PROLOGUE
He leans over the balcony to stare down at the street below, a smirk playing on his lips. He seems unfazed by the strong wind that rushes between us, but then grabs my hand in his and brings it to his chest. I look at him now, feeling the urge to cry, but hold back. His expression mirrors my own – pain. Without letting go of my hand, he leans over again, a bit further this time and I stretch out my free hand to grab his blue polo shirt. If he fell over, I couldn’t stop it, but the compulsion to hold onto him is there regardless.
He stands straight, his dark grey hair windswept and messy. He’s gotten so old since I last saw him and my hand squeezes in his grip. He stares ahead at the apartment buildings across the street, impassive as though he’s retreated into himself. His salt and pepper stubble has grown out and the wrinkles on his tanned skin have deepened. I used to trace the lines with my index finger when I was little and he would feign offence, claiming he wasn’t that old, but we all knew better. He always grappled with the regret of having us later in his life – feeling as though he was missing out on our futures. He wasn’t wrong.
“You’ll have to forgive me,” he breathes. His voice is strained and I struggle to hear him over the loud gusts of wind.
“For what?”
He looks at me, his amber eyes glossy. “You know.”
I shake my head.
He lets out a deep, shaky sigh and pulls me into his broad chest, holding me as though the wind will pick me up and take me far away from him. I breathe him in, remembering his cologne, his smell, and close my eyes, wishing I could stay here forever. He presses his stubbled chin to my head and sighs again.
“Amal,” he says, his voice low. “I can’t let you go yet.”
“Don’t,” I murmur into his chest, now holding onto him just as tightly. “It’s okay. I forgive you.”
He pulls away despite my protest, leaning back to study my face. I want to shy away, feeling too exposed under his gaze, but he holds me still. He glances down at the street one more time and then steps away, the warmth of his touch gone with him.
He smiles with sad eyes – an apology. “I will always love you, Amal. In every lifetime. But in this one,” he groans softly as though in pain, “it wasn’t enough. Forgive me.”
Confusion sets in as his words ring in the air. When he leans over the balcony again, a white-knuckled grip on the railing, my eyes widen as realisation kicks in. I lunge for him, fear coursing through my veins, but my fists grip onto nothing and I’m surrounded by the darkness of my near empty bedroom, panting and sweating, cold and alone.
