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“Why don’t you speak plainly?”
“With Zephyr, you can express your emotions. Anger and sadness. Please don’t deny it. I’ve heard the way you speak to him.”
“You think that’s foolish,” Anwar said.
“No, I don’t. Zephyr saved your sanity. Zephyr saved your life. Art is my Zephyr,” she said. “My escape. My way of flying free. My way of living vicariously, soaring through rainbow clouds of color high above my life’s bleak, derelict terrain. Art allows me to create landscapes of beauty, peace, and joy in my mind. I could become like a flower blossoming in the desert or a dark, dank swamp. Art enables me to find fertile ground and refuge within my creativity whenever the storm clouds blow.”
“We lived in crisis mode, you and I, didn’t we? As children, we learned how to be alone. Being alone seemed tidier,” Anwar confided. “Except I wasn’t alone. I had Zephyr.”
“But it’s not enough. It was never enough. That’s why we’ve come together. I can see that now to help each other. To heal,” Lucy said.
“I don’t need help.”
“But you do. We all do. You’re not comfortable accepting help, Anwar. You’ve learned that it’s easier to give than to receive. So you shower people with expensive gifts and coveted positions. But, like the arid landscape of your heart, despite being so thirsty, you’ve forgotten that you need gifts to water your soul, too.The gift of a woman’s love.”
“And you,habibti?” Anwar said, steering the conversation away from the uncomfortable truth.
“I need you. All of you, Anwar. Not your money, not your title, not your gifts. I need your love. I’m beyond thankful for the time bringing me to Avana has given me. And for this beautiful space in which to create,” Lucy said, sweeping her arm around the once-empty room full of new memories and stories of a brighter future.
“The studio is so symbolic of us. It’s like a portal, offering a powerful window of closure, releasing what was and moving into new time and space. Once, it was like a big, vast blank canvas, waiting to be filled with something new.”
She studied Anwar’s expression as his eyes savored all the memories. His gaze drifted to the painting she had created last night. Waves of swirling magenta and pulsing violet danced with life on the giant canvas still drying on the floor.
“Looking over the past can bring up nostalgia but also heartfelt gratitude and, of course, trigger uncomfortable feelings around things we would rather forget. But we can allow more space for just being and loving instead of the distracting and distancing that happens when we spend too much time escaping into doing. I am beyond thankful for your encouragement and support. You’re teaching me that to change, grow, and expand my life, I need to accept help lovingly. And you’re giving that to me. I’m so self-reliant, so used to being let down, you’re restoring my faith.”
She turned to him, searching his face for any sign of softening. “Now, I would like to give you that gift. Will you let me help you? Will you tear down your fortress, all those impenetrable walls and barricades you’ve erected around your heart?”
His shoulders flared back.
“Will you let me love you?” Gosh, what was she saying? She didn’t even know if she could go through the pain of disappointment again, but she wanted to try. And if that meant faking it until she made it, fine.Keep your eye on the prize.
His head lowered.
“It’s not weak.”
Anwar’s shoulders slumped. A giant knot of air escaped his chest.
“True growth always involves some loss. Loss of the old self,” Lucy said, wrapping her arms around him. “To encourage growth on a tree, we prune away dead and broken branches,” she whispered. “The broken parts of you. The boy who was abandoned and terrorized by his father hardened his heart so he could endure everything. It’s time to let the memories go,” she said, stepping toward him. “Toss them to the desert and the stars and let love in.”
It was supposed to be his job to heal her, not the other way around. How the hell could he let love in when he had spent his whole life building a fortress to keep the unpredictable out? It was more than he could fathom.
He had always been the one showering others with gifts and offering his help. It was his way of expressing the affection he could not fully reciprocate. He was acutely aware that beneath his generous exterior lay scars of past experiences that had left him emotionally scarred.
When confronted with the notion of allowing love to enter his heart, Anwar froze. He longed to experience the depths of love, to let Lucy in and be vulnerable, but the fear of being hurt again paralyzed him. He could have told her that he had become adept at giving, at pouring his heart into helping others, as it was a way to shield himself from the potential pain that love could bring.
Instead, he bent his will to what he could control, shutting Lucy out.
CHAPTERFOURTEEN
“My life was nothing but drawings and dreams once,” Melanie said, entering Lucy’s studio. “Wow, these are hot with emotion. I love them,” she said as she studied the collection. ‘The rhythm, the composition, the color—they’re like a magical musical score.”
“That’s kind of you to say.”
“Not at all. It’s what I feel. You’ve got an amazing ability to capture emotion. It’s so cool to see you finally following your passion!”
Melanie stared at the canvas Lucy had just been putting the final strokes on. A vibrant, pulsating field of colors in contrasting combinations of fiery reds, lush greens, and earthy browns.
“Wow! There’s so much energy in your work. I love these dynamic, gestural brushstrokes!” Melanie stepped closer to the painting until she was only centimeters away, then turned to Lucy. “It’s great to see you back.”
