Breathless, puffing out white smoke of air, I finished off the stoned stairs with a heavy, tired thud. The day was unusually cold. The warm sun hidden behind the grey clouds, all the mist of the morning frozen into an icicle and the beautiful trees of summer now lost their colors, leafless. Looking around these naked trees around me, I could see nothing but the emptiness of winter: Lonely, dead. Lifting my head from the ground, I saw another familiar pathway laid in front of me and ignoring the cold air chilling my bones and slicing my cheeks, I continued towards my destination, trying to warm up my frozen hands. The dead leaves rustling beneath my feet, each footstep leaving marks on the frozen earth. When I finally reached the place, I dropped down the flowers I had been holding and bent down to pick out the messy wild grasses and remove the dirt. As I swiped them off with my fingers, fresh, frozen soils remained stuck on my fingertips.

Layla Grace Montgomery
1990-2013
You are beautiful.
Let that last for eternity.

I silently ran my fingers through the carved words, feeling the gravestone's coolness, cold as ice. I kept running my fingers on the smooth surface on a marble, trying to remember her face, even a little part of a memory; her smile, her laughter and her soft grey eyes. The coldness turned my fingers numb, and though I knew it was meaningless, I continued running my fingers over and over again; just to try to catch a hold of her; of her soul.
She was my brother's fiancée. No words could describe her; she was so much more than a girlfriend, a lover and a soul mate. She was his best friend, his life, his everything. To me, losing her was like losing a part of myself. It was as if a part of me had died. So I couldn't imagine what my brother was going through.

I first saw her the day after my twelfth birthday, when she came over to my house. From the first moment I saw her, I hated her. My brother bringing out his girlfriends to our house was nothing new to me, but unlike his ex girlfriends, with their fake smiles and fake laughter, she was so different. That's why I hated her. She was beautiful and she was exactly who I wanted to be. Nevertheless, that hatred didn't last long. Layla wasn't someone you could hate. She was someone who was naturally loved by everyone. She was honest, kind, smart and funny. She never tried hard to please others. She just attracted them. Her kindness and honesty made everyone wanted to be near her. I was one of those people. From an early age, I was grown up of ignorance. Spoilt by luxury and neglect, without anyone but my brother to guide me out, still, I felt alone. I never knew which way I had to go. No one knew how much I needed attention, how much I wanted to be wanted. But Layla saved me. She pulled me out of the darkness and from the loneliness that were slowly consuming me. She never judged or criticized. Whenever I was feeling down or when I needed to talk, she just sat down next to me and listened, giving me advices, encouraging and supporting me in any situations. She was like a sister I never had. She was beautiful, inside and outside. Layla loved the nature, especially the sea. Every weekend my brother and she would go visit the sea, often bringing me with them. I used to love those times, in the beach; I loved waking up from the sunshine, with the smell of the sun screen and the ocean, the hot sand burning beneath my feet, the taste of salt on my lips. Even though Layla couldn’t really swim, she still went into the water, holding on to my brother, who was once a captain of the swim team. He would lift her by the arm and lead her through the water, with me trailing behind them. Layla was kind of a person who always managed to find the positive of negative. Who smiled and brushed off other people's tears while hiding her own. Sometimes I’d wake up early in the morning and find her on the kitchen, gazing at the sunrise, watching the glow on the sky.

So when I learnt that she was an orphan, that she had grown alone, without anyone on her side, I could have never imagined that she could be lonely, that she was and has always been alone. Layla seemed ashamed of herself, grown up in a foster care, with no family. And she didn’t want my brother to pity her, let alone be ashamed of her. However, my brother loved her so much. It took him a lot of effort to win her heart. They were both sophomores at high school and my brother said that it was love at first sight and that she wasn't like any other girls he knew. Of course, Layla refused guy like my brother every time he came near her but he was more stubborn than she was. After two years of trying, he finally made her fall for him. She fell in love. I guess that’s what happened: she fell. She fell too far. As soon as she accepted him, he brought her home to introduce me to her. I still remember his face, so happy and proud. My brother and Layla loved each other. For six years, their love never died. Of course, they sometimes fought, but their love was greater than that. That’s what I learnt. Their love was all about forgiveness and honesty. I had never seen my brother love anyone more than me. I envied them. Layla knew how to control my brother well. No one knew him better than her. He had changed so much. Layla changed him. She changed us.

But my mother didn’t’t approve of her. To her, she was nothing but a low class orphan, one of my brother’s short flings he would soon get rid of. Unlike to me, my mother had always been in control of my brother’s life. She thought that a person like my brother, with a great background and knowledge should go and find a person in the same level; a person, just like herself. Her expectations were too high. Layla knew all this. She seemed ashamed of her background and believed that she wasn’t good enough for my brother so when my mother came over and told her to get away from my brother, she did what she was told, without hesitation. It was her biggest fear; to be abandoned by anyone; especially by the ones she loved the most. So she decided to leave before she was thrown away. I still remember that night so clearly. Her last night, the image permanently tattooed in my head. My brother was out of town for a wedding of his friend. It was just a month before Layla and his own wedding. He wanted Layla to go with him but she insisted on staying with me as it was my exam week and she didn’t want me to be stuck in this big house alone, all by myself.

Thinking back, I started to realize that part of this, a big part of this was my own fault. And the more I reminisce, I begin to blame myself. Only if she had gone to the wedding, only if I had told anyone about that night, about her decision, would that have changed anything? Somehow all of us would have a different future. And maybe my brother and Layla would still be together.

I didn’t know how my mother found out about Layla, seeing that she rarely visited my brother and I after leaving us with our father, whom left us with another woman not so long after leaving her. It was one of those summer nights when the world was dead quiet; you could hear every creature outside from the crickets chirping to the cars racing down the roads. I still remember Layla sitting on the armchair next to me, reading her favorite book, her feet on top of the table. Both of our pedicures fully painted. The silence was nice and comforting and I guess that's why none of us expected the storm that was about the struck.
I still remembered the time: 9 'o' clock, the sky already turned pitch black. I remembered the sound of our doorbell ringing, the sudden visit of a familiar face, and the look on my mother's face when she saw Layla in our house. I could still hear her shout and swear, knocking down the flower vase, the present my brother bought for Layla and the glasses breaking into pieces. I remember Layla crying, begging, and apologizing for something she never did. I remember being slapped by my mother, for trying to defend Layla. Just like the storm, it happened too fast, everything happened all at once, destroying everything we had, leaving with nothing but chaos. After my mother was gone, both of us tried to recover from the aftershock but the deafening silence that filled the room was too heavy, a lot stronger than us. I remembered the hollowed look on Layla’s face. Broken, just like the scattered glasses on the floor. To me, Layla was always the strong one and it scared me to see her fallen apart.

“Layla, don’t do this,” I had told her that night, watching her pack her belongings, shoving everything she had into a small suitcase. I begged her to stop, trying my best to change her mind. I did. I tried my best. “Tell him. You have to tell him,” I had said, even at the very last minute, desperate, grabbing her arm and trying to stop her from getting out of the house. I remember her being silent, with her back towards me. “No,” she had snapped, turning around to give me one last cold look. “No, don’t you dare, don’t you dare to tell him. This is my choice. From this moment; act like you don’t know anything, understand? You don’t know anything about tonight.”

Layla called me that night, one last time to make sure I kept my mouth shut. She also told me that she was sorry. That was the last time anyone had ever seen her. Back then, I was too young. I didn’t understand any of the situations so even after my brother arrived and started to question me, even when I saw him fall apart and lose his sanity, I did what I was told to do. I kept silent and didn’t even breathe a word. I just loved her too much. And when we finally saw her again, she had already slipped away from the world. She left without even saying goodbye.

My brother still didn’t know anything about her death. When she was gone, he was devastated. He didn’t understand why she went away. He blamed her. He was so confused and angry at her for leaving him without any warning. He started to change but I just stood next to him and watched as he ruined his life. I couldn't tell him anything. I promised her. I knew the part of it was my fault. I never realized what she was going through. I just never saw her sadness that were hidden behind those bright, beautiful smile. I was scared and confused at knowing and having to keep something so big. I didn't know the right thing to do. I was afraid that if I told him, I would be betraying Layla because It was our last promise. And I was afraid that my brother would hate me for not being able to stop her. But I guess it's time for me to tell him the truth. I will tell him things I was too scared to tell him, even if it means he would never forgive neither me nor my mother. He deserves to know about her and she deserves to be known. So i opened my mouth to tell her words I have been holding on to all my life.

"Layla, I'm sorry. I have to tell him. He doesn't deserve any of this and neither do you. I'm going to tell him because it's just the right thing to do. I'm so sorry, I'm sorry for letting you go. I'm sorry for letting him hate you. It's just that he has changed so much and I'm so scared. I miss you so much. You have to forgive me, okay?"

That's when the tears rolled down to my cheeks and I had to look up to the sky to stop myself from crying. Looking up to the sky, I had to squint my eyes from the sunlight. The sky was so clear and there weren’t even a speck of a cloud, the chilly winds softer than the morning. Everything seemed so peaceful as if nothing had ever happened. This cold and empty place didn’t suit Layla. She was someone who belonged to summer; to the sun and the ocean instead of being trapped on the heavy earth, alone. And now as I’m standing in front of her grave, so empty and ruined, I could see how lonely she’s be. But I had no choice but to whisper her goodbye and walk away, wiping my tears from my eyes. It’s been almost a year since she died. I could still remember her grey eyes, her soft smile and the way she would stroke my hair and wiped off my tears whenever I cried in my sleep. I remember the way she would hug me. She always smelt of vanilla. And whenever she passed by, the smell of vanilla lingered on the air. But after she left, that smell of vanilla vanished with her. She was one of the strongest people I have ever known and I also knew she was scared and that she couldn’t find any way out. I guess she just wasn’t strong enough. She could have worked it out. She could have talked him through. She could have asked for help and for once, she could have stood up for herself and surely, she had to know that death wasn't the only way. But still, she chose to end her life. And to this day, I still don't know why she did it.