Her portraitures came in all shapes and sizes. The glances of one sprightly girl burst forth from one to the other. Assembled in an array of personalities of different times, the collage of fixated happiness seemed to draw in an aura of mysteriousness to it. What has she been doing all these years? Where is she now? He couldn’t help but wonder.

There were wee moments of embarrassment scattered around the nooks and corners of the house. There was her 10-year old self, just below the precipice, hoping to score on the driving seat.

“Can I drive this one, Papa?” He chose not to answer, for that, as he had presumed, was too premature for her.

“Someday soon,” he reassured her. He chose not to honor her promise right now, because he wanted to wait. Wait for the day she matures well enough.

“Lofty dreams,” he presumes, “but not something far-fetched, right?” She was already gone by then, as he watched after her, trailing along the side-street in a dainty fashion. He had high hopes for her.

Back to the days of the kindergarten, where she had gone around, making a fool out of everyone, clinching the title of ‘Watch-maker’, her sharp teeth had intimidated him all day long. She supposedly went around impressing her teeth upon every other person. “Watch out for the teeth!” he kept chanting all day long. “Watch out for the teeth, and you shall be safe.” And true enough, there she was, grinning upon the squeals of her peers.

“You want a watch, too?”

“Sure.”

And there it was again, his innate curiosity. After finally heaving multiple warnings, it had overwhelmed him. His wonder did him no good. That day was memorable as no other. He kept clutching on to his wrist, writhing in pain and cursing her throughout.

He looks back upon that in an amused manner. He checked his wrist again. Where the bite marks used to lie previously, now there were scars embedded on it. A three-tier scar; which he wasn’t even aware of what had caused that in the first place. For something unknown had traversed over, shrouding his latent memories. He couldn’t bring this up ever again, for he knew he would be flushed completely. Surely, he could have used it as an ice-breaker of sorts. But what was it exactly that led him astray from everyone? Even from her. Was it ambition that had finally grown over him, to this day onward? He was supposed to head over to that Promised Land, he had always envisioned. But now, was that imagined mass supposed to be a no-man’s land, where he finally claims his peace. He doesn’t have an answer for now. He goes back to his reverie.

Years race by as we arrive at what is now the time of the third portrait. The random influx of pathways that had been laid in front of him, has finally gained his attention. He is too weary of following the laid down instructions set by his family. He takes her up by example. Even if he is not aware of her current life, he takes solace in her. He has to.

From here on in, he receives tidbits about her. He chooses not to follow through, because knowing her now might not be well founded after all. He has treasured the past moments all along. And coming to understand her now might not be similar to what he had envisioned earlier. The ideal self, he calls it. Though that never sees the light of day, he decides to keep mum about it. And so he did.

In the interim years, he still had no idea about her after all. Even if she turned toward him, he dashed away from her, hoping she didn’t catch a glimpse of him. He still was an unformed shadow of his self, unfounded and maligned. And he wasn’t ready to reveal that yet.

As her birthday finally approached, he grabbed the first thing he could lay his eyes upon. A bestselling novel, supposed to be forgotten by both in a short amount of time. Without giving a further thought, he rushed to her place, all the while hoping that she really liked flowers. The purple daisies that had sprung forth from her own gardening bed. He wonders if she really remembers those. His ideal image of her didn’t correlate to that. Her delicate self wasn’t supposed to be a part of it. He left it for another time to ponder upon.

As he finally chanced upon her with the dusty, flickering lights in her room, he faltered. He could only manage a weak smile. There she was, in the center of it all, unabashed and seemingly unassuming. He was unable to read her at all. She snatched his diary, narrating out with wild delight; the impulsive entries in the green-leafed hardcopy. The mismatched song lyrics, the childish banters just to match the overall tone; it was all laid bare to her. He hasn’t readied himself for it yet. But he could notice the gleam in her eyes. The same degree of luster he kept going back to. She was gulping it all. That unbridled excitement as she kept poring through the pages, would be recorded in his memory strands now. He noted that the same intense curiosity would definitely be lost as she glosses over the book he got for her. But something told him that this was different. For he can finally satiate his innate need to understand her. She tip-toes back to her room and beckons him to follow right after her. He follows suit. He just couldn’t fathom the nasty turn of fate reeling right behind him.

Her barrage of questions has muddled up his mind. He takes it all in. Everything that is in sight. The slightly frayed wall drapes and the blurred mirror stand right next to the creaking bed. He tries to shut the door, to block out everything else. This was the moment of reckoning as he had presumed. She puts him up to a task, albeit challenging enough for him.

“There is a trick to shutting that door. Figure it out on your own”, she smirked out loud.

“But there is no possible way to do this. Are you sure there is one?”

She blows out her tongue in sheer disappointment and wedges the towel in between the door hinges.

“See. It’s done”, she expresses nonchalantly. A small wave of admiration passes by him. He was almost tempted to ask why she needed a chair to go to the bathroom.

“Too personal. I will save it for a later time,” he noted.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“Nothing. I was just wondering when you had taken up archery.”

“You want to string one?” she replies back with that wondrous gleam. “Here, just hold it and extend it back as far as you can.” He gauges the strength required and arches his back to show off in a pure manly fashion, only to fail miserably moments later.

“It’s quite tough, huh?” He shrugs it off to divert her attention.

“Well, what did you expect?” she came forth instantly, seemingly amused, with a knowing smile splattered across her face.

An awkward silence follows, as it is broken apart with the arrival of her Granny.

‘What are you guys up to?” her head pops right through the door opening, as she scans around the room.

“We are just catching up on old times. You want to come inside?” That seemed like a well-rehearsed reply at best.

“No…no…I will leave you people for now,” she retraces back, her inquisitiveness fulfilled.

He garnered there wasn’t much time to lose.

“Hold out your hands to me. I need to see something,” he asks her, much to her surprise.

“Okay,” she extends out hers in a confused state. “Where are you going with this?”

“Trust me on this. I need to know,” he words it out vaguely.

He clasps both hands together, fixed right between his own. Imagining himself as a seer, he wanted to let it flow. Everything that had passed right by him. He wanted to reclaim it all. At long last, he wanted to connect. “It’s warm,” he notes to himself. “You know…

The buzz from the other room subsides, as the shrill alarming call pierces his ears. “Time to go home. Let’s go…”

“Perfect timing,” he exasperates in pure pain, as he leaves the bedside.

As he leaves in the car, dejectedly, he gazed back at her strongly. He didn’t know that this was supposed to be a long, unannounced farewell coming.

Time had traversed for quite some time yet again, as she had packed her bags for some unknown city. Finally, she had set her foot in uncharted territory. Not in the vicinity, as he had hoped. But this was something that he could never have expected in the first place. He had been here to her home, many times. But it felt distant now. The nocturnal callings of a dying out past were all blurred out. The pit in his stomach had grown terribly. He excused himself and showed himself out.

The interim years weren’t too easy. Whispers of her reached out to him, as he clambered over the greasy pasta served at breakfast. So, she made the nationals, he grinned out wide.

“Bhaiyya…this is breakfast. Not lunch. You are not allowed this many servings.”

“My bad!” he calls out to the serving boy. He sneaks out the largest helping anyway back to his room. “Forget the food. I need to talk to her now,” he exclaims out loud.

What he didn’t know was that there were no traces leading up to her. Anywhere.

The fourth portrait had been positioned already in that jazzed-up corner in her home. He wasn’t aware of it. He had resigned himself upon finding her already. He assumed he would meet her when it was the right time. “Too convenient, right?” one might say. But he wasn’t left with many options. Every single time, he brought the subject up, her huskier Papa strokes his hair. “It’s getting weird, alright,” he mentally makes the note, as he changes the subject yet again.

Finally, he finds a lead. An obscure one, for sure! At one mutual friend’s suggestion, he rushes straight back home, and types in those words flimsily, with a skeptical expression etched across his face.

“Aliana Adi…what does that even mean?”

He cries out in sheer delight, as her message pings back at him. “How are you?” he sends it out impulsively, expecting to gain back a boatload of things she had yet to tell.

“Fine, I guess. How have you been?”

Well. That was certainly not something he had expected. The brimming amount of enthusiasm comes crashing down right in front of his eyes, as he resumes his stoic expression.

‘I am good. You tell?”

This was certainly not going anywhere. Both of them were running in circles. He left the conversation on a sombre note, hoping to catch up with her on a much better time. But he assured himself that he was not going to lose her yet again. After all these years, he just wanted to say that all this time, he did miss her.

He comes back from his reverie, as he looks back at the bowl of shells stationed right next to the counter. He picks them up, and sizes each of them. He had been in contact with her a short while ago. She was quite surprised. The shells felt like each of the things he had held up inside him. Pick one and it does feel weightless. It seems like it won’t impact a thing. Pick the whole bunch up, and then you notice your balance shifting. “It is heavy,” he presumed. The shells were not supposed to make it to the next canvas. And yet the canvas he is visualizing now was laid blank.

“I wish you were enthusiastic about reading. I would have sent something about you.”
“I am game, all right. When are you sending me the piece?”

“Tomorrow,” he assures her firmly.

“Hey…you haven’t sent me yet.”

“I will…give me time until tomorrow.”

He hasn’t figured out the end yet. He surely could not fill the blank canvas with the words he had crafted. But he hasn’t understood it yet that she was supposed to be the end to all of it. She was supposed to be the reader all along. And with that, the words unsaid had finally come to fruition.