Till Death Do Us Meet

TILL DEATH DO US MEET

Act 1: First, Birth

T he first time Layla saw her was in the bustling hallways of their middle school.

Time had brought them together, and time had separated them. In high school, they had a few classes together, but a glimpse of Maryam's familiar silhouette was a comforting backdrop amongst the noise of lockers slamming and the clanging of school bells.

She was standing at the far end of the hall, her shoulder-length hair a waterfall of black silk, the frame of her shoulders an uneven slope under the collar of her uniform.

Maryam's eyes were the same deep brown Layla remembered from many sleepovers, when they had been inseparable friends. Friday nights where they shared secrets and stories, and promises that seemed like they'd last forever. The distance between them grew. Not from their own choices, but the hurdles of life, that had once only been chutes and ladders on a board game.

As Maryam looked back, she felt a wave of sadness wash over her. The passing of time doesn't cure love. By the time college came around, Maryam knew exactly what she wanted from life. She stepped onto the porch of her beloved's house, the cicadas singing in the trees. Her heart was pounding as she knocked on the door, her palms slick with sweat.

When Layla's father opened the door, he greeted her kindly. Maryam left her shoes and stepped inside the familiar room. Its wooden ceiling beams and polished floors framed an heirloom tea set on the table that left a lingering aftertaste in the back of her throat from the mere sight. This place used to bring her such comfort. Now, it was filled with a strange uncertainty as she summoned the courage to ask Layla's father for his daughter's hand in marriage.

Love was a sickness and a remedy, a virtue and a vice, from God, and utterly without. Even knowing the right thing to do could not shake the fear of what the response might be.

The offer had been quickly refused. The words of Layla's father still rang in her ears. "A poet is good for nothing. You cannot eat flowery words or burn them when the winter grows cold."

Layla and Maryam had known each other nearly their entire lives. They had grown up in the same small suburb, gone to the same school, and shared stories and secrets. Their friendship had been a source of strength and comfort for both. Maryam had thought this might have been enough to transcend class, status, and tradition.

No. Layla's father was adamant; she could not marry Maryam. He had been raised in a culture where same-sex marriage was not accepted, and his beliefs never wavered. He had warned Layla that if she married someone of the same gender, she could be excommunicated, shunned, and excluded from the community. "And to add in such a frivolous field of study," he said, shaking his head. "One might as well pack a bindle now."

Layla knew that Maryam was special to her, and she wanted nothing more than to be with her. But she also knew that following her heart would mean defying her whole family, a path she had never considered. The world wasn't about blindly securing your desires when so many couldn't even meet their needs.

After college, her father's words rang true. Layla was still only able to watch from afar. A heavy silence hung between them as Maryam's poetry books were now tucked away in flour-covered pockets of her apron.

Art doesn't pay. The best way for a woman to secure herself in society was to marry a rich man. Something Layla was running out of time to do.

The unspoken tension bloomed between them from the soil of unfulfilled promises that each of them had made. Even from outside the building, the scones in the window display made the air sweet with cinnamon and nutmeg. The bells over the door jingled as customers entered. The conversations inside were hushed as a secret as Layla nervously licked her lips, desiring a taste. The wind nipped at her neck, the earth hard beneath her feet. Both urged her to take a step. But at this crossroad, which way?

At that moment, Layla realized the decision wasn't ever hers. When her father's permission was needed, love had never been her choice.

Maryam's eyes lifted from the cash register, meeting with Layla's for a moment. The fleeting glance seemed to linger for an eternity. A wave of emotion washed over them, a reminder of the childhood bond that had connected them since the first time they'd set eyes upon each other.

Suddenly, they both knew that, no matter what happened, they would always remain connected. Dreaming of the fantasy they could never have.

Her phone chimed, an unhappy reminder of where she was meant to be. As she glanced down at the phone, her mother's name was a family banner of duty and honor. It didn't even matter what the message said. She took a step down the sidewalk and away from the bakery.

Layla nervously adjusted her headscarf as she picked up the pace to the restaurant. Her parents, along with three others, sat under a canopy that shielded them from the afternoon sun.

Everyone stood as her father made the proper introduction. Voices lifted in pride over Ibnu, who worked in finance alongside his father. After pleasantries were exchanged, they all sat to eat. While breaking bread, Layla noticed the sly glances and subtle nods between her father and Ibnu's. Discussions of the future shifted from vague comments about the academic accomplishments of their respective children into open plans for how the marriage would be arranged.

Inbu seemed well-mannered and friendly. But his eyes flickered down to his plate whenever Layla tried to meet his gaze.

Act 2: First, Life

Layla felt a strange sense of déjà vu as she stepped into the store. This was the same shop she had been to with Maryam, back when they were kids. She remembered the giddy excitement over what their dream wedding dress would be. The feeling of the expensive, high-quality fabric slipped through their young fingers as they ran through the racks of pristine white dresses.

As children, they quickly got kicked out of the store by a saleswoman, who angrily shooed them out. Today, the saleswoman glanced up from her desk with a wide smile and greeted her like an honored guest she'd been patiently waiting to see.

Given this was an arranged marriage, she didn't know if she should pick something traditional or the one she had always pictured. She had no idea if her soon-to-be husband would like that.

The saleswoman must have sensed her hesitation, because she cheerfully suggested different options. Layla was surprised to find there were many different styles. How did arranging this somehow make things even more complicated?

Both mothers joined her a moment later, to help her choose. As Layla slipped into the first dress, she felt a wave of emotion. She was about to embark on a new journey, one that she had never expected. But, she was determined to make the best of it.

She thought of Maryam, and the dreams they'd shared as children. She whispered a prayer that Maryam would find happiness, wherever her life might take her. Her own life was going to be blessed, full of the bounty and security that she came to value as an adult.

Layla stepped out of the dressing room, and the women gasped in delight. The fabric was delicate and shimmering, making her feel like a princess. Layla smiled as she looked in the mirror. This dress was perfect. Even if it wasn't the one she'd dreamed of wearing when she married Maryam, it was the one she was meant to wear. Layla smiled as she looked around. She was surrounded by love, and was determined to make the most of it.

Later that week, Layla sat at a table in Maryam's bakery, fidgeting with her napkin. She'd been nervous about this taste test, after she heard where her father had chosen. From the moment she arrived, she was practically shaking, so visibly that Maryam's mother offered to turn up the heat.

Layla sat across from her new fiancé, who took her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. In the short time they'd known each other, he seemed sweet. They could become friends, but love? Maybe that wasn't for marriage.

"It's okay, Layla," he said. "This bakery has wonderful cake. As soon as you warm up, I'm sure you'll start to enjoy your day."

Layla couldn't help feeling a pang of guilt as she looked around. She wasn't sure if Maryam would be here today. It felt taboo to be here, moments away from tying the knot with someone else. A place that had once been filled with so much of the girls' childlike joy was now being used to select a cake for a legal ceremony to someone else.

Just then, Maryam emerged from the kitchen with a tray of colorful cake slices. Surprise melted into a warm smile on her face. "Hello, Layla," she said, her voice friendly and professional. "It's nice to see you again."

"Good afternoon," Layla replied, trying to keep her voice steady. "Honored to have your family allow us this private tasting today."

"Of course." She glanced at Inbu as her expression slipped into a neutral mask. "It's always a pleasure to work with a happy couple. I've prepared a selection of our most popular flavors to try."

Layla tried to focus as Maryam placed slice after slice on the table, describing the flavors and ingredients of each. But no matter how hard Layla tried, she couldn't shake the feeling of guilt that weighed down on her.

After they narrowed the choices to two, Ibnu excused himself.

Layla couldn't take it anymore. "Maryam, I would have told you––should have told you first... I'm so sorry," she blurted out. "I never meant to hurt you. I never meant for any of this to happen."

Maryam looked at Layla with kindness. "I know that, Layla. I want you to have the best wedding and the best life possible. That's all that matters."

Tears sprang to Layla's eyes. "There's no love in marriage," she mumbled.

"It is to make a family," Maryam added. This was such a brutal take on such a romantic moment that Layla glanced up at someone who she knew to be so full of creative spirit. "I've heard it from your mother plenty."

"Let's get back to business," Inbu said, unaware of what he had walked into. "Do you know which you desire for the big day?"

"I..."

"Layla," Maryam said softly, "which cake do you like?"

She pulled on a smile as she looked at the delicious array of cakes. Layla knew she had to be ready to move on and start the next chapter of her life with Inbu by her side. Everyone reached the age where they had to put childhood toys and dreams away.

When it was time to pick up the wedding cake, Layla stood in front of the bakery, staring at the sign in disbelief. "Sorry we are closed ...my heart is broken, I'm too sad to make crepes /3." For all the blessings and hurdles of an arranged marriage, she was unsure what to make of this one.

She'd never seen the bakery closed like this. Maryam's finally was large enough that there was always someone who could run the family business.

After seeing Maryam, so confident and firm, it was hard to believe this had anything to do with her and Inbu's cake being ready for pickup. The woman had always turned everything into flowery prose. Layla stared at the handwritten sign, wondering if this had grown from that same soil. Maybe Maryam had been struggling more than she had let on.

Feeling a mix of guilt and concern, Layla reached for her phone and dialed Maryam. When it went straight to voicemail, she tried her mother's number, which sat there untouched since their last childhood sleepover. It rang and rang, but there was no answer.

Act 3: First, Death

Maryam stood at the edge of the woods, staring at dense trees and tangled underbrush. It was a crazy idea she'd only seen people joke about. But life was never a joke for Maryam. Nature was wild and giving. Why shouldn't she just forget all the ties that bound her to the world and be free?

She started to walk, moving around what nature provided to start building a new home for herself. As the night grew dim, she heard a voice calling her. "Maryam! Maryam! Allah, have you gone majnun? Where are you?"

She turned towards the sound of her mother's voice, as her father's followed. "Maryam, please come back! We miss you, we need you! The bakery isn't the same without you."

But Maryam couldn't bring herself to leave. She might have been able to find her way back, but she was too lost in the wilderness of her own emotions to have the will to do so.

Out of the shadows of the trees, a figure emerged. Maybe she had gone mad, like her mother had asked God, because, standing there, was herself as a child.

"We know beauty and pain," she told herself, "We sing poetry as medicine."

As her parents called out again, their voices distant so that Maryam had to turn to listen, the child spoke again. "Don't listen to them," she said, laughing. "You don't need to go back to that life. You have me and you have poetry. Live in the wilderness and be sustained by the earth holding us up."

Maryam pressed her lips together, surveying the fort she had built. It was a fantasy, built for a child, but could it hold the life and death of an adult?

"Run away. Be like Layla and Majnun of old. Live for love and art alone. You remember what we told Mother, when she asked if we loved Layla?"

Maryam's eyes fell to the shadows on the ground. "I said, no. Love is a string that connects. Layla is me."

"And, I am Layla." When Maryam lifted her head once more, it wasn't her younger self standing there anymore: it was Layla. Layla, dressed in a hand-stitched kaftan that looked out of some historic past as her deep brown eyes signaled a rich future.

Maryam took a step forward as love offered out her hand. "Yes, Layla. I'll go with you. Follow you to where no one can take this away from us."

Layla and Maryam fled deeper into the wilderness, leaving the bakery and the pain of false promises behind. They danced, sang, and loved under each phase of the moon. Ran across streams that washed their footprints away as if never to be found again.

"Maryam, wait!"

She turned away from a future, mad with love, to the past, where Layla was standing. Layla, with a golden ring and shining stone on her finger. This was, and wasn't, Layla. Maryam blinked like a frozen deer that didn't know what to make of humans and their dangerous wild.

"Forgive me?"

"There's no love in the world that needs to be forgiven," Maryam said. "There's no love in the world that is wrong."

Layla smiled, as if Maryam had just given her an exquisite gift. She looked at her engagement ring and shook her head at the shimmering promise it represented. "Love feels like a native language that I never learned to speak."

As Maryam held as still as the mountains behind her, Layla drew forth her notebook. She pulled open Maryam's book, turned to a page, and began to sing the words, as bright and sharp as a bird. "O' friend, be my layla for I am majnun for you." A page turned like day to night. "I don't have the right. Only a wish under a twinkling of silvery white. With rose and woes, along with a song, we could instead, measure our treasure in the warmth of our bed."

Maryam paced. Finding new shelter in the shade that a tree cast, as if that life had already passed.

"I'll go with you," Layla said, no longer reading. "You are my love. And I am yours." She put the notebook away, tugging on the shining stone until it pulled free from her hand. "This vow? It was never made by me. A man can live without me, but I can't live without you. Marrying anyone else would be like dying before death."

Maryam laughed. "You love me, Layla?"

She nodded and ventured closer, the closest in years. This felt more like home than anywhere else she'd been in far too long. "When we stopped talking, I didn't realize the depth of your love. If I had known, I wouldn't have been able to bury mine. When you wrote that you would fail an autopsy, because there's nothing left inside? That humans need fantasy to make life bearable. And without it, there is no magic or hope. Living, but no life. We don't need to wait a lifetime. The poor can marry for love. We will be rich in our own way."

Maryam's eyes filled with tears as she lifted a hand to Layla's cheek, feeling a warmth and connection she'd never felt with anyone else. "What will that be like?"

Layla gazed into her eyes. "It will be every fantasy we first dreamed up together as kids."

As the sun rose above the horizon, Layla leaned up. The world brightened as they shared their first-ever kiss. Tender and passionate. A brush of lips that sealed their commitment. They stood on the hill, gazing into each other's eyes, lost in the beauty of the moment, with a love that would last beyond life and death.