Alexander stood behind the cherry tree, watching Jamailah work in the garden. He leant against the tree trunk, his arms folded across his chest, where a familiar pain had started to grow. He had been here for almost an hour now, silent, unmoving, and she did not know it, but he smiled whenever she laughed at a passing butterfly, closed his eyes and listened whenever she started singing a new song. And all the while he looked at her, he fingered the new scar across his wrist, rubbed it gently against his other elbow. There was a tingling feeling behind that scar. He wasn't sure if it was entirely uncomfortable or not.

Demetrius had warned him against traveling to the village. He would attract unwanted attention with his foreign-looking attire (Alexander had stubbornly put off the idea of putting on a traditional tunic) and could possibly get caught up in a fight, considering what was happening in the empire. Secondly, the effects of the epic fight the week before had not worn off entirely. Despite all this, Alexander had decided to disobey Demetrius, just once. He had realized that seeing Jamailah was not a want, but a need. A way to heal the injuries inside, not out. And worth getting attacked by an entire village. Worth everything.

Alexander breathed in. The autumn air was crisp, fresh. And cold. Slipping his hands into the pockets of his jacket, he turned. Wondered, mid-turn, if he should look back.

He would never talk to her again; he would allow her to forget him, to move on, to find new love. That was the best solution he could think of. It hurt, certainly. But what mattered more was the fact that he would never forget her. He loved her, and it would have been nice if Jamailah could love him back, but maybe love wasn't meant to work out that way, not all the time. Love was probably about surrendering everything to a person without expecting anything in return--not even love itself. He didn't know how much of that was true. But the theory worked for him. It worked just fine.

Jamailah stopped short of a note of her song. Her smile faded. She couldn't act anymore. She straightened up to face the man standing behind the tree, watching her. Prepared to tell her childhood friend the thought that had been running through her confused mind since the day he had reappeared into her life.

She found herself staring at a lone cherry tree, its branches bare, its flowers gone, its fruits absent.

Alexander weaved his way slowly through the village, ignoring the stares and whispers around him. He didn't look up. Didn't have to. He knew the way--the way home.