உனை நான் கொல்லாமல்
கொன்று புதைத்தேனே,
மன்னிப்பாயா? மன்னிப்பாயா?
(I buried you alive,
Will you forgive me?
Will you forgive me?)
As Paayal held the treasure trove of her cherished moments - her drawing book in which her and Krishna's memories were picturised with colours, her eyes glanced at the self painted hardcover. She had transformed the original plain brown hardcover into a beautiful canvas by painting a girl adorned in a black gown, leaning against her knees, while a luminous white butterfly flying above her, symbolising herself into the girl in black dress and Krishna into the shining butterfly that spreaded light.
She ran her fingers on the shining butterfly on the cover, a torrent of emotions surging within her. The beautiful memories the notebook held caused her lips to curve up. The separation from the person who gave those beautiful memories made her eyes wet. Tears and smiles were the companions whenever she revisited those memories. She thought, "I can never make this butterfly as mine. But, I am still getting it's light on me."
"Maa," A cute baby accented voice interrupted her.
She blinked to control her tears, turning her eyes to the child. Diya, her adopted baby, a two and half years old cute bundle was standing in front of her, wearing an innocent yet exciting smile. "Let's see the photos, Maa." She referred to the paintings as photos.
"Yes, chellakutty," She responded affectionately, lifting her in her arms, heading towards the bed.
"Maa, Smile," Diya giggled, pointing her little finger towards Paayal's cheeks, ready to poke her dimple.
"Eeee..." Paayal smiled playfully.
Diya poked her dimples, laughing. It was her habit whenever she wanted to play with her mom.
They reached the bed by now. Paayal settled herself on the bed, holding Diya in her lap. Diya grabbed the drawing book and opened a random page hastily in her own childish way.
"Chellakutty, careful." Paayal guided her, ensuring the precious book was handled with care.
The page on which their beach memories were painted, unfolded in front of their eyes. The portrayal of a teenage boy and a teenage girl, building a sand house in the backdrop of the morning beach adorned the page.
"Maa, This," Diya asked with an innocent smile, pointing to the boy's image in the portrait.
"Your Papa (dad)," Paayal replied, casting a loving, yet yearning gaze on the image, the memories surging within her again.
"This," Diya pointed to the girl.
"Me, your maa,"
"This,"
"Sun,"
"This,"
"Water,"
"This,"
"Sand house,"
"This," Diya giggled, pointing to the boy's image again.
"Your papa,"
"This,"
"Me, Your maa,"
The cycle repeated almost about ten times. Paayal, who was responding patiently, enjoying her company, cuteness and innocence, now got tired with the same page. "How many times will you ask on this same page? Go to the next page or go to sleep, chella kutty. It's getting late," Paayal said in a tired tone.
"Maa, This," Diya's innocent laugh danced in the air as she pointed to the sand house again, ignoring her mom's words. She was playing with her Maa and teasing her.
YOU ARE READING
Paayal - His Scarred Butterfly ✅
Roman d'amourShe is lost in darkness, He is determined to become her light. She is drowned in tears. He is determined to become the reason for her smile. She is scarred, He is determined to heal her. Will his determined love mend her broken wings or will it end...
