The evening air was crisp and biting, and stepping out onto the balcony, the weight of the past at last rolled off my shoulders. Overhead stretched a lovely black expanse of indigo dotted with lights that twinkled like tiny lanterns in the universe. Out there before me then was an unlimited, promising universe—a promise that our life which we fought so desperately to re-gain was now within our grasp.
For as long as I could remember, the villa had been our refuge—a house with all doors shut, all windows guarded, and every passing moment shadowed by the ever-present threat. Now, now that Victor was gone and the shadow of our past fading into memory, the sun-weathered walls of our home were something different. They were not a prison, but a refuge where we could construct a future together. But as I stood gazing out over the serene street below, I knew there was still so much to be done. Our own flesh and blood bruises were never going away, but it would remind us we'd lived, that it kept us in remembrance of victories we'd fought and loved and survived, even in the midst of the worst of our own atrocities.
In the soft light of bedside lamps and quiet thrum of darkness, given way to a thick new morning. I'd spent the morning with Caspian in muted talk, the voice low and restrained as we talked about memories of what we'd lost and more of what we might ever hope to gain. I glimpsed the flash of a smile on his lips—a soft, fleeting smile that seeped into my heart even as I saw unforgiving shadows in his eyes. Every stern glance that flowed between us was laden with meaning: regret for previous mistakes, tacit promises of unyielding loyalty, and the ever-present sense of awareness that our future held what it was destined to hold. Earlier yesterday morning, with the first light coming through the gauzy curtains, Caspian called me out of doors onto the veranda.
Outside in the garden, pale gold and pink of dawn had fallen on everything, and air was thick with scent of jasmine blossoms. I wrapped myself in pale scarf and went out onto cold stone patio, bare feet on soft feel of dewy floor. There was Caspian there, narrowed eyes out towards the horizon as if searching for glint of what tomorrow would bring. When our gaze met, his dark, foreboding features flashed a glimpse of vulnerability I had only seen in him—the kind of face to utter, "I'm willing to start over, though I'm terrified." "Lily," he whispered, closing the distance between us, "each morning I wake up and you're there beside me, I know our future isn't something I'm dreaming—it's real, something we can make together." His voice shook with emotion, and as he curled his fingers around mine, I felt the warmth penetrate me.
I wrapped my fist around his and declared, "I've questioned for so long the worst of everything, but I choose you. I choose us each day, Cass. I believe in what we're building.".
His eyes locked with mine, and I felt the strength of his love—an unpecked, unbreakable promise that, whatever horrors we were to suffer, our love was not to be broken. Between us, the lie, rustle of leaf giving deep breath, and in the distance the silence of the singing birds, an ointment, reminding us life, its loveliness, its vulnerability, lay but just beyond our door.
We started our morning in the kitchen, a space that had been too long a battleground of stress and worry.
But today, in the grey light of dawn, it was a source of hope and still happiness. I grinned at Caspian, who came up to stand beside me, peeling oranges and singing a quiet tune that I had never heard. The mere fact that we even had breakfast—scrambled eggs with salt, toast toast, and a black coffee in a pot—was a triumph of our survival. With each stolen glance as we walked abreast in the kitchen was an unspoken evidence of coming alive. You look lovely today, Lily," Caspian panted, sweeping a lock of hair from my forehead with a caressing touch. His dark eyes fringed with untidy hair struggled with mine in one burst of fierce passion that left me achingly aware of being understood, truly understood. I blushed, racing heart thumping, looking back into his eyes, feeling the pent-up passion that had been piled up between us in so much hurt.
We stayed on the balcony with coffee cups at breakfast, while the garden came alive in a vortex of color and light.
Rose petals sparkled with dew and the ancient oak creaked gently in the wind. I reclined on Caspian, my cheek against his shoulder as we discussed dreams for tomorrow—a tomorrow of ordinary miracles: languid sun-kissed afternoons spent devouring books, serene nights with friends, and untroubled walks that are free from the insidious black in every black waiting for us in the shadows. "Do you ever wonder," I whispered softly, "if ever we can ever leave the past behind?
Caspian's own soft eyes gentled as he looked at me. "I don't think we can ever recall, Lily," he replied honestly. "But maybe, with each new morning breaking, we learn to live with our wounds, to regard them not as weights but as the evidence of our existence—testimony that we existed and endured.".
I nodded, throat closing up at memory of all those dreadful nights. "I'd like to think so," I could force out, attempting to talk above my restricted, choked-up throat. "I'd like to think that what we've got here today, and not what occurred before, will build our life together as a couple.".
We were roused by the soft tap on the door—a noise, in the stillness of that morning, that was both intruding and inviting. Caspian stepped back to open it, and I heard the growling greeting of a neighbor's voice before he returned, his head shaking with a small smile. It was a reminder that there was more beyond our walls, that even after all of that, life was still comprised of mundane, beautiful moments.