Looking through the window, a transparent glass sheating a whole wall, Neva peers at the world. The greyish blue sky of the calling twilight; it felt sad. The bright clouds of orange and trees dimmed from the tall skycrapers, the city below glittering in lights.
The streetlights lightened golden, busy vehicles running, people swarming through—in warm clothes appearing tiny.
"Are you ready?" Ishmael's voice fissures through Neva's spiralling wonder. She glances at him over her shoulder. He's come back after visiting her doctor.
She nods at him once, while he walks towards her with a slight arch of his lips.
Standing before her, he tucks strands of wavy locks veiling, lacing her face behind her ear. As his large warm hands caresses fondly her rosy cheek, her eyes threads up to his dark brown orbs.
"Let's go home." He says in his soft, deep voice. Lowering her eyes, she strings her slightless gaze to his chest, and dips her head in response.
Curling his index finger under her chin, Ishmael raises her eyes to look at him.
When their orbs meet, he closens to her lips and places a brief kiss there.
"You'll be fine." He murmers and pecks her lips once again. Grabbing the hand of a stiff Neva, he makes way towards the door. Their luggages were already packed in the car by his guards.
Walking along with him, white intimidated the streaks of blue in the walls of hallway.
Ushering not one patient, and barely any people drifting through in their path. And the nurses and doctors they were passing by, they immediately bowed their head, as if they revered them, or rather him.
Neva's brows folds at the eerie silence hovering the hospital. She glances at him, curiosity brimming in her orbs; wondering who this husband of hers could possibly be.
The sky darkening slow, the nature steaming smoke in the air. She was sat at the passenger seat, while Ishmael's driving the car steady and gradually, gathering her enough span to lay hold on the magical scenery in this fast pacing time. She blows out hot vapour, mirroring the curling mist.
She leans her head on the window, the orange and red maple leaves floating in the wind, falling breezily on the ground. And then, a tiny mysterious prick in her chest and flutter in her belly—has sadness and longing surging in her eyes. She's frowning at the unaware hiraeth evoked by such beautiful autumn.
She turns her head away, staring at the pavement instead, but the dead leaves doesn't spare her, drawing—writing to her that she's faring, leaving behind her faded past. Crowds of people strolling around and by the boundery of the park, the merry young children with their parents ignites the realisation of her swelling belly.
From the moment she woke up, she's been living in a daze. He apprised her about the accident, which led to her suffering amnesia. Her paled memories reserved her no space to know anything about herself: she didn't know her name, her parents, and she doesn't even recognise her husband beside.
But the babies in her womb were mercifully unharmed, and she didn't carry no wounds or bruises, and the later aspect, still bewildered her greatly.
"How long have we been married?" Neva asks, breaking the comfortable silence in the car.
He glances at her briskly, before focusing ahead at the road again. "About two months." He replies, and sees her fairly dark, slim carved eyebrows sinking further through his peripheral vision.
"But you said I'm in my sixth month of pregnancy." Neva utters, the information not sitting right with her.
He hums in response. "By the day of our marriage you were already four month along." He declares, this detail must be a stab to her morals in life. Although she had forgotten almost all of her memories, she still retained some facts and information.
"Are you upset by that?" He asks her.
Neva's lips pursed, she's hush for a moment. "I don't know,"
"Do I love you?" She looks at the side of his finely sculpted face, his sharp jaw tensing from her probing.
"You did. But you have to figure out this feeling engraved inside, by yourself." He remarks. She doesn't respond, hands placed in her lap, she's fiddling with her fingers.
Neva's anxious, for she beholds, there isn't a spark of affection in her heart for him. And she's afraid of the approaching days, where she would be sharing a haven with her stranger of a husband. She swallows tight, her hands suddenly turning clammy.
"What about our family?"
"We don't have any. You're all I have, and I'm all you have." Glimpsing at her, he smiles softly, before rivetting his gaze ahead and whirling the steering wheel to the left and taking a left turn.
"Oh," Neva trails off, her eyes dimming.
The rest of the short ride went on with quietness. The faraway boulevard, with trimmed bushes and trees with black branches and orange maple leaves on the sides could only be seen from the shadowed ether and clouding haze—while it's looming the space of the fast pacing car.
The straight road was clear, with no gliding vehicles on the smooth concrete surface, or a single person in sight.
The headlights were turned on, the heavy fog blinding the withdrawing and advancing route. A familiar allegory of her white gone by and forthcoming morrow.
Neva was dozing off when discerning their car, the enormous, towering luxurious gate opens up, while on the outside stood several guards wearing all black—and they were all armed.
After along the driveway of above five minutes, the car pulled up to a massive mansion of white walls and deep blue roof, securing a large part of the land surrounded by the forest.
She took her time to suck in the magestic view, when Ishmael had already walked around the front of the car and unbarred her door.
"You are planning to sleep the night here?" His teasing voice guides Neva out of her thoughts.
As she dips her head to glance at him, he reaches out to unbuckle her seatbelt. "Come on," he mutters, taking a hold of her hand he helps her out the car, then closes the door behind.
A cold gust of wind flurries over Neva's frame, having a shiver run down her spine. She had worn a beige cardigan, and under a long fitting, light brown, pale striped red, green and beige coloured knitwear dress, flowing hollow on her bump, flaring down—at her ankle.
Seeing her rub her arms, he wraps his long, black suit jacket over her shoulder. The warmth embracing her, she looks up at him and mutters, "Thankyou."
Just then a man in suit approaches them, and Ishmael hands him the keys to park the Rolls Royce in the carport.
"Are you very rich?" Neva inquires Ishmael. He arches a brow at her. "I am." He answers, entangling their hand and sauntering towards the entrance door.
"What do you do for living?" She asks again. He breaks out in a smile. She's still the same, always so curious. He lightly squeezes her hand, "Save the questions for later love. I'll let you know everything once you're comfortable and warm inside."