[ PI ] The Reasons of the Heart - First Chapter - 3744

The holy lands. Everything looks both pale and vivid; the sky is a diluted blue, the alfalfa plants a watery green. The alfalfas sway in the wind, edges high as the young girl ’ s hips. Her brown hair, tied up at the side of her head, twists with the breeze. Yilaen watches her push a stray lock behind her ear 
 
 “ Anae! ” someone calls. His bangs are longer than Anae ’ s, covering his brow. His hair is tied into a simple loop at the back, a ribbon securing it. His body is all broad shoulders with rather narrow hips, skinny but sturdy. Around his frame, the world inks with color -- the sunlight becomes a burnished bronze, the stalks a sharp chartreuse, the sky a rich azure. 
 
 “ Rey, ” she says. She turns to face him, the loose sleeves of her undershirt and the hem of her tunic fluttering. “ You ’ re up early today. ” 
 
 “ Yep, ” Rey says, grinning with a sense of victory. It fades as he peers to where she had been staring. “ What are you looking at? ” 
 
 “ Nothing. ” 
 
 “ Well, you had to be looking at something. ” 
 
 The world distorts. 
 
 The house is dimly lit. A candle, white and waxy and dripping, sits in a steel dish. Anae is nothing but a little girl, now, curled up in her flat, blankets drawn over her. Her eyes are half-lidded, cold, dead, mirrors reflecting the candle ’ s small light. 
 
 Two voices are speaking, both strained and quiet, just barely hearable. 
 
 “ It ’ s just frustrating. ” 
 
 “ I know, but -- I ’ m Hana ’ s sister. We have to take her in. ” 
 
 “ I know. It ’ s just, well, she ’ s not ours. It ’ s just…a hassle. I know that sounds horrible, but it ’ s true. She ’ s so quiet, too. ” 
 
 “ She ’ s always been a distant child. ” 
 
 “ That ’ s the thing. ” 
 
 “ Well, there ’ s nothing we can do about it. ” 
 
 Anae squeezes her eyes shut. 
 
 The world distorts. 
 
 Anae sits up from her flat bed, a few feet away from her aunt and uncle ’ s. Slowly, she creeps over their entangled legs and undoes the leather ties holding the door-curtain. When it falls away, musty light drips through the opening, and her aunt stirs. Anae glances at the movement and hurriedly leaves before tying it up again. 
 
 She pads over to the goat gate. They ’ re all sleeping close together, head on another ’ s back or flanks pressed together. With their grey-white pelts, they look like they are all part of a family. Her fingers curl around the latch, and she eyes it. 
 
 “ You always wake up earlier than everyone else. ” 
 
 Anae ’ s gaze flickers up from the gate latch, and she blinks when she sees Fey. Her bare feet shift against the dirt uncomfortably, one rising up to press and slide against her ankle. 
 
 The silence between them continues, Anae fidgeting, Fey looking. “ You ’ re up, too, ” she says when his eyes don ’ t leave hers. 
 
 “ That ’ s because I was having a nightmare. Are you always up this early? ” 
 
 Anae ’ s mouth parts and then closes. She stares past the faint brown of his hair, the dirty white of his shirt, somewhere in the distance of the fields. 
 
 “ No, ” she says, looks down, back up. Her face hardens. “ No. Not really. ” 
 
 The world distorts. 
 
 The world is pastels as though the gods have taken away their fine brushes and oil paints, choosing instead to sweep the trees into blurry watercolor greens, the fields into delicate seas, the sky to a tinted blue. 
 
 Beneath one of the few trees in the area, Anae and Rey are weaving cloth, wooden needles clack-clack-clacking beneath Rey ’ s humming. Anae joins in, occasionally, but stops when she faces an issue to tackle it head-on. Rey hums through all problems he encounters, but at one point he notices her pattern. When she ’ s unravelling her mistake in silence, Rey speaks. 
 
 “ Did you know? ” 
 
 “ Hm? Did I know what? ” 
 
 “ When you make a mistake, you stop humming. ” 
 
 Anae stops in surprise and thinks on it, furrowing her brow. “ You ’ re right. ” With that, she goes on picking at the thread. 
 
 “ Anae, ” Rey says, “ why don ’ t you ever speak to your parents? ” 
 
 “ My parents are dead, ” Anae says, finally smoothing the wool of issues. 
 
 “ I meant your aunt and uncle. ” 
 
 Rey ’ s needles chatter all the same, but Anae ’ s gain a new, sudden ferocity in how they meet. 
 
 “ We ’ re not very close, ” Anae says, voice even. She fumbles and drops her needles to worry at the thread again with fussy fingers. 
 
 “ But you ’ ve been living together -- ” 
 
 “ That doesn ’ t mean we ’ re close, ” Anae says. She hesitates, limply pulling at the string. “ It ’ s not their fault. We, together, we....I ’ m not very good at talking to them. ” 
 
 “ Oh, ” Rey says. 
 
 “ It ’ s hard, ” Anae says, dropping both the wool and needles so it rests on her lap. “ It ’ s just hard, around them. To speak to them. ” Her fingers knit together as she speaks. 
 
 Rey bites his lower lip. Under the tree ’ s leaves, only pieces of him are in the light. The bridge of his nose, the outside of his face, half of his mouth, on his shoulder, his knee -- they glow faintly, a warm golden-brown. 
 
 His face turns to hers, and Anae flinches seeing the look in his eyes. 
 
 “ Anae, ” he says, voice tentative and careful, like he ’ s trying to make a most perfect stitch, “ is it just hard to talk to them, or is it hard to be around them? ” 
 
 Anae ’ s eyes widen. 
 
 The world distorts. 
 
 The lands have become blue-black with night ’ s veil. Rey and Anae are taller, though their backs and heads are bent. The image shifts to their hands interlocked, the green of their veins pure beneath the moonlight. Beneath the sound of the grasses rustling, his voice rings. 
 
 “ Anae, ” he says, gently. 
 
 “ I can ’ t. ” 
 
 “ Anae -- ” 
 
 “ You can ’ t. ” 
 
 Her hands wrench away from his to fist in her trousers. He does not reach for her again, simply looks at her. 
 
 “ What will your parents do if you leave? What will they think? You might not see them for years. You might not see them ever again. ” 
 
 “ Let me come with you. ” 
 
 Anae swallows. She shakes her head, once, twice, thrice. She is about to cry; her eyes are wide open so that the tears don ’ t spill out. 
 
 “ Why? ” Anae ’ s voice is piercing and breaks the serenity of the holy lands ’ night. “ Why? ” 
 
 Rey shifts his feet. Finally, he tips his head to the sky, bleak and empty and cold. 
 
 “ Why not? ” he asks. 
 
 “ Your parents will miss you. They might hate you. You might never seen home again. ” Her voice is soft, raspy. 
 
 Rey ’ s face remains impassive. “ ‘ All young must depart from their mother ’ s breast ’. ” 
 
 “ You have no idea what will happen. You don ’ t know. You could die. ” Her voice rises in volume but lowers in pitch. 
 
 Rey looks back to her. His eyebrows are lowered, mouth drawn into something stern. “ I never know what will happen. I could die tomorrow, staying here. ” 
 
 “ You will never be happy again. ” Her voice quivers. Tears begin to slide down her cheeks, glimmering under the moon ’ s glare. Her hands rise to her heart and press against it as her eyes squeeze shut, mouth splitting open, voice ragged with emotion. “ You will regret it. You will realize one day, with certainty, that you have ruined your life. All because of me. ” 
 
 Rey ’ s voice sharpens with anger as he steps forward. “ That ’ s not true. ” 
 
 “ You can ’ t do this, ” Anae sobs. Her fingers rest against her cheeks. “ You can ’ t do this for something like *me* -- ” 
 
 “ *I love you*! ” Rey shouts, seizing her shaking shoulders. Anae looks up, the wet triangles of her lashes gleaming, eyes wide from shock. His face is stony, but in the silence, it softens into a gentle smile. His hands stay firm. His voice quiets. Tenderly, kindly, adoringly, he says it again: 
 
 “ *I love you. * ” 
 
 Everything brightens. The shadows soften; the cobalts become periwinkle. With an easy grace, above them, in a single, breathtaking moment, the sky explodes with thousands of stars, pinpricks of light stitching across the darkness by the hundreds, a sight so breathtaking that the world stops in reverent silence. 
 
 After a short eternity, Anae begins crying again, this time with something far more painful, far more visceral, but Rey lets her. In the midst of the glimmering night and tears, their hands reach to meet each other again, clutching as though if they let go, they would die. 
 
 The world distorts. 
 
 Outside a gate different from the ones before, there are plants rising from the ground. Though the sky is grey and it is raining, the world is luminous, dew glowing, puddles shining. Footsteps sound, and suddenly Anae ’ s belly is in sight, round and wide. A broad hand comes to rest on the place when the curve stretches widest. 
 
 Anae ’ s fingers rest on the jutting bone of his wrist. 
 
 “ Good morning, Yose, ” Fey says fondly. 
 
 “ I still don ’ t know why you think it ’ s a boy, ” Anae says, clearly bemused. 
 
 “ Do you really want to know? ” 
 
 “ Sure. ” 
 
 Fey rubs small circles against Anae ’ s stomach until she pinches his arm. “ Anae! Well, it ’ s because… ” 
 
 “ Mm? ” 
 
 “ I can ’ t think of a name for a girl. ” 
 
 There ’ s a long pause. 
 
 Anae laughs. 
 
 “ Anae! ” 
 
 “ If it ’ s a girl, we ’ ll name her after my mother, ” Anae says. 
 
 Fey hums thoughtfully. 
 
 “ It ’ s -- ” 
 
 “ Don ’ t tell me! I remember. ” Fey starts humming again, and Anae sighs, placing her other hand over his, squeezing gently. “ Oh, I remember. ” 
 
 “ Mm? ” 
 
 “ Hana. ” 
 
 “ Oh, you got it right. ” 
 
 “ Oh, I did? ” 
 
 Anae and Fey laugh together, fond and soft as the rain-blurred fields. 
 
 “ Good morning, Hana. ” 
 
 The world distorts. 
 

