost took hold of her head as her green eyes lit upon the white garlands that decorated the room. No, there were other flowers. Roses, boldly lounged upon the tables seductively, lilies glowed sultrily in the heat of the room that was exotically India.
It was an ideal marriage; so much happiness in the house that it was tangible, so much joy that she could capture it into her fist, a man stepping out of any Muslim girl's dreams. Rooms were decorated with garlands and flowers, filled with happy faces excitedly talking of dresses they would wear. For once, the monsoon rains had taken a short reprieve and the days had been bright yet the occasional wind did touch faces.
There was magic in the air; mankind loved a lover, whether he loved or not…no, mankind loved a man who looked like he could be a lover. And her husband-to-be, Imran, looked the part. Curly dark hair, dark eyes, and a face that was representative of joyful youth.
Ah, the irony of it all. She had always prayed for one thing.
The green-eyed woman didn't care if her wedding was grand, how many dozens of roses the bridal house would be decorated with, if her dress would have elaborate embroidery, what her husband would look like—but just this one thing, this one thing.
That this marriage would be for love.
Five hundred guests were invited to her wedding, dozens did not begin to describe the number of bouquets—maybe a hundred dozen would be closer, her dress, so filled with delicate, intricate embroidery weighed a good fraction of her weight, and her husband-to-be had been rated as one of most handsome men people had ever laid eyes on for a long time.
She had everything; yet, nothing at all.
"Here comes the lover to your door/Here comes the lover to your door…" her best friend Yukari sung a wedding song teasingly, her lovely smile arching across her cheeks widely.
"If you are still like that to your lover's amorous attentions, then honey, we'll have to work on you quite a bit!" a plump woman who she recognized as a distant aunt giggled.
The bride-to-be's face flushed slightly, "Surely he won't touch me on the very first night!"
The women paused and looked at her, laughing as if she'd just stated that the world was flat.
But it was Yukari who apprehensively, softly stated, "Hey, if he's as noble as he looks, he won't make you do anything you don't want…but," her melting brown eyes met hers, "it's a good chance that he will want to touch you." Her friend bit her lip, "After all, a woman doesn't have rose petals covered on her bed everyday."
Rose petals…"I, what?" Her voice cracked.
"You, you remind me of a rose bud."
"A rose bud? You always have the most odd and ill-fitting analogies."
"Ill-fitting? Even now, you're a rose who tries to hide her beauty within the enclosure of her petals, afraid to bloom open." Hypnotic eyes met hers, "Yet one that is nonetheless picked because the essence that defines her isn't her looks—but who she is, who she will be."
"Hitomi?" a finger gently jabbed her shoulder. "Goodness, if you're so nervous I think it would be better if you guys did wait."
She blinked rapidly, the sweep of lashes caressing her cheeks, hiding the treacherous thoughts in her eyes, encapsulating it. Her eyes were secretive, if you looked too hard…too close…you would see her dreams bared. "Eh, Naaz, maybe you should give our little bride-to-be some tips."
Naaz was beautiful, there was no denying it. Romantic dark lashes, thick and long hid her irises and her complexion was so luminescent it was the type that would look beautiful as moonlight caressed it, flickering here, lighting there.
She had been married for a year and had never been happier as she was now. Henna also covered her hands though hers was nowhere as closely elaborate as Hitomi's.
"Well," her blush-colored lips smiled, "'Tomi, men are quite easy to please. They're like a motion detector—you know? Offer them the slightest touch and you'll get a reaction, caress them and captivate them…and you'll hold their will in your hands until they'll eat out of them."
What about a woman's pleasure? Was she simply a tool to be used to satisfy his appetites? Her mother had always told her that one never appreciated gifts until they gave and received.
Yukari, ever the curious, and next in the marriage mart asked, "Well, what if she doesn't want to, you know…lose her virginity right then. What would she do?"
"Well, I wouldn't know from experience," all the women laughed, "but, she'll have to definitely touch him a bit to console him. If you please him and confess how scared you are and that you want more time—he'll probably give in. Key is to do your job without doing it."
She stiffened; a job, is that what it was? A miserable job.
"So, you'll lose your virginity."
"If I have to."
"You shouldn't have to do anything," his voice was tight with the slightest edge of roughness. "You wouldn't be breaking any Islamic law if you wanted to wait to get to know your husband."
Her eyes widened, a watercolor of emotions. "Not all men think as you."
"It's simple courtesy. How would this make it any better than sleeping with the blind date?"
She smiled softly, "Humans are hardly perfect."
"I," he looked away, bending down to get a loose paper, "want everything to be perfect for you."
The dark henna designs glistened as they caught light, the paste still relatively wet. Another aunt nudged Hitomi, "You're being so awfully quiet, dear. Is everything alright?"
All of her force concentrated in that one moment as she gave a blinding smile, "Perfectly fine." She changed the subject rapidly before anybody else would comment that she looked pale or any of those tell-tale signs, "Do you think the henna will be dark?"
Hanaan, her aunt, smiled widely, "You know what they say…the darker your henna, the more love there will be in the marriage. So, for your sake, I pray to Allah it will be the darkest ever!"
Yukari rolled her eyes, "Pfft, all that folklore. I think the perfect color is maroon…you know? A few shades darker than saffron, shadowy and passionate." She grinned whimsically.
Darker than saffron, shadowy and passionate. They were his eyes. Van Fanel's eyes.
Sonia, the woman applying the henna turned her head up to look at her, "Do you want his name written on your hand?"
It was too late. His being was written into her soul, engraved, and captured in her mind. Now, no names would change that.
"Sonia," Yukari chided, "that's so juvenile!"
She smiled gratefully at her best friend who gave her the slightest wink, "I agree with Yukari. A simple name on my palm won't make me his."
She'd have to leave her old bonds, there was nothing she could do. She would be wed at this very time tomorrow.
An image formed behind the cover of her eyelids as she blinked. A bold dash of dark hair, henna colored eyes, the smile that was warmer than sunshine…
The sketch was replaced by another, a man with curly hair and dark brown eyes. Her husband-to-be.
Allah help her, because now no being could.
OOOOO
You make everything seem possible,
But my everything is you and I.
And we are not possible.
Moisture.
There were tears in her eyes.
…Hitomi? Your tears are diamonds I never want you to give away for a worthless cause or a worthless person.
A helpless half-cry and half-chuckle formed in her lips. His literature class had made him a poet for one painful year in which everything he seemed to say was poetry. He teased her in this way, concocting horribly written cliché lines to describe her features—though some were, she admitted, sweet.
It hadn't all been a joke. It hadn't been all friendship.
I miss you, she hugged herself, making sure the henna did not stain her white night gown. Her last night being a virgin. What were brides supposed to feel? She certainly felt no happiness, no excitement or giddiness, but just this vague, numb hollowness. Her throat burned. She needed a good cry, yet the prickling tears wouldn't develop into full-fledged ones.
A lonesome, forceful wind blew across the high terrace making her scarf slip away from her hair and gently the strand of which frolicked openly. The night was misty, gray clouds gliding gently, sometimes flirting with the moon that looked down on her almost omnisciently. It was with luck that she had found time and gotten allowance for some privacy. Oh the day…it had been full, so hectic. The laughter in everyone's face was a glaring light that she wished she could turn away from, the congratulatory embraces from cousins and aunts a squeeze closer to death. She felt as if she was dying, all emotions one by one become sucked into a black hole of nothingness.
By Allah, she missed his voice, his laughter, his re-assurances, and his belief in her.
He didn't miss her, that was clear. He wouldn't ever miss her. He was a dream that her mind had created, an impossible fantasy that Allah had cruelly teased her with.
The slow creak of the gate alerted that someone was afoot.
"Who is it?"
"Shh, relax, it's me, Yukari."
Her friend quietly came across and sat beside and together they overlooked the neighborhood. "It's not getting better is it."
It was a statement, not a question.
"It's worsening." Yukari sighed deeply, listening to her friend's reply. She wound her arm around her waist and looked nostalgically at the moon.
"Tomi, do you remember the crazy teenagers were? We had such grand dreams, such big, romantic illusions of a man that would sweep us away."
"I know a man will sweep you away, Yukari. If he doesn't, then I'll have to break his nose." She snaked her arm around her cousin, squeezing her gently. "You still have time."
Yukari laughed, but it was strangely hollow, "No, that's only for beautiful girls, 'Tomi." She thought pensively, "You know what I hate? My mother keeps pushing me for that Ph. D because she knows I won't stand a chance to land a good marriage without it. After all, I don't have the key ingredient: beauty."
"The key ingredient is a beautiful soul and that you have in immense quantities," Hitomi chided faithfully. "I cannot understand why Imran would want to marry me."
"Men haven't evolved so much, girl." She chuckled throatily, "Be it Muslim, they'd rather look at a stunning wife each morning, rather than an ordinary one. Imran, Imran…you know, I've never been able to size him up."
"Well, if you're jealous or envious of gorgeous Dhania," she referred to another cousin, "and her too-handsome husband, please let me assure you that he's no wonder. I swear, if you knocked on his head and listened close, you'd hear an echo. His mind is a Stone Age cave where women are subservient."
A laugh rippled out of her cousin's mouth dissolving into the night. "Good, you're laughing now," Hitomi eyed her dearest cousin with fondness, "I was beginning to think that it was you who was marrying, not me."
"Seriously, you say something funny like that to a man and you'd amuse him! I could never be so…relaxed…with someone I liked."
She rolled her eyes, "That's the sad part, some view us as amusement and petty. Thank Allah, you won't come across that way." She lifted her shoulders in a deep breath, closing her eyes. She wanted to take everything in, the smell of the air, the invisible soft fingers of the wind that skittered across her face like cottony kisses, the moonlight and it's pagan dance melting the boundaries of time so that they were two teens with big eyes, overwhelmed with dreams.
"Hitomi." The brown-haired woman was silent for a moment, "What're you gonna to do about this marriage? Just go on, move on and forget him?"
"What's left to do?" Her throat felt odd.
"But," she spoke loyally, "what you two had was…phenomenal."
"He's not here now." she sighed, frustrated as a wispy strand of hair coming into her eyes, "I'm trying so hard to put him away. For Allah's sake, I'm going to be someone else's wife by tomorrow night! It just seems even…adulterous to even be thinking of him."
"Hitomi—," Yukari titled her cousin's head to face her, "there are some of us who'll never know such love and if you, you, Hitomi Kanzaki let him go because of a few obstacles in life—I will be ashamed of you."
Tears lit her eyes into an ethereal green, "You think it's because of mere obstacles? Yukari, I could never bear it if he had to sacrifice so much for me, I could never bear it if somebody sneered at him, criticized the fact that he didn't speak our language—God, I'm not even sure he would be ready for all he would have to leave, to sacrifice! There are over five hundred guests coming…do you realize the shame our family would feel if I married him now? I would be ruining your chances—I would be ruining everyone's chances at marriage! We'd always be labeled as the family with that shameless, immoral girl who had a past lover!"
There was silence.
An embrace. Yukari held her dearly, so closely, as both shuddered with tears falling in a scalding race. Hitomi's words were warbled, "I p-prayed so much, Yukari, I prayed so much. It didn't work. We weren't meant to be. Allah never does something without good reason."
The brown-eyed girl broke away hastily wiping her tears away, then wiping her cousin's. Her voice crackled, "It's never too late, remember? Nothing is impossible. '…if ye remain firm, and act aright, even if the enemy should rush
here on you in hot haste, your Lord would help you with five thousand angels...'" She smiled through her tears when she quoted the Qur'an, "Your angel has to come, he has to come."
"I wish I had your optimism," she laughed tentatively and took a big sniff to clear her nose.
"You're not going to shed one more tear, alright?" Yukari warned as she wiped one away, "you're going to have eyes as swollen as a frog's neck by tomorrow morning."
She giggled, "And you said that I was funny."
"Whoops, there goes another tear," she brushed the wayward drop away. Her eyes fell upon the nervous girl's face affectionately. Times had changed but beneath all those layers, they were still the same, still hopelessly trying to grasp the dreams of smoke. "Now, close your eyes and just breathe, girl." She paused, "If your love is true in God's eyes, then no force can stop it, not a marriage, no families, no reputations. Did your love ask for your hand in marriage?" Yukari asked softly.
She smiled a bittersweet smile, "He was going to…but it was too late. Father interpreted my silence as a yes when Imran's family's proposal came. How could I reject it? Imran was pleasant, morally upright, handsome, funny—I couldn't foolishly say I was not in love with him. You could say Van and I are just as far apart as the sun and the moon that'll never meet. Cultural and language barriers. He speaks only English and Spanish and is a convert. Father never approved of him."
"Why?"
"If there was a way to describe him—it would be blunt. He's blunt about things, blunt about feelings, about life, about his desires. I was falling in love with him, admiring him, imagining life with him… Father could see it in me. As far as he was concerned, Van," she swallowed, his name sounding so odd on her lips again, "was a temptation, a test by God sent to lure his daughter away into sin. He wasn't even sure if he would even last as a convert."
"Did he…did he ever—"
She smiled, anticipating her friend's question, "No, we never touched if that's what you're going to ask. He never wanted me to sin because of him in any manner…we didn't even hold hands." He didn't need to touch, no, the yearning in his eyes, the flames that dwelled in those maroon orbs soothed her, caressed her.
"He sounds like a dream."
"And what are dreams, Yukari? Illusions that the mind creates," she murmured softly.
That's what he would be reduced to, she thought with a jab of pain, a dream, a hypnotic mirage.
"I refuse to give up for you," her jaw was set in determination.
There were faint lines stretching across the night signaling the approach of morning.
She yawned and as if in understanding, silently both girls stood up.
Before they left the terrace, Hitomi paused to look up at the sky for a moment. She blinked, smiling softly and gently closed the gate.
…Where are you, Van?
OOOO
I see a bright light from the corner of my eyes,
Is it you or a luminous sunbeam?
Is it raining water,
Or the monsoon of my dreams?
Thousands of miles away, maroon eyes cracked open. He blinked rapidly as sunlight poured into his irises.
"Fanel, I was beginning to think you were dead," a languorous voice spoke from a discreet corner.
"Ela'an," he viciously whispered the curse in Arabic, and looked accusingly at his friend, the tall brown-haired man who leaned on the door, "you drugged me." He sprung up, only to suppress a groan; if his muscles could creak with disuse, they would be doing so now.
"If you planned on jumping into a plane, you wouldn't have made it in one piece," his friend pointed out logically.
"How long have I been out?"
"Two days."
He hissed, "I'm late!"
"Van, would you calm down," the man moved away from the door, "this isn't the way to handle the situation. Your body still needs time to repair, you—"
"Damn it, Amano, she'll be married in the next twenty four hours! I wasn't there for her when she left."
Amano Susumei couldn't believe his friend, his partner, had fallen into the lie of love. Love, the word that he had grown to mistrust with good reason, brought nothing more than pain.
"Van, the assignment isn't over yet. You can't leave for India."
"There's nothing more to the assignment than papers…the attack has been deflected, the world is safe and damn it, is it asking too much to go get my life back?" His eyes were wrathful as if it would lend fire to his whole body.
"Fine," the stoic Amano's face softened, "but I'm coming with you."
"You don't need to."
"I insist. You're still vulnerable."
"Vulnerable my ass."
He raised a brow, "If you wanted a confession that I would miss you, sorry buddy, I choose the lesser of two evils. Your tyranny is better than boss' when I tell him where you've gone. So, where are we headed, anyway?"
"Bombay."
OOOOO
Open the door to your dreams,
And you'll find me waiting.
Yukari yawned, half-asleep and drowsy as she lay beside her cousin, "Hmm, Hitomi, you awake?"
"Yeah."
"What if he came for you? What will you do?" She murmured softly.
She blinked, and then closed her eyes as if making the decision final. "It would be too late. I'd tell him to leave."
"What if you accepted, you went away with him? What then?"
"I wouldn't."
"But what if…?" she persisted.
The henna, now dry, allowed her to curl her palms into fists, "Father would kill him first, then himself."
"No really," Yukari spoke seriously.
"Alright, Father would be close to killing Van, then he would kill himself with grief and disappointment over my actions."
"No way out is there?"
"No, afraid not."
"Hitomi? Don't give up your virginity to Imran tomorrow, okay?"
"Given up hope, have you?"
"No," she shrugged it away; "it would kill you if you lost it without feeling any love for him… And if Van isn't for you, God knows, I want you to fall in love with your husband and not think of the treacherous moment you made love to a man you had no feelings for while you loved another."
Specks of henna had fallen off, and under the dim glow of the candle in the room, she observed the color.
Dark maroon, the color of his eyes.
She needed no names on her palm; his soul was tattooed onto her hands and legs.
"Some people love many times…I'm afraid, I'll only love once," she murmured as she fell asleep into her pillow, her hands between the valley of her breasts.
Invisible beings of light, angels whispered their prayers, their voice an airy brush on her skin.
A/N: Some areas have been decidedly left vague. I was getting you just into the picture of the story. Next chapter will be detailed, delving into the mind of Van Fanel and Hitomi Kanzaki and their relationship…and yes, I loved Yukari in this story especially and I wouldn't be able to bear if she did not find her own prince. So, perhaps because of her, the story is a bit extended.
Note that Muslim weddings aren't exactly like this so I don't unwittingly create stereotypes…this is representative of a sort of wedding in my family; so it's more Indian/Asian-Muslim wedding, really. The henna designs are cultural, applied to all brides in India ere their wedding as well as close friends and family of the bride and/or the groom (only females have it done though…). I myself got one of my cousins to apply it this summer on my hands, it was gorgeous (note: if any of you visit India, definitely get it done! It's quite an experience…you never truly appreciate the mobility of your hands and how much you touch with your palms until then coz you have to be let it dry for hours!). And yesss…mine turned into a deep, dark, shadowy maroon. Van's eyes.
Note that the quotation that started the Van scene is not entirely my own creation—it was inspired by a recent Indian movie song lyric which goes something like, "Was it really you or a luminous sunbeam/Was it really you or the monsoon of my dreams?" They've been altered to fit my purposes.
I've already started working on the second part and have two pages done. As for my other stories, I'm getting back on track as soon as possible. You have to realize that I'm not getting paid to write this, and the Muse cannot be controlled however much I'd like it to be, though I do understand completely how much you'd wish I'd finish my stories. But all I can say is…be patient, be patient please!
I didn't get into National Merits but never fear—I took the SATs in February (delayed) and scored a 1280 the first time. :D Math score was abysmal. But the verbal was pretty high for a first time—710. Thank you for all your prayers and all your best-wishes! You guys are awesome!
R&R PLEASE!