All I could hear was the soft breeze of wind. Inside my mind, all I was thinking was that if he didn't want to talk then, why bring me here? The silence got louder until I thought to break it. The words were stuck on the back of my throat.
I am sitting on the edge of the chair like it might vanish under me. The ground was so cold though I was wearing the heel. I couldn't look into his eyes, so I started looking at the flowers instead. It felt safer.
But even then, even in that muted corner of my gaze, he was present, he filled everything.
His eyes, they are perfectly grey, like storm clouds waiting to fall. His nose, his lips, they are too flawless for a man like him, a man so cruel. He was melting my heart in all the wrong ways. If it's for this man, I could fall through the sky over and over again just seeing him like this, knowing it meant nothing to him. No... Nothing.
My heart, it's pounding. Maybe it was too loud that he could hear it as well, reckless and untamed. If it continues like this, then it might leap out of my chest to tell him everything I wouldn't say. My hands trembled as I reached for the glass of water. The water began to splash out of the cup, but still I held it tighter, like it was my own life that was falling.
The cup didn't fall.
He caught it.
And for the first time, our hands touched. My fingers brushed his, oh dear god! His skin was cold and steady, while mine were trembling. But for me, for a girl who always lived in the depths of her fantasies, that touch was the sound of a world cracking open, something that's just going to begin. A touch like that could mean everything.
And somehow, it broke me. Maybe I'm just too fragile; maybe it's just because of that contract; maybe it's because of the past. Or it's just for him.
Too softly, I said, "You still prefer silence."
Finally, I gather the courage to utter those four words. He didn't look at me. His voice came low, clipped, "Silence has its peace, some things grow better in it."
His voice affects me too hard, so do his words. They landed like glass against my skin.
He turned then, slowly. His eyes, they are still the same, unreadable, cold and purely mesmerising. They were saying that you can't break through me.
"Love?" I whispered.
He didn't blink, he was staring at me like he was looking inside my soul.
I swallowed, then breathed in the ache.
"Regret, sweetheart," he said like it was the only pain he was hiding inside for too long.
"Don't call me that, like you care. Like my father." I said
He tilted his head a fraction. "Then what should I call you?"
He raised his eyebrows, My love or my ruin?" His voice came back smooth.
I don't know why he's mocking me. "Whatever you want." I look away because his words... some words don't heal. They reverberate in places too raw to hold.
"Why me?" I asked finally. "Why offer to marry me now, after everything?"
He took a breath, deep and slow, he came closer. "Didn't you like me, love?"
My chest froze.
"I gave you a choice," he continued. "To save your family. That's all."
My throat tightened. I flinch from his words because they were too cruel to be handled by a girl like me, who is too fragile in front of this man. No... No, I hadn't come here to cry, not again. But standing in this garden, so eerily perfect, too quiet, too arranged, I could feel the pieces that had broken me in the past. The pain I had buried stirred again.
Maybe he was mocking me. Maybe he wasn't. I didn't know anymore.
"This garden", I said, changing the subject because staying on that path hurt too much, "it's perfect."
He didn't answer right away. I saw the faintest flicker of emotion in his gaze, but then they vanished completely.
"All controlled things are perfect, love," he said, his voice calm and detached, just like the quiet after a storm. "Beauty... it doesn't survive chaos."
Bittersweet lingered in the air. Maybe it was not just about the roses, it was about me.
I look at him. "Then what's the point of it?" I asked. "If it only lasts when caged?"
He gave a faint, unreadable smile. "That's the point, love. You never let it live wild, or you watch it die."
Maybe he was talking about love all this time. He was warning me that, in his eyes, love like that wild flower doesn't survive unless it's restrained. Maybe in his eyes, letting love be free means risking its destruction. He is the kind of man who thinks the only way of love is to "keep". Holding it back, controlling it, and not giving in fully just because he's afraid it will fall apart if left unguarded.
I was assuming all those perceptions from his one sentence.
"I used to dream of wild roses," I said, almost to myself. "Where nothing was chosen. Everything just... grew."
"And were you happy in that dream?" he asked.
"I was free."
"And now?" he said.
I look into his eyes. "Now I'm yours. So, I suppose freedom is a forgotten story."
His jaw twitched, but he said nothing.
"Let's get inside." He stood and walked ahead and I followed him. The house opened up, grand and cold. He passed the grand staircase, clicking sound of my heels were the only sounds echoing through the walls. The walls, they were lined with portraits of people who looked as emotionless as him.
He stopped at a room.
"This is yours," he said. "Guest room".
"Guest?" My voice echoed. If he had skipped that guest word and only said, it's my room, then it would have been nice.
He didn't reply. Just turned and walked away.
I stood at the door, looking into the room. It is beautiful and perfect but empty. Like it was designed for someone who was never meant to stay.
And maybe that was me, a guest in my own fate. A guest in his life.
Let it be; I can fill this room, in a year, with my stuff.