It's All In The Mind √

Bonus?

" I don't like roses. The petals hurt me. "

" You mean thorns. "

" No. I mean petals. They are too bright, too slippery, too weird. " , Alvira twisted her lips as she dusted the empty vase.

" But I thought you loved weird. " , Shaahid smirked. He was sipping on something, and he did not really know what it was.

" I am weird, but I don't like weird. They are competition. " , she did not like the fact that she was smiling, so she immediately put her guard on.

" Come on Alvira, there's no harm smiling sometimes! "  , Shaahid was still figuring out the substance in the glass in his hand.

" Your advices and your assumptions are harmful to me. " , she took seat right beside him.

It was 6:30 in the morning, December 15th.
Location : Alvira's verandah.
A canopy of green, with not a single flowering plant.
Even the two wooden chairs along with the table,  were painted green.

" Can you just tell me what drink this is? " , Shaahid finally asked.

" Just an extract of your twisted brain." , she twirled the end of her light pashmina shawl around her index finger.

Shaahid laughed out loud.
There was this thing about Alvira. She never talked straight, just never. And he enjoyed how she did that everytime.

" Oh!! I taste so good, I must brag.. " , he was looking at her, but the woman, was looking at a black cat across the street, busy licking its paw.

" Last year, when you were not here, a brown cat used to regularly visit my veranda. I don't know how, she would climb up the pipes and land softly, always when I was sitting and writing you letters. She would just purr, and meaow, and growl. And I used to complain to her against you. She would listen, as if record all my complaints, and leave, as if to place them before the authorities.

She has never been here since you returned. She is probably dead, or gone, or.....she was you. "

Shaahid smiled, put down the glass on the table.
" Or maybe she has returned to the one who had been writing letters to her. "

Alvira now looked into his eyes.

Shaahid never broke the contact when she stared into him this way. It happened rarely. Mostly she avoided eye contacts with him. And with the minimal knowledge of human psychology he had, he knew she had social anxiety. And she was depressed.

But when she did lock eyes, he could only see and ocean of despair, with islands of immense love.

" Why did you come back to me Shaahid? " , for the umpteenth time, and her voice still oozed angst.

Shaahid heaved a sigh, and took a long time. She did not look away.

" I did not come back to you Alvira. I was here, all the while. You are my childhood. However far we wander, however tall we grow, we are always there. A child, in someone's memories, in albums, in old houses, in countrysides, in school playgrounds, in worn out books...
I was never gone! "

Alvira fell back on the chair, as if trying to soak in every word he said.

Shaahid knew, she would ask this again. A week from now. Or maybe just tonight.

Probably because, she did not get the answer she hoped for.

Alvira and Shaahid were tenants of the same villa in Chittagong. Shaahid was a mere 5 then. Alvira was 4 and a half. Their families stayed together. The landlady was a sixty five year old woman.
In her early years, she was an army nurse. And her husband was a Navy officer, who had died in a war, leaving her with no kids, and an enormous villa.