Chapter 54 - End of the first part [2]

I tried to help with the farm chores. I really wanted to be part of that simple, honest daily life—herding sheep, cleaning the corral, repairing fences with old wire and rusty barbs. But the sheep... well, they stared at me as if I were a monster from ancient tales. They stood frozen, their eyes wide with fear, some even falling to the ground as if they were dead. Evelyn found it funny at first, then she became embarrassed. Then her mother intervened.

"Go with the girl, Mr. Zaatar. These animals will end up dying of fright," she said in a harsh voice, without looking me directly in the eye.

I accepted without arguing. There was something in that woman's eyes... a kind of silent judgment. It wasn't hostility, it was disbelief. As if she didn't understand — or refused to understand — what a man like me was doing there with someone like her daughter.

Evelyn... She limped when she walked, had a scar that ran across the left side of her face like a stroke of charcoal on paper. She smelled of earth, sometimes of manure. She didn't wear perfume or comb her hair. And yet... I couldn't stop looking at her. There was something about the way she frowned when she thought, or smiled with the corner of her mouth when she remembered an old story, that held me like a chain.

Evelyn told me everything. For the first time, she told someone everything—and that someone was me.

We were sitting in the shade of the oak tree near the corral when the sun began to set, painting the sky with shades of orange and gold. And then she spoke. She spoke of her miserable childhood in the gray desert, of the wars she had fought, of the lives she had been forced to take. She spoke of the nights when the smell of blood kept her awake, of the days when the pain was so deep that not even tears would come. She told me about the moment she lost her father... and about the pain of seeing her sister taken away like merchandise. Each word carried the weight of a buried memory, of an invisible scar that still hurt.

As she spoke, I could only listen. In silence. It was as if she were pulling out her own ghosts one by one, handing each one over to the evening light. It hurt to see her like this, but there was relief in her voice. A strange kind of liberation—as if each sentence pulled a stone out of her chest.

I didn't say anything. I just looked at her, attentive, trying to absorb everything, respecting every bit of pain she shared with me. It was like watching an old book being opened for the first time. A book that no one had ever dared to read... until now.

When silence finally fell between us, she took a deep breath and looked at me, her voice low and her eyes heavy:

"Sir... why are you still here?"

I smiled without hesitation.

"Because I found you interesting. I'm attracted to you."

She let out a skeptical laugh. She touched her own scar with an automatic, almost irritated gesture.

"Attracted? To me? Come on. Look at this face, this leg that can barely walk, my manners... I don't even know how to talk properly to city people." She looked at me as if testing my sincerity.

"I don't know," I replied calmly. "I just felt like being close to you."

"Stop making up nonsense. I'm not going to fall for city man tricks," she said, crossing her arms defiantly.

I didn't respond with words. I just leaned forward and kissed her lips.

It was a soft touch. Warm. Human.

She froze, her eyes wide like those of the sheep that avoided me. For a second, I thought I had scared her—or offended her. But then she tried to push me away, hesitantly, before stopping. Her shoulders relaxed, and she gave in.

There was sadness there, mixed with surprise. A bitter taste of someone who never imagined being touched with affection.

I held her in my arms. She was light, fragile, as if the world had already tried to break her a thousand times. But there was strength there, a strength I deeply respected. I pressed her against my chest, feeling her heart beat fast, and for the first time in a long time... I felt happy. Sincerely happy.

"I like you. Will you be my wife?" I asked with a smile still on my lips, barely pulling away from the previous kiss.

Evelyn's face turned such an intense shade of red that even the morning sky seemed pale in comparison. She stammered something I didn't understand and tried to break free from my arms, as if she were going to run away... but luckily — or fatefully — she didn't have the strength to really escape. I held her gently, as if she were made of glass, and before I could think too much, I kissed her again.

And again.

She still smelled of the woods, goats, and kitchen smoke, and yet it was the sweetest thing I had ever smelled.

It took her a few moments to gather her thoughts. I could see the internal struggle in her eyes, as if every fiber of her body was screaming that this was too absurd to be real.

Then she lowered her head and whispered:

"I can't be a hero's wife... I have nothing to offer."

I touched her chin, making her look at me.

"I don't want anything from you. I just want you to be by my side. That's all." I gave a half smile and added in a light tone: "And, let's face it... you don't run that fast to get away either."

She gave me an indignant look, but before she could respond, she lightly hit me in the chest with her closed fist, muttering:

"Idiot... you're treating me like I'm a goat."

"Hm. A good name, actually," I replied, putting my hand to my chin, pretending to think. "Maybe we should change your name to 'Goat.' It suits you."

"Nooooo!" she protested, drawing out the word, but now with a wide smile. Her eyes sparkled—a mixture of feigned anger and genuine amusement that made me laugh too.

For a moment, I thought it would all fade away, like a dream. But no. The way she rested her forehead on my shoulder, the warmth of her body against mine, the way her fingers hesitated before touching me back... it was all real.

She relaxed in my arms. A feeling of warmth and protection spread through her chest — I could feel it. As if, for the first time, she was safe.

That's when the voice came from behind us, cutting through the silence like an axe through dry wood:

"Evelyn, I'm back! You have to see the big city walls...!"

Her brother.

The woodcutter.

He froze in the middle of the trail as soon as he saw us, his eyes wide, his speech stalled.

Evelyn tried to hide behind me, ashamed, but I just took a step forward and said, with a shameless smile:

"I'm your son-in-law now. You can come and go as you please."

He stood there, his mouth open, as if he had been punched.

"Dreaming at this hour..." he muttered. "I... I think I need to stop drinking. I'm hallucinating."

He turned his back and walked away, babbling like a man who had seen a fairy dancing with an ogre.