गुलबहार Daisy

The Sun was seen dancing in the partially faded sky today while her heart turned like a placid beach, which only made small ripples of her breath now. It was 9am in the morning, and she was waiting for him on the kitchen balcony. Sweat runs down her spine like gravel rolling from the mountain height. Her indigo dress has turned all wet due to perspiration, and her hair tied in a small bun with a white ribbon made no interference with her face anymore. Both her eyes were curious and fixed at the road, and the pedestrian walking through, hoping to only see him. She was eagerly waiting; a simple act of waiting can be so punishable, they say.

Today, her love was getting lettuce, tomatoes, meat, and bread, and she was going to cook the best food in her own history. The best crockery was out, the best table cloth was laid, and the best music was filling the silences. She knew this moment was preciously granted by her God. She convinced herself that she could not be any less careless in her sugar salt proportion today. A dining table was going to light up its best before this season passed to make a room feel lonely again while the summer songs go all mute.

He soon arrived with a bag of groceries and vegetables with a white Gulbahaar flower for her. She could now no longer hold her tears as the flower reminds her of all the old ephemeral memories and poetries they shared. She received them, and soon, all the nostalgia washed away, and the fascination faded in the overwhelming reality. Some days you could not speak anything and all words leave the mind like a dried river. There are days that you wish doesn’t end and you know nothing can replace it ever.

Gulbahaar now rested in the pot, and a white light perpetuated above in the ceiling, making it look more and more entangled with the moment. Her eyes wade in the perfectness of every aspect of this time, and his heart remained incapable of understanding the bleak language of love.

Some days are gifts, and to sensitize its abundance, the human mind fails. No wounds, no pains, no anxiety and no dread, but a simple joy of life and love unburdened by beautiful flowers .

By

Neha M

(Myself Neha.M, I am a Mumbai based writer. By profession, I am a clinical engineer but loves to write fictions mostly highlighting emotional plots or woman empowerment. You can know more about my work on my insta handle deepin_ink)