A Promise From My Heart

33.

NOORIE'S POV

The cloudy day gave joy to mum, for those fluffy shapes in the sky brought the temporary dimness she loved. It was a promise of the rain that would fall. And so were the clouds I looked up to; heavy with a week old rain, gloomy and threatening a downpour it never released. Intense white and grey accented the blue.

My feeling of sorrow ran bone deep, shredding me apart in ways I could not explain. This little detail, as insignificant as it might have been, had me feeling good, sad, grateful, deprived, helpless and many other ways. Inhaling cold air as the tears prickled my eyes, I lowered myself near the vegetation of flowers, a multitude of beautiful species and calming scents.

My fingers caressed the soft petals, trailed the line of their cambers. Nurtured by mother earth until they flourished into pretty buds, they waited for the coming rain so they could drink from it. With the trees and trimmed grasses, green weaved into bright hues of nature, they animated the space and refreshed the atmosphere.

As much as mum admired the blooms, she cared for their roots. To neglect their roots is to prepare for their ruin, she would say. Then what would remind me of the diversity of God's creation? They appear in different colours, shapes and sizes just like humans yet each flower is unique.

The piercing pain in my chest stretched to other parts of my body. My respiration began to shorten and the shears I held quaked in my hand. Just how does time heal wounds? How? Trends of sentiments pressed water to the surface of my eyes. The pain was as fresh as it had been the day she died. There was only distance between that day to where I was with no difference in how I felt.

I clipped few sunflowers and dumped them into the rattan basket then moved to the white lilies. The floral beautifying the home has died, a reminder of what life is, temporary.

"Sister Noor!" Kenny's voice travelled across the garden. The unexpected call forced me from my sad thoughts to reality and in the process, the thorn on the rose nicked my finger. I snatched my hand away with a wince and pressed the bleeding finger to my mouth. "Your visitor is here."

Metallic taste of blood tinged my tongue. I removed it from my mouth and moved to the tap. "AZ?" I asked without turning back.

"Yes." He answered.

"I am coming. Just two minutes."

"There's no need to rush. I'm right behind you. Take your time." AZ's voice came through to me.

Water washed away the blood oozing from the injured finger until there was no more blood. I winced at the pain there yet managed to grant my friend a welcoming smile.

"You are so early." The words were edged with double meaning.

"I am so sorry." Her palms met in a pleading gesture. "I had things to do at home."

"You are forgiven sha." I said with an attitude as I moved to embrace her.

She took many steps back with a hand held forward to stop me. "Stop! You are dirty."

I looked down at myself. The apron I wore had been the one I used for painting. I was painting before I came out to the garden.

"Lol. Your shakara is too much. Because you are wearing a fine pair of jeans and top now, I cannot hug you." I mocked playfully. "It's not your fault."

"I am not going to be dirty. Can't you see?" She twirled. "Fine girl like me."

Our sense of humour had both of us breaking into a loud laughter which floated across the sward. I removed the apron, went to the tap again and rinsed my hand until it was clean. This was the advantage of wearing gloves. The old ones were nowhere to be found. I needed to get a new one.