Always is not. Every day is.

chapter 17

RYLE'S POV:

Still laying on the bed my wits isn't at ease. Neither is my heart nor my core. The amity and the composure of my soul is gone astray. Misplaced in that one deliberation that is not leaving my intellect, even for the most minuscule part of the second. That thought after which all my hope gets whacked. The thought that is a certainty and I know this for sure that no matter how much I rebuff, it will remain a reality. Finding that one girl with that one chronicle in this world of 7.6 billion population with 7.6 billion stories won't be unproblematic. Or to be more explicit it is on the threshold on being impracticable. But when dose Ryle do probable tasks? He is to instinctive to play with inferno oblivious of the smoulder. Oblivious of the cinders. But what if this time ridiculousness hammers hope? What if that girl gets vanished among this 7.6 billion people each with an inimitable face and diverse story? What if.............and here my optimism falls astray. It breaks apart and when there are no hopes there isn't amity and that's why this hopeless Ryle is all fret despite the AC being kept on 16 .

Oh come on, Ryle if Prince Charming would have lost hopes we would have never been fond to Cinderella. Nobody would have known her and maybe this girl is a Cinderella too waiting to be revealed. That bona fide Cinderella left her slipper that later revealed her uniqueness and this Cinderella has left her painting. Maybe this painting will take me to her. This painting will spot it's proprietor among this multitude of 7.6 billion people. It surely will because there is something in this painting that I have never seen before. Something very exceptional. Something that I can't describe in words maybe but if I try praising it I can only say that it is soul enchanting, heart hammering and eyes arresting.

I know just three phrases of extol for a master piece like this isn't flaxen but I can't help. I know this that all words of praise together even won't gratify the merit of this painting. Or to be more unambiguous the worth of this painting for me. It's not like I haven't seen any painting more fine-looking than this.

I am a painting addict person and a painting always attracts me. I have seen much more beautiful paintings from many notorious artists and I have also spent millions of dollars buying them. Yet I cannot judge this with any of those costly paintings I have at my home. This painting isn't analogous because this painting speaks itself. You just glance at it once and you'll get lost in its profundity. And so I am misplaced. Lost. Unruddrered in its depth. I can see no shore nearby. Each passing second I am falling in its depth. Deep. Deeper and now maybe I am on the deepest point right now and now I am petrified that I will descend. Sink in this huge multitude of 7.6 billion faces maybe...

There is a little click on the front door and even without looking in that direction I know it is Ridge. He might be thinking that I would be fast asleep after an actually tiring day but here I am surrounded by contemplation ignorant of my body parts that are now hurting quite ghastly. He with the same silence close the door again making sure he doesn't engross me in siesta. I can now feel his supple steps approaching my room. He'll surely come and check whether I am asleep or not and he surely won't like me still awake but I can't help. i can't fall asleep .It isn't around. At least not today.

'Ryle, Why are u still awake?'

It was Ridge. I was so mislaid in myself that I didn't even perceive he had already entered my room.

'Did you unearth any clue regarding her?'

I asked looking right in his eyes. My tone was very squat because it wasn't crammed with hopes. Ridge lowered his eyes and I got my answer. I sat back rather fruitless. Purposelessness loomed me and I am on the verge of contravention.

'I am sorry Ryle but it isn't easy to spot a girl from this 50,000 people who attended your concert. It is nearly impracticable. We have got no clues .I am sorry'.