Soul Harbour

0.58|when visiting an art museum|

0.58|from Sabah's first draft: when visiting an art museum|

"And we're here!" Anthony cheered as the car slid into the Museo Del Prado parking lot.

Before she could say anything, her phone rang shrilly. She frowned at the contact name, "Its Lana. Why is she calling me?"

"Who is Lana?"

"Oh you know that bitchy teacher from school who is out celebrating her birthday right now and didn't invite me to the party...yeah, that one." She accepted the call and said the customary, "Hello?"

Anthony smiled as she rolled her eyes and said, "Hola, Lana! Happy Birthday...umm Feliz cumpleanos. Hope you're having a fantastic day...Thanks...You're inviting me to your party!?" She looked at Anthony with an impressed look.

His smile faltered but he gave a thumbs-up.

"I-umm-I-I am actually out with my best friend at the moment and we already made plans so happy birthday, eat my share of the cake and I'm sorry but I can't make it." She cut the call and sighed in relief, "Phew, that's done. Let's go! Las Meninas is waiting for us."

He caught her arm and pulled her back in, "Why?"

She looked at him, his indescribable, confused and confusing grey eyes, "What why?"

"This was your chance to get what you wanted," he said quickly. "Why are you letting it go?"

She smiled, shaking her head. "I don't think you've realized it," she reached for his soft, blonde hair and ruffled it, "but I would rather spend time with you than with anyone else." She laughed as he blushed and blinked, "Especially if that someone is Lana who hates me and only invited me because of today."

"Wait a minute, that means I am a booster for your social life," he remarked proudly.

She punched his shoulder, "Shut up!"

And the afternoon and evening went in sweet abandon and comfortable walks across corridors of the Museum, finding reasons to hold hands and laughing at jokes which wouldn't make any sense to anyone else but the two of them. They admired Francisco de Goya, unravelled Diego Velazquez, squealed over El Greco and Titian, got enamoured by Peter Paul Rubens and would never forget Hieronymus Bosch.

Rich, exquisite paintings and jaw-dropping sculptures by these and many more adorned the white-washed the walls. Some people stood near to the paintings, taking off their spectacles to peer closely at the details of old paint on hidden canvases. Others sat quietly, alone and happy with unaching backs at benches, staring for hours at huge, towering masterpieces, going home with expressions of new found secrets and excitement that rippled past the hallways every now and then. This same excitement was felt by Auburn and Anthony too, who stopped for ages at particular places and strolled past others, always finding something to talk about, something to remember and repeat, something new and old to love and admire.

Here, surrounded by far-off echoing footsteps, low breaths, thick inertia, they felt as if they had just touched an age old mystery, a mystery that only very few had heard about and fewer had solved. Every smile, every laugh had a reason so deep that the outside world soon began to fade and give way to pure, whispering exhilaration.

They stopped finally in front of Las Meninas by Diego Velazquez, the painting they had heard so much about and had wanted to see since once reading an article about it together. Auburn untangled her fingers from him and stepped forward, mesmerized, "It looks just like a..."

"Photograph," completed Anthony in the same drunk, dazed voice. "And its him, Velazquez, in the painting..."

"And he's staring at us as if to say You guys have no idea," she laughed softly.