The Inside Diaries

Aveiro

She rose, yawning, mouth sore from—she paused. Clenching? Probably, she mused to herself. Fernando always did say she worked herself far too hard for an island lady. And deep down, she knew he had a point. A week since the wedding, and here she was, burning the midnight oil...or morning oil, laptop open, desk refurbished, a potted plant on the furthest right of her desk, with stray emerald tendrils hanging just above her head.

Once upon a time...

Melanija referred to her style manual as she continued to write a draft screenplay of her dental experience. It wasn't as boring as she thought it would be; she'd spun the mundane into the vaguely paranormal...or was it supernatural? She sometimes confused the two. Ok, definitely supernatural. Modern-day Frankenstein meets the TV show Medium meets...something.

Fourteen pages in, she saved the document, emailed it to her personal email account, and shut down her laptop. She had a busy day ahead of her. Gathering her things, she fed a purring Catticus then headed out once more to greet the morning's light.

She passed familiar swaying palm fronds, crossing through a couple of sandy intersections, the scent of guava permeating in the most delicious manner. "Aveiro," a sign read. She followed it, through a forest, then a township, and then another. By this time, the sun rose higher in the sky.

And finally, forty minutes later, she landed at the doorstep of what appeared to be an alabaster mausoleum. Almost about to knock, she stopped, spotting a lockbox. Entering its code, she was granted a key, which she used to gain access. Making her way toward the solarium, she was surprised at the austere interior. Though the outside was itself imposing, its insides were as eclectically cozy as could be. She spotted a mustard-colored couch—a single rectangular 3-D object sans arm rests—replete with identically-hued pillows, stacked one upon the other as if pages in a book. A cubic mirror-like table rested in front of it, adding illusory dimension while the back was a paneled, slanted floor-to-ceiling set of greenhouse windows, bamboo offering welcome coverage. The writer wondered at the crimson-orange seating, one on either side of the mustard couch. Color coordination wasn't a strong suit in this household. But then again, who was she to complain?

She'd agreed to pop by to housesit—to check on the bamboo, to dust if needed—when offered by a guest at Marcella and Henry's wedding. Said guest had generously offered use of their miniature balcony pool overlooking the Aveiro hillside, the most spectacular in the region. Who was she to refuse?

Not noticing anything amiss, Melanija ducked into the guest bathroom, changing into her swimsuit. And soon enough, she found herself dipping her toes in the cool, crisp water. Flexing her feet, she sighed, a wave of relief seeping into her shoulders, previously tense. Swimming lap after lap, she counted...one...two...three...until she reached ten. Billowing clouds furled and unfurled themselves along the lush horizon.

And an hour later, she found herself heading back, passing the circular sculpture, its innards hollow to reveal the sea below, sparkling and sapphire. She made a silent vow then and there to never, ever take the island's splendor for granted.

But enough of that, she decided, turning and speed-walking back to her abode, where Catticus was waiting. And soon enough, possibly Fernando.