It is the crack of dawn outside. The sun is soon going to paint the sky a vibrant shade of blue and conquer the darkness that lingers every night. The Skylarks are going to be awake to spread their sweet song in the air. I could not resist my urge to inscribe my thoughts onto this empty paper.
I favour this time of the day – well, it would be wrong of me to refer to the rising of the sun as day. But I cannot call this night-time either, for the moon is going to bid us farewell soon. Every letter that I have written to you has been at dawn. Every letter I have written, I have written it with a purpose. As I proceed to mention the true motive of this one, I must admit that it feels eerie. Never in my wildest nightmares did I think this dawn would arrive.
If you have ever wondered why I address you as “lover” in every letter, it is because of your name. ‘Lennan’ in Irish means lover. I was truly ecstatic when I found out.
I dreamt of you, Lennan. My eyes fluttered happily and warmth blanketed my heart. But then, the weight of somebody’s hand interrupted my dream. It was a hand that did not belong to you. Disappointment rushed to me in waves. I tried to shake it off, but I failed. I shifted to my side, to meet glances with the owner of the hand. I was sure that I would unleash an unbridled wrath on him. But I did not. I was rather shocked that I did not. Instead, I was met with a revelation.
As you already know, my heart was in shambles when father announced that I would have to marry his friend’s son to protect his honour. The marriage was an order that I could not get out of – for father had already given his word. At the church, when we exchanged our I do’s, I swore to hate my husband for the entirety of my life. His smile appeared selfish to me. His words felt like conceit. I held an unexplainable grudge against him because he was not the man I wanted to marry. He was not you.
But do you want to hear a confession? My husband is the most ideal man I have ever crossed paths with. He is everything a gentleman is ought to be. On our first night, he expressed his guilt about me not having a say in this entire arrangement.
He thinks I have potential. He does not mind me being idle. He is very loving. Oh, so loving!
I have teared up in our room countless times now. I have wept because I wanted to marry you. I have sobbed for being such a pathetic, emotionally absent wife. And it is true! He is the best husband, and on the contrary, I am the worst wife.
Do you know that he wakes up every morning to make us some breakfast? He sees it as a sacred tradition that we share. His stormy eyes loiter on me a little too long when I have dressed up for special occasions. He comes home from work earlier than usual when I feel under the weather just to make me soup. During balls, he never once leaves my side because he knows that crowds make me apprehensive. What a delight my husband is!
All the hate that I stored for him in my heart, put me in denial about my true feelings for him. I have caught myself a handful of times doing things that make him chuckle, for I love to hear the sound of his giggles. I have gone to extra measures to learn his favourite recipes. I often show up to his work with flowers, since I know how much he adores them. Besides this, I have successfully deceived him into thinking that I have fallen in love with him. And I have successfully deceived myself into believing that I have not.
It never struck me how beautiful our marriage really is. He has memorized every single thing I admire. He knows of all the moods I can conjure. He is aware of my smallest habits. He protects me from the ruthless gossip. He shows me his unconditional love. I do everything in my power to keep him happy because his happiness is my favourite sight. I worry about him when he has gone outside. I miss him when he is gone too long.
I tried. I really tried to ignore my growing fondness for my husband and stay loyal to you. I denied him children. I said I was not ready to be a mother yet. He accepted it and promised to be patient. And he stuck to his promise. I picked petty fights with him, hoping he would get exhausted of my tantrums and leave me. But on those days, he loved me a little harder. Despite it being difficult for him, he held me a little tighter. How can I possibly continue to deny him all the love he deserves? I want to love him back with everything inside of me. I truly desire to make him the happiest man alive. I want to apologize for all the rough nights and never giving him a chance.
It does pain me to write you this letter. But you are never going to have any knowledge of me writing it to you, because I never send you any of the letters. They are all protected in the drawer of my cupboard. Safely tucked away under my robes. And as throbbing it is to write my final words – I have to do it. I want to do it.
So, dear lover; I hereby end our love story to being the tale I always longed for.
Before I could sign off the letter, a loud stretch followed by a groan caught all my attention.
“Good morning,” I smiled and made my way towards the bed. “You’re up early.”
“Were you writing one of your forbidden letters again?”
“Yes,” I replied as I placed a kiss on my husband’s forehead. “It is the last one I will ever write.”
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