Love, Deniz thought, would be much easier if it were like a game of Bavouche. There were good guys and bad guys, right actions and wrong actions. There was a clear objective, and the price of losing was intangible, false; didn't twist in his gut like guilt or shame or anger or lust.

Most importantly, there was always a do-over. You could learn from your mistakes and improve accordingly. No one held grudges, or judged you. No one threatened to disown you in a game of Bavouche.

He wanted something inconsequential, and he was slowly learning that that was impossible.