When Sarah opened her eyes, she was in another realm entirely. She was in a cold, damp passageway; the table with all the food was there as well. Although it was the same table, there were words written all over it, making meaningless sentences.

Extremely huge manuscripts were hanging from the top floor of that five or six story building. Things--stories, memories, formulae, derivations, route-directions--were scribbled on the pages in not so legible but consistent calligraphy—all in different fonts and sizes. And they glowed, too. The floor was pitch black with some writings in white colour.

When she looked up closely at the table, she saw that these weren't any random words. When put together, they formed a song along with keynotes for piano. She'd taken piano lessons in school, but still couldn't make out what the entire piece would sound like. Sometimes the entire story was obvious and known to you, except it wasn't.

There were—she blinked—and everything disappeared. Sarah looked around queerly.

Now she was among some orange autumn trees. It was few minutes until the sun kissed the horizon; until the birds went back, and hid in their nests, cozy against one another; until the predator slithered home, and the prey breathed freely one more day; until moon prepared to ricochet light and it's stunning beauty. The moon wasn't beautiful because it sparkled dull colours; it was because embraced its craters, while animals were too busy separating stripes from skin.

Until the day Sarah and Nathan met died.

Thousands of colour-spilt canvases were everywhere she'd look—one with a girl standing with a royal dark blue gown; another with a boy looking at the painter with tear-filled eyes; girl sitting on a beach as she saw the waves rise up and fall down; a mother with a child her arms. What caught her eyes was the canvas where a six-member family with two boys' arms on each other's shoulders and another one with the mother. There was sister too with long hair. She gave a glance to the floor—

"You look around with such fascination," Nathan said out of the blue.

All of sudden she had to snap out of this beauty and had to look at him. Ugh. "What is this? It's mesmerising."

"Would you believe if I said that I'm making you hallucinate and make you see, well, anything I want you to see."

She abandoned her chair and went to smell the poppy scent of the flowerbeds. In the evening, these smelt like a scent the warm sun would have. She touched a flower which looked as though it were living. When she touched it, a ghastly vibe, rather morbid and uncanny ran down her body like shivers. Without turning she asked, "Even in a custom-made reverie, you couldn't be less diabolic."

He raised his eyebrows. "I didn't quite empathise that sentence. If you mean it metaphorically, I don't know what you mean."

"On the contrary, I mean it explicably literally. There was a strange feeling when I touched these lilies." She looked over her shoulders and said, "I hope you haven't filled with all the lies and indignation you've spoken in these centuries."

"You and bitter talks aren't the best couple. I'm still incoherent as to was I to be hurt or be disheartened by what you said."

"Why—damn it—don't talk to me," she said as her face went red. Her hands were stroking the stalks of the flowers thoughtfully. She didn't want to look at him. There was a shot of anger and irritation flowing through her veins. "Uh, I'm famished," she thought.

"Very well then, you're the one at loss," he said as softly as the light rustle of trees on a calm twilight, and commenced to ruffle his hair.

She didn't want to argue on how beautiful this scene looked and how a part of her didn't want to leave this site ever but at last shoved down the thought of admitting it in somewhat reluctance. The thought of the surrounding changing again seemed terrifying. Because if it did, she'll forget this gorgeous sunset. So she took it all in one deep inhale.

"How are you doing this?" she said, bewildered.

He gave her a look that said—I thought you didn't want to talk. However, Nathan flushed that and spoke: "The talisman has certain powers. My mother was a Witch. She gave this to all of her children." He put a great focus on the words 'mother' and 'children'.

You say you've got siblings and you didn't take their help?"

"I don't have any whom I can trust. Talking about them would be more than a displeasing conversation."

"If you don't mind, do you think it was immortality that did this to all of you?"

Nathan's eyes suddenly red. He averted them and blinked multiple times. "All find someone or something to blame on. After a period, that cause becomes useless and the blame game starts once again," he continued. "We're far more broken than immortality could've ever done to us."

And, silence usurped the scene for few minutes. Nathan's vision was still hovering over a swarm of daffodils. His eyes watched the daffodils swing—with, ah!—what grace, lithe and freedom. He closed his eyes. He could remember children playing in a daffodil garden. He could remember the touch of the cool, lively breeze. And, of course, her.

"It's finally sunny. No more sickening pours," Ava said, getting her shades out of the spectacle box.

Near the daffodils, two seven-eight year olds were howling and playing (howling and shouting and laughing more than playing). "You can't catch me, Eric," a voice giggled. "Sandy, mom says that isn't fair!"

"Where were you?" Nathan said.

"Caught up with some work," she replied.

"Work? More like taking out tea sachets and arranging 'em according to daily use."

Her cheeks flushed. "I like it."

As sunny as it was, winds couldn't resist themselves to enjoy themselves too. Wind perhaps expected a usual, periodic, silence. How hilarious was it for toddlers to ruin the wind's premeditations. 

After a long while, Nathan said, "Rain isn't sickening. It's like birth."

Ava laughed. "Those kids are messing too much with your mind. Ah, here it comes again." 

A multi-coloured ball rolled to Nathan. He frowned. 

The toddler came and stretched her lips into a big smile. "Could you pass me the ball, please?"

"I'd give it to Jake. Where's he?" Nathan teased. 

"Come one." Ava took her glasses off and covered her eyes and smiled. 

"He's preoccupied right now."

"With whom?"

Ava kicked Nathan's ankle, and said, "Take your ball." 

"Jake and Sandy don't like the sun," Ava explained, grinning.

"More of a rain lover, are they?" he asked.

"And birth lovers."

Nathan raised his eyebrow. 

"They aren't real," the little girl whispered, as if risking some secret code. "But I don't want Eric to feel bad to not have any guy-friends." And she went away.

Ava awed, while Nathan laughed.

"Kids are so basic. And weird," said Nathan. 

"Basic? You don't like kids, do you?"

"I don't like them, but I don't hate them, too."

"No, you just don't miss them. Like, they're not a part of your life." She feebly smiled, and looked away from Nathan's eyes. They knew her too well. 

He sighed, and switched the topic. "But I really do like adults. Just reminding."

"But, Nath, we aren't adults. Well, not technically," she teased. 

"Oh, yes, however"—he titled his head—"we—Christ!"

Ava zoned out of Nathan's words like a camera zooming out. In his words, she found a safe place, and right now, no one could snatch her away from her comfort place. She could hear the ball rusting through the grass like a snake, and at the right moment, kicked it in another direction without much of an inconvenience, thanks to her Terminal agilities.

She lied down, facing Nathan, and rested her head on her palms. "You were saying?"

And, Nathan went in for a kiss.

Present:

"You said your fiancee's mind and soul are separated, but she is immortal," Sarah said.

He was wondering for the most appropriate answer, but none were good enough. Perhaps the memory itself wasn't good enough. Suddenly, one petal from the bunch of daffodils drooped, following which, the whole flower withered. Like slowly and slowly, black paint falling off the tip of a brush, spreading and finding refuge into the water, blackness spread through the flower, and other flowers too, until there were no more daffodils left. Nathan watched and sighed as his favourite flowers died. And, he went for the safest reply: "It's a long story for another time."

Nathan didn't want to tell her how his sister and his fiancee's father allied. How they hunted Ava and him. How they disputed against them. And, lastly, how a sister could ruin her brother's happiness, and how a father could slaughter his own daughter. The world was indeed upside down, but Nathan wondered when it became so cruel? Or was it always this cruel, and so was he? Was he ever any less cruel? Or, were he ever really cruel, though?

Sarah looked up. The beautiful sun seemed to have skipped it's gradual set and disappeared behind thick grey clouds at once. It was about to rain. It later came to Sarah's knowledge that perhaps she wasn't just in Nathan's imaginary place, she was in his imagination.

And, it was lovely.

***

Thank you so much for reading till here. It really means a lot to me.

Have a wonderful day!

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