The Northern Lights

Chapter 30. Soon.

France, 2011.

Outside the balcony, trees rustle and the occasional humming car engine passes by. The night sky is riddled with clouds, but the full moon glows uninterruptedly. Like the moon, a lamp in the master bedroom illuminates the patch of darkness.

Alone in bed, Azra is wrapped in one of Eden's old jumpers, the slightest hint of his scent is still present on its sleeve. Her ring sparkles as she turns the page of his Atlas, rereading the same pages, rediscovering the same images. It's the only way she can hear his voice again. Aurora Borealis, his voice whispers in her head, as her eyes zoom from left to right, The Northern Lights. This is where she stops reading, the rest of the pages have been sealed by an imaginary padlock. She cannot go any further without shedding tears. Tomorrow is Arlo's birthday. The day after will mark four years since his father's death. As she tucks away the fragile book into the bottom drawer, Azra realizes that one day, soon will become now.

She tussles herself onto her side, turns the lamp off. The night sky outside the balcony is a forever expanding horizon. The longer her eyes stare, the further they go. Maybe one day she will stare for so long that she begins to see where Eden is, behind the clouds perhaps. Some nights, she feels his arms wrapped around her waist, his breath in her ears, but then she turns around, and there is nothing. Not even a ghost.

The moon is blanketed by sombre clouds, darkness begins to coat the sky like an oil spill. Like the moon, Azra's alluring eyes, are also covered, just not by clouds. Her eyelids bring the calmness of black. Her thoughts settle. Mind drifts. And as she sleeps, she hears the singing of feathered creatures, a soft swirling of wind, and a slow, steady stream of water.

In the void of sound, she tries to make sense of it all. Her opalescent eyes open. She is no longer alone in bed. Azra is accompanied by the chirping of crickets and the flutter of fairy-tale lights that reflect off her angelic eyes. She stands in grass that drifts against her shin. In the breeze, each strand of grass is as delicate as her hair.

Have I been here before? This is where her jaw once felt as though it would snap in half, where she was before she was dropped into an endless abyss. She prepares to drop down an infinite pit, braces for an unavoidable freefall. Instead, her eyes are met with a silhouette of a familiar figure. It is the back of a man, sitting off an edge, feet drooping in water. On the other side of the river, a mountain watch intently.

The outline of the man is like a magnet, pulling her closer, reeling her in. The quiet thud of her steps is masked by the elements. Despite the magnificent glow of the Northern Lights, it is hard to see what lies ahead of her. But as Azra gets closer to the river, to the motionless man, the world around her begins to spin. She takes a seat next to him, avoiding eye contact at first.

Her face is lit up under the fluorescent beams of colour in the sky, 'Eden?'

'Hey,' he turns to her, smiles.

His voice, she thinks, oh God, his voice. She had been deprived of it for years. It's calmness, it's rough yet pleasant pronunciations. In that moment, hearing him speak made her feel as though he had never even left, 'Hey.'

His hand sneaks its way onto hers. There it is, the thing she so desperately craved after the funeral. His warmth. His smile. His touch. Her eyes finally work up the courage to look up at him. There he is.

Azra's mind becomes distorted, tears begin to shed. And as they roll down her cheeks, almost falling into the water beneath her, Eden caresses it away with his thumb. Azra's head falls onto his shoulder, she knows that it is just a dream. But as her hair rustles against his skin, she begins to realize how real it all feels; the way the aurora pulsates, the flow of the water, his chest rising and falling like ocean tides. She breaks the silence, 'Is this real?'

Their fingers are interlocked, souls are once again reunited, 'Yeah,' he takes a deep breath through his nose, 'this is real.'

A silence tip toes its way between the two. Their lips are sealed as each one observes the paradise around them with all their senses. The taste of sweet honey in the air, the silky-smooth flow of water that passes between their toes, the towering mountain and constant sparkle of purple and lime. Azra tightens her grip around his hand, almost as firmly as she did during Arlo's birth, 'I missed you,' her silky voice begins to break, 'so much.'

'It's okay,' Eden notices the lights calming down, their dance is much slower now, as though out of respect, 'I'm here now.'

They lay down beside each other, like when they were young, parked on a hill, cuddling in the back of a pickup truck, staring at the sky. Together, that night, they weren't on top of a patch of grass, they were on a mountain beneath the heavens, the skies, the stars. Even while separated by death, they do the same. But this time, they lay beside a river. Not under the heavens, but in them, beside a magic mountain and an aurora. Everything their adventurous eyes touch makes them gasp. The hours she spends asleep yet simultaneously in his arms fly by like minutes.

Eventually, the sun in Azra's reality begins to rise. It engulfs the horizon in its shades of buttery pink and peach. The silhouettes of birds begin to flutter against the piercing sun. The Bondy streets awaken, people open their curtains and begin their daily commutes to local Churches and bakeries. In her room, Azra lays tranquilly under her blanket.

In her mind, she is still wrapped in his warmth, his love, but she knows her time with him is nearing its end. He confirms her thoughts, 'You- I- have to go,' he says, looking her in the eye, before laying a passionate kiss, 'I'll see you soon.'

'When?'

'Soon.'

And just like that, everything turns black, and the chirping of real birds begin to flap into her ears.