Her feet pounded into the pavement. The grey skies lighted her way, and her breath fanned out in front of her like a pale fog. Laila had barely slept all night. Every time she closed her eyes, an image of that night and the swinging lightbulb flashed underneath her eyelids. Except now, new images joined in. She winced as she recalled last night's newest dream, an image of a wall exploding, Percy screaming and cradling Fred's body, the light gone from Fred's eyes. She sighed shakily, continuing to run in the crispy morning London air. As soon as the clock hit 5:00 AM, Laila had written a brief note to Patrick and Teresa before dashing out the door.
Running had always been a solace and escape for her. It grounded her and gave her relief from her thoughts. Unfortunately, it was not working as well now. Rookwood's file continued to haunt her, especially the images of his victims and the detailed descriptions of his crimes. Laila had read a lot of criminal records, but none as personal as this one felt. And she didn't know what to make of the feelings going through her head.
The sky had finally started to lighten, and Laila began to slow down. The fatigue and exhaustion from not sleeping well was slowly starting to set in, and her legs felt like lead. Her body began to tremble, and she grabbed onto a lamp post to steady herself. Luckily, her eyes landed on a bench a few metres away, and she grasped onto the handles of the bench, her legs giving out underneath her as she took a seat. A few tears leaked out of her eyes, and Laila touched her cheek in slight shock before giving into her emotions. Her face crumpled, and she began to quietly cry in the deserted street.
After a few minutes, Laila hastily wiped her face and glanced at her watch. It was a little after 6 AM, and she needed to be getting back. She stood up and walked through the winding streets of London, coming across a small cafe. She bought a few bagels and muffins along with some hot coffee. The bagels smelled wonderful and reminded her of home. She apparated back to her flat, setting the items on the kitchen counter and placing a warming charm on the breakfast items. Pale sunlight was starting to stream through the blinds, and Laila stepped closer to the window, gazing outside. London was starting to awaken, and the sounds of cabs and horns flooded into her flat.
Teresa's and Patrick's door was still closed. Laila rubbed her eyes, deciding to take a shower before she had to be at the Burrow at 10 AM. The water droplets rippled off her skin, and she stared as they dropped onto the tiled floor. Her eyes landed on the jagged scar across her abdomen, tracing the sharp edges that had become a part of her skin. Her hands began to shake, and she felt the onset of a flashback. Laila pressed her hands against the wall, needing to feel the coolness of the tiles. She began to count, trying to regulate her breathing and focus on the moment. It worked. Her breathing started to slow down, and Laila felt her stiff body beginning to relax.
Well, I guess my therapist was right. Deep breathing can work. With that thought, she stepped out of the shower and into the foggy warmth of her bathroom. She used a cloth to wipe away the fog that had clouded her mirror. Her reflection stared back at her, the image of a young woman with pale eyes surrounded by dark circles and wet, dark hair. She sighed and focused on getting ready, concentrating every last drop of her energy to make herself look presentable.
Mrs. Weasley's handmade jumper was sprawled on the washroom counter, and Laila picked it up. It was a beautiful burgundy colour with a golden "L" embroidered in the centre. Laila stroked the golden embroidery absent-mindedly before putting on the jumper. The warmth from the jumper engulfed her like a hug, and she wrapped her arms around herself, shivering. Thick, winter leggings completed her look, and Laila stepped into her room. Rookwood's files were stacked in a neat pile on her desk, and Laila pursued her lips in frustration. Deciding to ignore them for the moment, she stepped outside to the kitchen, to be met with smiles from Teresa and Patrick.
"Merry Christmas!" Teresa wrapped Laila in a quick hug, a huge smile on her face. Patrick followed suit, "Merry Christmas, Laila! Thank you for breakfast."
Laila smiled, "Merry Christmas! I didn't feel like cooking anyways, so I figured coffee and bagels would make everyone happy."
"Appreciate the decaf," Teresa lifted her cup.
"What were you doing up so early this morning," Patrick bit into his bagel while watching Laila carefully.
"Nothing, I just felt like going for a run," Laila shrugged. She glanced at the clock. It was almost 7:00 AM, and she had almost two more hours to kill before they had to be at the Burrow. She would need to call her dad and sisters in the next few hours to wish them a merry Christmas. She was excited to call her sisters, but a tight ball of dread began to grow in her gut at the thought of calling her father. Who knew what kind of mood he would be in? Would he be drunk out of his mind, reminiscing about her mother? Or by any chance would he be sober and excited to hear her voice?
"Since when did you start getting up so early to go running?" Patrick's voice pulled her from her spiralling thoughts.
"I always run in the mornings! You know that."
Patrick raised his eyebrows, "Not at 5 AM. This is a first, even for you."
Laila shrugged, "Wedding jitters." She attempted a half-hearted joke, and she knew her mentor would not fall for it.
Patrick scrunched his eyebrows, but Laila saw Teresa give him a subtle kick. Thankfully, Patrick got the hint and immediately piped down.
"What time do we have to be at the Weasleys' home?" Teresa tactfully changed the subject, focusing on a question that allowed Laila to put her combating emotions to the side, for the moment.
"10 AM"
Teresa glanced at the digital clock on the stove. "Well, I got a nice night's sleep, and I-"
A loud tap drowned out Teresa's words. Laila turned to see a tiny screech owl pecking at her window. Hastily, she stepped around Patrick and opened the window. The owl dropped a letter into Laila's hands before spreading his wings and dashing out into the tumble of grey clouds.
She opened the letter deftly, scanning the contents.
Laila,
Please come to Azkaban as soon as you get this. Ron will meet you by the ferry.
Harry
She frowned briefly before tucking the letter into her pocket. Laila grabbed her jacket and tucked her wand into the outer pocket.
"What is it?" Patrick gazed at her intently.
"Harry sent me a letter to meet him in Azkaban. I'm meeting Ron by the ferry. He'll escort me to the prison."
Patrick frowned in confusion.
"I'll be fine," she reassured him and Teresa. "If I'm not back in time, head to the Burrow without me."
She apparated before either of them could get another word in.
One minute, she was surrounded by the warmth of her flat. Then, she was surrounded by a heavy wind originating from the cold waters surrounding Azkaban island. The cold dark grey waters swirled in white-crested waves, lapping on the mainland and the prison island.
A loud crack pulled Laila from her thoughts, and she turned to see Ron walking towards her.
"Merry Christmas," she greeted. "Hell of a way to spend Christmas morning."
"You said it," Ron shrugged. He gestured for Laila to get on the ferry, and it sped away quickly towards the prison. The wind nipped at Laila, and she tugged her long coat around her body, regretting not bringing her warm gloves.
"Do you have any idea what is going on?" she asked.
Ron shook his head. "Harry didn't tell me much. But it can't be any good if he wants you to see it too."
Laila pursed her lips and turned her attention to the fast-approaching prison. They were greeted at the door by a worn-looking Harry. His eyes were bloodshot behind his glasses, and his hair was sticking up at every angle.
"Merry Christmas," he said rather wryly.
"What's happened?" Laila asked. Her question hung in the air as Harry hesitated to answer. He led her and Ron through the different cells. The dark spirit of Azkaban pervaded through the concrete walls, and she shivered as she gazed at the long ceilings and narrow hallways. She had only been here once before, and that had been more than enough. Harry eventually came to an abrupt stop in front of the entrance of a large open room.
"This is the dining area for the prisoners," Harry responded quietly. "I got an owl this morning that one of the prisoners, a Death Eater, had been murdered."
Laila blinked, trying to process this information. "But…how? Everything is guarded so carefully."
Harry led her and Ron towards the body. A tall, skinny man with a grey uniform was face-down, lying in a pool of his own blood. Laila had seen quite a few bodies in her career, and it never got any easier. It was worse when innocent people were killed, but even a Death Eater did not deserve to be murdered in such a horrific manner.
The entire room was a mess. Chairs and tables were strewn about, and scraps of food painted the concrete walls in poor imitations of abstract art. A disgusting stench lingered in the room, and it was strongest in one particular corner.
"Jesus Christ," she murmured, looking down at the body. "Who is it? And do you know what happened?"
"It's Amycus Carrow."
Laila jerked her head up in shock at Harry's words. Carrow? Her memory flitted back to Joanna, the young witch who had been tortured and assaulted by this man who was now dead before her.
"Bloody hell." Ron let out a low whistle and shook his head in disgust, "Can't say that the bastard didn't have it coming."
"How was he killed?" Laila asked.
"Stabbed with a sharpened knife. A fight broke out between two prisoners, and by the time the guards had pulled everyone back, they saw Carrow was dead." Harry bent down closer to inspect Carrow's body.
"And the murder weapon?"
"Not recovered," Ron answered. "The guards said they are doing a search right now, but they haven't found it yet. They're keeping all of the prisoners locked up in their cells 24/7 until they can trace the weapon and find the killer."
"Well, I can't imagine anyone is happy about working on Christmas to figure out who murdered one of Voldemort's loyal followers," Laila replied.
"They're taking his body to be examined, and we'll gather as much evidence as we can for now. We should have more information by Tuesday next week," Ron said.
"What can I do to help?" Laila asked. "I know I will wait until you gather all of the evidence before prosecuting, but if you need any help in your investigation, let me know."
"What was the name of the witness who was reluctant to talk to you? The one who was tortured by Carrow?" Harry asked.
Laila hesitated, "Joanna, but we have a huge list of people who he hurt. There are many who probably wanted him dead."
"Well, they got their Christmas wish," Ron snorted.
Laila frowned at Ron's comment, but chose not to respond. She understood his sentiment, but it was definitely not the best place to be making this comment. Instead, she steered the conversation in a different direction.
"I'll get working on any subpoenas you may need. If you run into any hurdles, owl me right away."
The two young Aurors nodded.
"Does the Minister know?" Laila asked.
Harry nodded, "He was the one who informed me about this."
Laila pursed her lips. "Once you get the medical report, please let me know. I think it could help find the motive for the crime and the killer if we figure out how exactly he died."
She turned towards Ron, "Do you need any help interviewing the guards and other witnesses?"
Ron shook his head. "The Aurors who are working on Christmas have already started. At the moment, there is nothing left for us to do. I vote that we go back to the Burrow and wait until Tuesday for the report before continuing the investigation."
Laila raised her eyebrows, "You don't think the leads will fade a bit if you start later?"
Ron snorted, "Not if these Aurors do their job properly. Besides, Laila, I'm not too keen on finding out who did this to Carrow anyways. The wanker lucked out."
She was at a loss for words. While she didn't disagree with Ron, this type of vigilante justice could very easily cross the line.
"Ron," Harry spoke out quietly. "Come on, mate. That kind of thinking won't get us anywhere."
Ron rolled his eyes, "Harry, these people don't deserve anything from us. I'll do my job, but I won't go the extra mile for a Death Eater."
Then, he turned to Laila, "I heard something about Rookwood trying to get out of his prison sentence?"
Laila looked at him in surprise, "Yes, I was informed yesterday. But how did you…?"
"Dad told me," Ron replied bluntly. "I don't think he meant to. I overheard him talking to Mum and Fred late last night. He also said you would do everything in your power to stop it."
"Of course I will," Laila snapped. Not sleeping hadn't helped her temper, and she instantly regretted her tone.
Deciding to soften her approach she continued, "I spent all night looking over his files. I'm going to do this by the book, Ron. I don't want his barrister to get him out on a legal technicality. Another prosecutor will be handling this case directly because of my conflict of interest with Fred, but I promise I will do everything I can."
Ron didn't respond before a few minutes, choosing to nod instead. "I'm sorry if that came out wrong. I wasn't trying to offend you or anything. It's just…that bastard almost killed Fred."
Laila nodded, "I understand."
They were all quiet for a moment, the darkness of Azkaban seeping into their conversation.
"Well," Harry broke the silence. "I'm going to interview some of the guards and see if I can get some information. We still have plenty of time before we have to be at the Burrow."
"I'll join you," Laila chimed in,
Ron hesitated, his jaw tightening for a second, "Well I guess it couldn't hurt."
They spent the next hour interviewing the guards and prisoners. Unfortunately, they did not learn that much.
"I spoke with some of the guards," Harry said. "They're still doing a thorough search of the prison to find the murder weapon. In the meantime, I'm hoping we'll learn more once they do an autopsy of Carrow's body."
"Alright, well I guess there's nothing we can do at the moment," Laila sighed. She glanced at her watch. It was almost 9 AM. She waved goodbye to Ron and Harry once the ferry docked at the mainland, apparating back to her flat.
It was eerily quiet, and Laila did not see Teresa or Patrick anywhere. She noticed a note in a slanted script had been placed on the fridge, and she made her way towards it.
Laila,
We went over to the Burrow some time after you left. See you soon.
Teresa
She whooshed out a breath she had been holding in for a while and sat down on her kitchen counter. The coffee and bagels she bought this morning were still warm. Taking out a butter knife, Laila lathered cream cheese on a salt bagel and took an enormous bite. The taste reminded her of home, and she immediately relaxed, enjoying her small breakfast in relative silence. Until a knock at the door interrupted her mid-bite.
Laila swallowed the last bite of her bagel and cautiously made her way towards the door. Her morning at Azkaban had left her even more on edge, and her hands were shaking. She stood on her tiptoes and peeped into the hole and saw a familiar lanky ginger on the other side. Without hesitation, Laila opened the door and was met with Fred's wry smile.
"Happy Christmas," he said, entering her flat and closing the door behind him.
"We say 'Merry Christmas' where I'm from." Laila quirked an eyebrow at him. Fred's mere presence was enough to calm her down. Her hands had stopped shaking, and she felt her breathing returning to normal. Her heart was no longer racing in her chest, and a sense of calm took over her.
Fred grinned, "Last I checked you were living in London, Vikander."
He was wearing his matching Christmas jumper, a gold "F" decorating its centre. Tucking his hands into his pockets, Fred gazed at Laila intently, "Alright?"
She blinked, not sure how to respond. "Honestly, I don't know."
Fred's eyes softened, "Dad told me about Rookwood and the letter-"
Laila interrupted, "Sorry, I meant to tell you yesterday. But I didn't want to tell you before I had all of the facts, but in retrospect I should have something."
He shot her an amused look. "You apologise a lot, and you ramble when you're nervous." Fred took a few steps closer to Laila and gently squeezed her shoulder. "Relax, Laila. It's not the end of the world. Dad isn't worried. He said you have a plan to handle it."
Laila let out a shaky sigh, "Sorry, I-" She laughed when she realised Fred was right. She was apologising a lot.
She corrected herself before starting over. "I don't have an exact idea yet of what reason he will give to appeal his sentence. From my experience, he could try and argue he didn't have adequate counsel from his lawyer or he could argue that he was under the influence of the Imperius curse and was only 'following orders'"
Fred snorted, "The classic Death Eater excuse."
Laila looked grim, "Sadly, the only way to disprove that is too unethical to try. We'll have to find evidence to contradict his claims or break him on the stand. That man knew exactly what he was doing."
Fred nodded, "Ron said something about Carrow getting murdered in Azkaban today."
"Yes," Laila sighed. "The Aurors at the prison are collecting evidence now to figure out how this happened and who could have killed him."
Fred raised his eyebrow, "Merlin, they'll have a long list of names to look through. Who didn't want Carrow dead."
"Yeah, I guess you're right."
Laila bit her bottom lip before continuing, "This stays between you and me, okay?"
Fred smirked slightly, "Vikander has a secret. Do tell, I have to alert the press and send Rita Skeeter an owl."
Laila smiled despite herself and shook her head in quiet amusement. "As much as I hate to say it, if this goes back to someone who was tortured by the Carrow siblings, I don't blame them. I don't know what I would have done in their shoes. And honestly, I don't know if I could prosecute them, even though I logically know there is a danger to vigilante justice."
Fred didn't reply for a second. "I don't think that makes you a bad lawyer. It just means you're human. You can see that everything is not so black and white. And I think you do know what it means to be in the shoes of Carrow's victims."
The unspoken question hung in the air like a taut thread between them. Laila was silent, not knowing what she could say. Should she acknowledge what Fred was indirectly asking? Or was it better to let the past rest?
She decided on the former. If she was going to be marrying this man, he might as well know the full truth.
"The Death Eaters who attacked me were convicted and put into prison. But quite honestly, if I could kill them and get away with it, I don't know what I would do."
Her blunt statement hung in the air for a while, and neither of them spoke for a minute. Fred chose to break the ice first, "Have you ever told anyone else about this? Your family?"
Laila shook her head. "Patrick is the only one who knows besides you. And my family-"
She choked slightly on the last word, a half-sob stuck in her throat. She shook her head and desperately tried to change the subject. "It doesn't matter. It was in the past, and I really don't want to talk about it."
"Alright," Fred murmured quietly. He stepped closer to Laila and gently cradled his hand on her cheek. She looked up and was met with his warm brown eyes, and she felt her face starting to crumple.
Fred engulfed her in a fierce hug, and she buried her face in his shoulder, tears spilling out of her eyes and into the scratchy wool of his sweater. She felt the tension leaving her stiff muscles, the pain in her legs from her run was slowly starting to leave her. When the tears finally stopped, Laila stepped back and hastily wiped her eyes.
"I really need to stop crying on you," she let out a wet laugh from the tears clogging her throat.
"Lucky for you, I dry very fast," Fred gave her a gentle smile.
Her lips twitched, and she shook her head in fake exasperation.
"Come on," Fred gently nudged her. "Mum's waiting. It's Christmas, and your flat is not creative enough to sustain me."
"This is coming from the man who designs pranks for a living? I thought you got your creative juices from the inside?"
Fred wrinkled his nose in slight disgust, "We really need to work on your word choice. My inner muse will only wilt the longer we stay here."
Laila shot him a glare, "Well then I guess I won't be cooking dinner for you tonight if my flat is subpar based on your very high standards."
Fred sighed, "See that is where your logic fails you. Once we get out of here, I will have enough time to expose my inner muse to the festivities of Christmas. Then by the time we come back here, I won't need to worry about bringing my creativity down."
"Right…" Laila rolled her eyes. "Let's go. There's never any winning with you."
"And see, this brings me back to George's point. I don't know how you became so successful as a barrister when you can't overcome my own logical agreements."
Shooting Fred an exasperated look, Laila grabbed his arm and apparated with him to the Burrow.
The banter with Laila had rejuvenated her, and she was grateful to spend the next few hours with the Weasleys eating, laughing, and sharing stories. It had been a long time since she had felt part of a family, and being with Fred's family and seeing her mentor had filled her with warmth and happiness. But there was a darker side of her that kept scratching to get out. A side that warned her this would not last, but for the time being, she chose to ignore it. She had locked that side of hers in a prison so deep that not even a key would be of any help. But the occasional pains in her gut would remind her of that omniscient presence that always seemed to linger in the shadows.
As the gathering started to wind down and everyone went home, Patrick pulled Laila to the side.
"Listen, Teresa and I will be heading up to Scotland for the night. She has an old friend she wants to see, but we'll be back tomorrow. Something about a dress fitting?" Patrick said.
"Oh gosh," Laila sighed. "Don't remind me. I've barely started planning the wedding and am already exhausted. I wouldn't mind just going to the Ministry, signing the papers, and getting it all over with."
Patrick grinned, "Teresa would kill you before letting that happen."
Laila chuckled. "Yeah, you're not wrong there."
They were quiet for a moment, and Patrick leaned his hand over and squeezed her shoulder briefly. "You okay, there kid? I know a lot happened today."
Laila sighed, "I'm just so mentally exhausted, but this was nice." She gestured around here. "Just being here with everyone, it felt really great. I feel a lot better."
She gave Patrick a genuine smile, "I don't think I've ever thanked you for how much you've done for me. I'm so grateful to have learned so much from you, and I've become who I am thanks in huge part to you"
"Hey now," Patrick gave Laila a quick side hug. "None of that, you hear? Your own hard work and dedication is the reason you've come so far. You've overcome a lot of obstacles, and you deserve to be happy, for a change."
He gave a loud sigh, "To be honest, kiddo. I'm glad that law brought you here. Staying back home and constantly worrying about your dad was starting to weigh on your mental health. You deserve to take care of yourself and be happy."
Laila bit her lip, "You sound like my sisters."
Patrick gave a wry smile, "You come from a family of very smart women. Have you spoken to them yet?"
Laila hesitated, "Yes. I called Aziza and Mehek to wish them a merry Christmas. They said they should be here in the next couple of days to help out with everything."
She paused, looking down at her hands before continuing. "I tried calling Baba, but there was no answer."
Patrick pursed his lips, wisely not saying anything.
"I just…he made me breakfast the morning I was supposed to come here, and everything seemed so normal. He talked and made a few jokes with me, and it was like he was my dad before Mom…" Laila shook her head and furiously blinked away the tears that were stinging her eyes.
Patrick gave her a gentle smile, "None of this is your fault, Laila."
"I know, but the truth doesn't hurt any less." She let out a shaky breath.
She no longer wanted to talk about her father anymore. Switching gears, she decided to get some hopefully helpful advice. "Fred and I are having dinner tonight. I was going to cook for him and was thinking of making naan, butter chicken, malai kofta, and pakoras. The curry base for the butter chicken and malai kofta is ready. I spent a few hours simmering it, and I just need to add more flavour to it before making those two dishes. And then everything else shouldn't take too long."
Patrick coughed, trying to conceal a laugh. "Laila, all of that sounds great. Just make sure the spice level is tolerable. Remember, your definition of mild is very different from mine or Fred's."
Laila glared, "That was one time over three years ago! And I had a cold, so I couldn't taste the daal!"
Patrick laughed, "I'm just teasing you. I'm sure he'll love it."
He smiled at her gently before giving her a quick hug. Laila's eyes followed as he walked away to give his wife a quick hug, bending down to her ears to whisper something to her.
Laila smiled and began her rounds of saying goodbye to everyone before apparating back to her flat. She had some cooking to get done, and she spent the next several hours in the kitchen, making sure everything tasted great. Like running, cooking was also a stress relief for her, and she immediately felt herself starting to relax as she put the finishing touches on all of the dishes.
Towards the end, she had just enough time to shower and look presentable before Fred was due to arrive. If this was supposed to be a dinner dinner, Laila decided there was no harm in looking somewhat nice. Thus, she chose to put on a deep red dress her oldest sister had gifted her last Christmas. It was the perfect colour, given the season, and it was also comfortable to wear.
And then she waited. Luckily, she did not have to wait long. Within seconds, the doorbell started ringing, and she opened the door to a smiling Fred carrying a huge box.
She glanced quizzically at the box.
Fred grinned, "It's red velvet cake from a bakery near the shop. They make the best cakes and pastries. I figured I might as well bring dessert since you don't drink."
Her mouth dropped, "You're joking. I love red velvet cake. How did you decide to get this flavour?"
Laila took the box from Fred and placed it on the counter along with the other dishes she had made.
"I asked Teresa," Fred shrugged. "She said something about you fantasising about her homemade red velvet cake, which I've got to say Vikander, is a bit concerning, even for you."
Laila put up her hands in mock defence, "Hey, don't come for my love of sweets. Just because I have better taste than you."
Fred laughed, "Alright, alright. I'll put away the comments. But just now, if you ever want to talk, I'm here for you." His typical British accent morphed into a soothing American one in the last sentence as he dramatically placed his hands over Laila's, giving her an exaggeratedly sympathetic look.
She rolled her eyes and began organising the food. "While you're wasting time parroting to be an American, I'm going to start eating."
He chuckled and walked around the counter, pointing at each of the dishes. "What did you end up cooking?"
Laila took a few moments, explaining what each dish was as they piled their plates and walked over to the dining table. The conversation continued as they began to laugh and talk while eating, and Laila felt her guard starting to slip before she noticed.
When there was a lull in the conversation, Fred spoke up. "Listen, I wanted to run something by you."
Laila turned her body to face Fred, "Was the food too spicy?" she joked.
He smiled, "No it was perfect."
The tips of Fred's ears became slightly red, and he ran a hand through his bright hair. She felt her body becoming tense, every muscle ready to spring into action. But she forced herself to wait until Fred was ready to talk.
"Angelina said she knew about your past." At Laila's brief nod, Fred continued, "She said we can apply for an exception for more time, if you want, about the consummation part."
Fred's ears and entire face flushed a bright red, and he rubbed the back of his neck in slight embarrassment. Laila blinked, surprised to see him bashful all of a sudden.
"I-I appreciate that," she cleared her throat before continuing. "I think we can apply for a maximum of six months, which I think should be fine."
She felt her face starting to twitch from embarrassment, "I can start the paperwork for that this week. Thank you for being open to this."
Fred looked up in surprise, "Of course, what kind of wanker wouldn't be? Well actually, I can think of one."
Laila bit back a smile and shook her head at Fred's retort. He certainly was brash, and for the most part, didn't hold back.
"Mum said something about you going shopping tomorrow for dresses?"
Laila cocked her head in amusement, "Are you extending an invite for yourself? Last I checked it was bad luck for the groom to see the bride in wedding dresses before the actual nuptials."
"Vikander, once again, I am surprised that I have to be the one to educate you on using logic and rational thought. Your belief in old witch's tales is concerning, especially because your career relies on facts and common sense. Not to mention, you're older than me and theoretically should know better."
Laila sighed, "You need to find a better comeback, Fred. This one is getting old fast. Besides, I'm five months older than you."
Fred grinned, "Well, are you open to my input, then?"
Laila leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms, "Alright, wiseass. Fire away."
He touched his chest in mock outrage, "Oh the pain. You're killing me."
At Laila's glare, Fred laughed and became serious. "Are you sticking to the traditional white or are you thinking of red for your culture?"
Laila was briefly stunned. The thought hadn't even crossed her mind. "I guess I was planning on wearing white for the actual wedding, but I would love to incorporate some Indian elements into the reception and wear a traditional red saree or lengha choli for that part. That's honestly a good idea! Oh and mehndi, or henna, whatever floats your boat. I'm sure all the women would love getting their hands done!"
She became more excited and animated, gesturing with her hands as the vision of the ceremony began to take shape in her head.
Fred watched her with a look of tenderness on his face, a look that she was completely oblivious too.
"Seriously, Fred, that was a great idea. Thank you for the inspiration." She shot him a wide smile.
He returned it before hesitating and reaching into his back pocket. Laila froze as he pulled out a small velvet box.
He cleared his throat before speaking. "I know we're doing this all wrong, but I still want to do this right, as much as I can."
Fred opened the box to reveal a light blue sapphire ring centred around two smaller diamonds.
"My Uncle Gideon bought this ring for his fiancee, Marlene McKinnon. It was the last thing he had of hers after she died, and then less than a month later, he was also killed with his twin."
Laila waited with baited breath as Fred continued. "He left the ring to my mum, and she gave it to me yesterday. She said she couldn't think of anyone else who would be more suited to it, and quite frankly, I agree."
Laila stared at the ring in shock, her brain still processing what was going on. Fred must have mistaken her silence for something else because he immediately began to backtrack. "If you don't like it or-"
"No, no," she stopped him quickly. "Sorry, I just-I was a little slow in processing what you just said."
She bit her lip, "It's beautiful, Fred, and I'm honoured that you think I'm worthy of it."
Fred smiled, "Is this the part where I get down on my knee?"
Laila laughed, "No, you foolish man. You can put it on me." She watched as he slipped the finger onto her left hand before she pulled him in for a quick hug. The words she was trying to say were still lodged in her throat, and she squeezed him tightly, hoping that he understood all of the feelings she could not yet verbalise. He must have because Fred squeezed her back, and they stayed like that for a while before Laila extricated herself from him.
"Ready to help with the dishes?"