The Inside Diaries

Balinese

Dear Hesper, she wrote in her typical writer's scrawl, hurried yet oddly curlicued, Marcella loved the dress.

Melanija paused, surveying her surroundings; several weeks had flown by, just like that. The heavy dark-rimmed magnifying glass atop the desk. The steadily increasing number of decorated crucifixes adorning Matias' wall, courtesy of his niece. And a window which opened up directly in front of her, past her parchment and pen, toward the beckoning sunlight of yet another tropical day, fronds upon fronds thickly lacing themselves along the distant horizon.

She continued writing, hunched forward in concentration. Apparently, she mused to herself with a slight upturn of her lips, so did Henry. They're expecting their first, a surprise, and they're delighted as can be.

"Croquette?" Matias approached with a bread basket, the delicious scent emanating forth, tantalizing Melanija's senses. She nodded as he placed them atop the desk; she plucked a piece, tearing off a quarter, chewing thoughtfully as she continued writing.

Hesper, I hope the Greek Isles are treating you well. Until later. -M.

"I hope I haven't disturbed your concentration..." he trailed off.

She shook her head. "Nope. I was finishing up anyways. And thanks for the paper—" One item she hadn't banked on needing was high-quality grade stationery paper. Just her luck, most of the shops had been closed and she needed the item with a certain degree of urgency. Luckily, Matias came through. He always does, Melanija thought to herself as she placed various writing tools away, noticing a cupful of bamboo paint brushes to her immediate right. "Are those...do you paint?"

"When I have a free moment. But my garden is my child, and that too needs tending to—and keeping updated on Marcella and Henry, of course. Family."

"Right. Definitely. Anyways, I should probably be going—you're checking in with them right?"

"Yes, in a few hours or so. They've invited me over for an early dinner."

"Oh, that's so nice of them!"

He blinked a few times. Previously lonely, he now was not, with an added little grandchild of sorts that would join the family soon. "Yes, yes it most certainly is."

After departing, she went through a hidden street's corridor, a miniature tunnel of sorts which led out to faded gold-painted house walls, then pink, a nondescript grey beneath, reminding the writer of a certain abstract art painting she'd seen earlier. Years ago. Once upon a time. She hurried on, spotting another wall of faded goldenrod, then damask, before landing on the doorstep of her intended location.

Arched pillars overhead, she gasped, spotting the courtyard's turquoise center. Pure, cleansing, Azorian mineral water. Her shoulders having been tense for weeks on end, Morgana had recommended she take a turn here, finding a bit of respite from the day-to-day happenings. A neat, organized set of matching turquoise and pale salmon-hued tiles surrounded said water, with creeping ivy and palm fronds lazily dangling from the second story balcony, adding an extra je ne sais quoi.

"What is this place?" Melanija breathed, as a woman, heretofore unnoticed, turned to face her.

"Welcome to the Balinese Fount," came the words. And then, the writer noticed in the water before her—

Fluffy blossoms. Fluffy, bright yellow blossoms.

She squinted, trying to place their name. Goldenrod? Too tiny. Marigold? Not amber enough.

"Craspedia," said the woman by way of explanation. "The flower, I mean. But also the person." Craspedia offered her hand, and Melanija shook it.

"Nice to meet you, Craspedia."

Hours upon hours later, Melanija approached an al fresco dining arrangement outdoors, which apparently meant a glass table, candlelight, a tiny lamp, and two spindly yet sturdy enough baobab-lookalike trees in the distance, the sound of water lapping intermingled with the early summer's wind.

She was not alone. Turning, she spotted Fernando, who approached and sat on the seat opposite hers, clasping her hand in his. "Long day, M?"

The writer nodded. "The longest. And yet—not long enough."

"So what's new?" A waiter approached and took their drink orders, then departed.

"Nothing—except...Marcella and Henry are expecting—"

"That's great!" Fernando's eyes positively lit up, as Melanija had kept him reasonably up-to-date as to her written progress. "...Isn't it?" He asked hesitantly, noticing the writer's odd expression.

"Yeah—I—I guess." There was so much to unpack, and she knew it.

"Melanija, what's on your mind? You seem..." he paused. "Upset? Anxious?"

She shook her head. "It's complicated—"

"This entire world you've imagined is complicated—"

Melanija laughed; he did have a point.

"Tell me...please?"

"I guess..." she stared at the fast-darkening horizon before meeting his eyes. "I'm happy for them. A little bit jealous. And wondering what life would be like if I had kids..."

"You'd make a wonderful mother." He brushed a lock of hair from her visage, kissing her atop the lips as they creased into a soft smile.

"Really? You think so?"

"I know so."