The mansion was alive with noise. Relatives bustled in and out of rooms like bees in a hive—carrying garlands of jasmine, trays of sherbet, bundles of silk, and endless laughter that bounced off the walls. From the courtyard, the beat of a drum echoed in short bursts as a group of men tested rhythms for the upcoming night.
Linda sat cross-legged on the carpet, stringing marigolds with three other women. The orange petals stained her fingertips, but her mind wasn't in the flowers. Every tug of thread was mechanical, her hands moving out of habit while her thoughts churned elsewhere.
David's note—creased, warm, and dangerously real—rested where she had hidden it, folded deep into the layered pleats of her dupatta. She could almost feel the words burning against her skin. Come out, Linda… I am waiting outside.
"Linda" Her aunt's cheerful voice snapped her back. "Tighter, child. These garlands will fall apart before we hang them!"
Linda forced a smile, adjusting the flowers, pretending to laugh along with the other women. Inside, her heart hammered. Every sound—the rustle of silk skirts, the pounding drum, the chatter of cousins—felt like it was pressing her down, smothering her, reminding her of the secret sitting so close to her chest.
Her gaze drifted toward the doorway. She longed to slip out, even for a moment, to breathe, to decide. But the hall was never empty. Uncles walked in with trays of pistachios, cousins ran past with sparklers in their hands, women fussed over trays of baklava cooling near the window. There was no room for solitude in a Turkish wedding house.
Someone laughed. "Look at Daniel's wife! She's so quiet, lost in her own world. Don't tell me you're already tired of the celebrations?"
Heat rushed to Linda's cheeks. She shook her head quickly, stammering, "N-no, I was just thinking of the flowers."
"Ah, new weds always pretend!" an older woman teased, winking. "Her mind must be on her husband, not on flowers!"
The room erupted in giggles, and Linda lowered her gaze, wishing the earth would swallow her. The teasing rolled off the women easily, but for her, it only tightened the cage she was already in.
Inside her, the war raged. If I stay, David will think I ignored him. If I go… Her throat dried at the thought of Daniel's sharp eyes noticing even the slightest misstep. She pulled her dupatta closer around her shoulders, as if the fabric itself could shield her from the storm building inside.
She glanced once more at the doorway. The laughter around her blurred into noise, her pulse louder than the drumbeat outside.
The decision had not yet been made, but the restlessness in her blood promised: she would not survive the day without making one.
The courtyard smelled of roasted lamb and rosewater. Relatives bustled in and out with trays, silk bundles, and endless chatter. Linda moved among them, her mind in turmoil, her hand brushing against the hidden note tucked inside the fold of her silk şal.
Her chest tightened. David was waiting.
The thought alone sent a dangerous heat through her veins. She wasn't supposed to go—this was Daniel's family home, crowded with dozens of eyes. Yet the longer she stayed, the stronger the pull became.
Her chance came when her aunt sent her to fetch a fresh jug of sherbet from the kitchen. Linda rose, smoothing her crimson gown, her steps steady though her pulse pounded. The kitchen was near the back of the mansion, a little quieter, the walls not echoing with laughter as loudly.
She took the jug, heavy and sweating with condensation, and walked toward the side door that opened into the gardens. Her breath caught as she glanced over her shoulder. Two young cousins were chasing each other through the corridor, giggling. No one was watching her.
Linda slipped outside.
The sunlight was sharp, the garden humming with cicadas. Her slippers crunched against gravel as she hurried, weaving between rose bushes. The noise of the household dimmed behind her, replaced by the whisper of wind through cypress trees.
Her heart thudded with each step. What am I doing?
She clutched the jug closer, using it as her excuse should anyone catch her outside—I was only looking for water, only taking a moment of air. But the jug grew heavier in her arms, dragging at her conscience like a chain.
By the time she reached the far gate, her lips trembled with anticipation and fear.
And then—
A figure stepped from behind the olive tree.
David.
He was dressed too finely for an uninvited guest, in a dark embroidered vest that caught the sunlight, his sharp features softened by the shade of the tree. His eyes locked on hers instantly, intense, unreadable, and yet carrying that strange warmth that always unsettled her.
"You came," he said, his voice low, almost tender.
Linda froze, clutching the jug, the silence of the garden pressing between them.
"Yes," she whispered, though the word felt like betrayal even as it left her lips.
PLEASE SUPPORT,
LOVE FROM,
♡LINDA AND DANIEL ♡