A Romantic Vision

The Boy Who Smiled Too Much

I screamed covering the letter over my mouth. Timur stopped the car, I squealed don't stop, run over life but don't stop.

He speeded. I cried, entire body trembling, please don't die, please don't do this....please... I prayed.

The showers busted open on earth, I limped to the other Mansion, a group of people no one crying, I watched steadily each face.

A woman asked me if I knew the boy,
Oh, I loved the boy, I cried.

The drizzle turned like soft sound on a jazz evening. I walked back, in my own house I cry at my mother's feet.
She said she did not inform me of the servant boys death as she didn't want to upset me.

At her speech, Timur took me into his arm and let me be all the kinds broken I could be.
He did not console me and that was healing, letting all of it go.

When I composed myself a day later, I knew the news of the boy's death was a week old. No longer anybody cares of it.

I went to Zahra, I know her name now.
I do not cry, she was packing her belongings into a bag, I suppose she is leaving with her parents to the city.

We exchange a brief look, I can tell she knows about me intimately. She is familiar with my motives, she despises me perhaps and in her share, it is believing.

I see Mrs Kasheefa grieved in the corner carrying a girl child, Now my tears accumulate and I no longer can stand on my feet, the earth has split open, the stars harken, I stay solemn.
Zahra walks out and Mrs Kasheefa follows her to give her the child, she brushes her away harshly, "oh give it to her mother, how long are you suppose to entertain it at work"
Then she looked convincingly to her mother and to me she nods, our tears drop in synchronised rhythm like making a tune for a boy beloved.

I took the girl child in my arms and returned to Sidra-Tul-Muntaha.
The fountain was restored in my absence, I learned it was Awan who took the meagre task.

The sun shines through the droplets from waters as they seem like a gush of jewels flying continuously, like time, like life, like love.

The child coos in my cradle, she has his skin.
His eyes, to some extent his smile.

Every once in a while a hero comes to change the world and life puts him to a silent sleep .

After a week my father passed away.
Timur wept uncontrollably at his funeral, he wailed in a way that strangers shook to tears, his hands on his visage were shaking, he cried for hours.

Sometimes people cry when people they hate die.
It signifies the end of sorrow.

I asked the mother if our wealth was all gone, she said not at all, my father for the fear of taxes transferred all wealth in my mother's account. Awans covetousness and greed tricked him, so is fates play.

We bought the other mansion.
Awans mother moved with us, she and my mother have become companions for the odd afternoons. They speak of interest they share,
Something about my mother has freed as well, as she speaks openly of my father's betrayal, of his infidelity and also of how grandmother always shielded his shallow behaviour to her indifference.

She often cries and apologizes to Timur.

Timur, he is sadly not the hero but he is no less. He diluted himself to the furry toy, so I could be entertained and not lose my trust over these blood bonded strangers.
The Chick and The Cat.

He loves the baby, we named her
Maerifa.
We are crawling back to being friends.
I asked him for the divorce, he said he knows the world as me and If he losses me he would lose the world.
I smiled, I feel the same but I did not say because he knows, doesn't he?

We bought the Putin's ground as well.
Opened a publishing company for writers in which resides the romantic spirit, the elastic love, the unbending passions.
We are doing good.
Awans mother too writes here at times.
Mother also visits often to readings, sometimes she cries.

I feel alright.

As for love...I still do not know what it is.
Occasionally we kiss, rarely we make love. But when we smile together now, I know I am full like the moon.

This is how we live,
Messy
Hastily
Madly
Do not Love, Console.
Console.

And now Timur kissed on the lips seven months after the last letter.
I say "Awan really was fond of you, he said you had the vision, you can see the unseen. Romantic Vision, he called it"

We were in the arched field of the moors heading downwards, the hues of green going deeper with the steep, the sky was asunder, there was a calming downpour.
At the lake where Awan had drowned, I gazed upon the beautiful lake,
It reflects Maerifa's little fingers tangled in the raven curls.
I smile.
It is all so impeccably written. The lake of Love reflecting back the purest bond ever compelled.
Motherhood.
Timur is reading the last letter,
The pour starts to get heavy, we rush sheltering her little head which she moves in adorable laughter.
We return to the car.
He smiled "yes, absolutely "
He read the letter again,
Laughed heartily,
"Laraib,
you understand right, the lake in which he drowned himself isn't deep enough to dive?"

I blink out of the pattern.

He smirked and I laughed pressing the dried lilies over my cheeks.
Tricked us, the boy who smiled too much.