Marika walked along barefoot in a delicate see-through cotton dress with a pattern of small, multi-coloured flowers. The sea breeze lifted the hem of her dress, revealing the striking beauty of her legs. The lake’s gentle waves licked at her small feet. She wanted to be a mother at any cost, but Salem could see in her only the girl he had met in Abu Kabir. To him, she was a gift from God; He’d created them each for the other. She would rush into his arms whenever she saw him and, if his kiss landed on her neck, she would show him how it reverberated through the surface of her skin, her forearms chilly and covered with tiny bumps that quickly vanished, just like the ones that effervesce and float on the surface of wine to announce its awakening and revival. They were the scattered letters,
