One old memory visited me last night. It was a distant memory, from when I was seven. A kind age, a tender and loving age where I was under the protection of the big warm hand that kept me safe from the cruelty of this world. I remember the man, who he was but never what he did. A secret I was to never learn but maybe fate had some different destiny in for me. I knew who he was and even after all the secrecy, what he did. And how he died. He was a hero to me, and he died as one of my memories. The strange scent of his cigar-filled room mixed with old papers was unknowingly my favourite smell, one that I yearn for and love to this day. I woke up to the ache of not having him near today, the date reminding me of the day that I lost him to his medicine of high, illegal street racing. I never hated him for it, I loved his passion for it. And now I wake up to days where he ain't a part of. I wake up early, realizing I have to be present at the studio for work, my mother going around while she hums a devotional tune. Never woke up to anything that early unless on days with such dreams that make me revisit my memories to the deepest realm. I go and sit out in the serene morning, the coldness of the previous night with the yet-to-appear-on-the-horizon sun makes me bask in it half clad in just my night clothes. The sound of a motorcycle booms in slowly towards me, making me realize the simple fact that Shikhar is coming home this early. Did he get off early or was he coming back from another hell of a night? I find a tired cousin pulling up in the driveway, with a black jacket turned dusty and a helmet of the same disposition. He finds me sitting on the swing, without a cover of my own making him open his and put it around my shoulders as I hug it closer to me to keep myself warm as his arms hug me closer. And now I still don't know how the whole morning passed as I remember sitting on the floor of the studio earlier than anyone else. As a long sigh released from me, I found a couple of newcomers, Harsh and Lana. "Trust me Laadli when I say that's the loudest I have heard anyone sigh, especially you.", he stares at me as Lana comes forward and sits beside me. "Lana Menka", a hand wraps around mine in a familiar warmth from an unfamiliar face. "Laddli Chibber", the voice in me whispers out. To her, it was something of a fever dream, never did she expect to talk to any model when she was striving to feel bad about herself. She looks at Lana and finds her eyes looking intently at her. " Harsh?", her voice called out, earning his attention. "Yes?" "Can you please leave us alone? I want to talk about something personal with Laadli." The words made me not realize what the important stuff could be. Other than the pleasantries I haven't been in touch with any of my co-models given that the only way I memorised their names was through looking at their pictures, which were such pretty pieces. Harsh gives her a skeptical look but leaves in a very slow dramatic way, keeping eye contact with Lana no matter how long it takes. He slowly walks away and turns back the whole way to the door and at the door he faces us, does the I-am-watching-you to her and leaves. When I turned to Lana, she smiled towards the door and it made a slight creaking noise showing Harsh's eyes. "Harsh, leave."  He grunts and shuts the door for real this time, making Lana chuckle and look at me. Amusement rushed through me, given that I never saw Harsh behaving this childish way even though his sister did give me records of how he is a goofball and up to no good when he's off work.

"He has always been an idiot. He does that a lot. I was in the same school as him." Realisation draws upon me when those words hit me as to why she didn't seem surprised, he might have been that close ever since they were in school; close enough to joke around in this free manner. "He does that a lot?", I couldn't help but ask. Her laugh reverberated all around us, engulfing me in a warm hug, a much-needed essence. " You'd be surprised to know if I said it to you. Say, you're here early." "Well, had a bad dream, that's all." "Wanna share?" "No." "Hmm, fair enough then listen." And she went on and on, on her school life, her crushes on seniors, flings with two of them and how both of them fought with each other for asking her out on Valentine's and how she said yes to one of them whose sister went on a date with Harsh and they double dated! All their antics from their life make me laugh so bad that I end up laying down clutching my stomach, which was cramping. She lets me take my breath and once I'm sober enough from the previous high, the remnants of the endorphins still remaining from their previous rush she starts with another story again. And in all this, I bond over her stories with my laughter. As I laugh, I find her smiling at me and I understand why she said it all. "The dream was about my dad. He died long ago in a freak accident and I remembered how much I miss him." "Ah true, happens to the best of us. Say, what do you do when you're this down?" "Used to look at his picture." "Used to? Not anymore?" I sigh remembering the last day I looked at the picture and the repeated visits to the doctor. "It made mom upset seeing me pine after a man who was not a part of our life anymore. She blamed his love for adrenaline thrill as the reason but deep down both of us knew that was just her coping mechanism. I got too used to whispering to the picture that mom was scared I would be lost from her life next. Thus, here we are. I know where she hid it but I don't bother with that anymore. It hurts her and I don't want the only parent that is alive to be hurt anymore." She looked at the floor and her mind seemed lost, the thoughts streaming through her eyes. I give her the time to dwell on herself as I gaze out the window and skim over the sight of the endless sky, the only patch of evidence that ground exists is the highest branch of the tree swaying its branches to be noticed among the huge fan count of clouds and sky. The only unique one among all, shining the most bright as the colours of youth in green sway to the whims of the wind song yet standing out among the drifting clouds, which is fit and perfect for the crowd yet mingles into the fit. It's like a whole concert out there, and the leaves are the ones that catch the eyes of their idol wind. All these scenes of freedom silence themselves when Lana's voice chirped through as a sweeter symphony. "You know what I do? When I'm thinking of my mom?" I kept looking at her honey-filled eyes, urging her to continue her symphony instead of demanding an unceremonious treble clef from me. She continues, her symphony bringing me back to the small room which she made warm enough for the both of us. "I visit my mother's grave. And when I go around in between all those graves, I find stories of people. I read the tombstones and it amazingly fits. I think of the life they might have had and everything. Say, would you want to visit my mother's grave?" "Me? Is that allowed?" "Never been to one?" "No." "Well, you should. I might have to leave early but please come with me? You can visit as long as you want." And I sit there thinking. And the next thing I knew I was getting down the Uber alongside her in front of the cemetery. I look at the roads craved in the beautiful pattern and there lays the grave as pristine as it had always been, maybe a bit dirty but pristine nonetheless. She walks in front with her bag of stuff as I take in the overwhelming feel of it. And then I step into its boundary, a very sharp chill follows the curve of my spine but something in that reminds me how very protected I am. If there remains someone here, they are just guardians and know I'm not here to harm them, the air warm unlike the chill I always hear about from people. Given it's after lunch hours on a weekday, there seemed to be only a handful of people. I look around the tombstones as my eyes fall on Lana cleaning up her mother's grave. I walk to her, the tombstones that read Marie Menka welcomes me with a warmth that engulfs oneself. It seemed warmer than when I entered. I replace the flowers and helped her clean the grave up, scrubbing lightly to get rid of the gunk and dirt. Lana tells me about this warm lady who sleeps here. I learned how amazing of a cook and teacher she was, how ardent of a plant lover she lived to be and that her green thumb made her live and breathe life into anything that's living. I can see a part of her charm in Lana. "Anything else you see is definitely Dad's genetics. It's the worst. Dad's words, not mine. Dude knew his family genes better." I laugh at her words of how amazingly her father accepted that his side of genetics was faulty. She kept talking about her parents, how lovely they banter and how she and her siblings could sleep through all the back-and-forth, "And sometimes the sleep was lost because they were going back-and-forth in bed." She gave a wink to the grave. I laughed audibly loud, this woman was a wild child. I looked at her while cleaning the tombstones, thinking of how her mother died, maybe pained to leave such a pretty family behind and what her father might have gone through. But throughout the whole time, she never said it, not one word about that. Once she was done she handed me a bouquet to offer alongside foods she offered to her mom and brought a picnic for us. Wait... A picnic? "Lana?" "Yes? Come sit." "It's a whole spread of picnic." "Just a couple of sandwiches and juices. Nothing much. Come sit, mom should want you to eat with us." I join her at the luncheon. She talked about her mother's favourite foods and colours when her phone rang, an indication of the incoming call. She received the video call, from her father and siblings on the other side. They talk to me and one of the siblings scream as she follows me on Instagram and wants to meet me in real life. Seeing the sweetness I call her over to visit me anytime. "Laadli, you don't need to. They are gonna cause you-"  I cut her off, as much as I like the symphony of her words. "It's ok. I want to meet them too." She gave me a grateful smile and talked with them a bit more, earning me a plethora of invitations and lots of love from her family, she showed them our picnic and how we cleaned her mother's grave. Through the camera I saw him trying to blink away the moisture of his eyes, making me realise that it really was the right thing to do, come and visit Marie Menka with her daughter. 

After talking and enjoying, I realised the time had passed beyond my apprehension, with the sun almost biding a weary goodnight to this part of the earth to fulfil its duties on the other side of this planet. The sun is taking its own sweet time, connecting with every creature of nature and showing them the path towards their home as it has been doing since the birth of the universe and will continue till one day the sun needs eternal rest. I gazed at the pretty farewell, with the birds returning home, chirping away their days chatter to their friends in a large crowd while thanking the sun helping them through the day and asking him to come again as they enjoy their life. Even fewer people now walked in the gates of the cemetery, it almost empty, my watch confirming the time of 3:49 in the afternoon. I looked around the graves that were just visited, adorned with flowers and it seemed to be warmly glowing in that radiance more than any other grave. "Maybe somewhere," Lana's voice lures me to look at her as I find her staring at the same view that previously adorned my eyes and continues, "where souls exist, they might be showing off their family gifts or just plain right talking about what they ate or when was the last they saw their family." I couldn't stop myself from smiling at her and agreeing to the sentences. "Like the birds?", a teasing enquiry whispers out and she gives me a million-dollar smile, "Exactly like the birds that return back to their nests every evening." I stared at her, the eyes of pure amusement as she laughed, "Laadli, we might just be best friends and even if we are, I promise it will be the best stuff ever to hangout with you. Damn girl! Who would have thought you had such poor humour in your living breathing senses even though you knew Harsh?!" Her laugh resonated with the surroundings as I denied her words about me seeing Harsh as a goofball. She abruptly stopped laughing and looked at me. "Seriously?" "Yeah." She looked at me, eyebrows up in a question to notice if I was serious, my answer being affirmative as a head nod. "Well, damn. Never knew he had it in himself to keep a normal image. How was he in college?" "Well, he was always focused, working on his designs, signing up for competitions. He was known as the busiest student in his class, though I am pretty sure he never paid attention to his passing classes. He was among the top students in his class." Lana looked at me as if I was talking to her about astrophysics. She sighed and looked around. "Unbelievable Laadli. Honestly, that's something I never expected as his school friend. Even my parents knew him as the most jovial guy." "He has been that hard-working because his family never wanted him to do the fashion designing course." "Ah, makes sense. So pretty much driven by passion? Good for him." She gave me one of her bright smiles and handed me a bag of bouquets, two of them in there. I stare at her asking for meaning and she smiles while asking me to replace the flowers on any two graves that I might feel like it needs a bit of flowers or appreciation. "Do you give flowers to other graves?" "Yes. Like I said they might have nightly discussions and everyone needs stories to tell. Just my way of looking at things but it is what it is." After a few more exchanges of words, I walk her to the grave and walk back to her mother's grave. I bid her loving soul a farewell as I walked around the graveyard. The graveyard seemed eerily warm.

I saw a minute's distance away, a number of rows of graves with the protection of the Cross adorning their eternal slumber, a sombre yet welcoming look. One glance at them proved to me a detail that I didn't take notice of much as I walked the path carved out to walk in front of these graves. The unknown, eerie, yet full-of-life vibes that surrounded this one area were not a mistake of my perception of a grave but rather true, given that most souls that made the rows their eternal resting place were forever young. Most people who lay tranquil in these places were the people who barely crossed the threshold of 31. That's the age of the oldest person I saw. Stars who left early and life was taken under the protection of God early. I watched the scenery, getting hit with an immense amount of unexplainable emotion, seeing dreams, hopes, friends and a fulfilling life buried there. I slowly walked around, thoughts of the visiting hours leaving my mind. Somewhere, I knew I might have to leave soon, but I didn't want to, not yet. I waited for a minute, gazing at the scenery before I decided to walk in front of the graves and take in all the identity of the soul that resides here. Their names, an impression of the life they may have had, and the people that might have been involved with them. Words that might have been formed surrounding their names, giving a pathway to nicknames, some pretty, others hilarious, maybe humiliating too, but all a part of their life they lived. The names kept flowing in their own dreaming intricacy as I travelled from one eternal home to another, and yet all I found was peace. Names I never even thought of were intricately written, proving the ownership of such resting grounds. Moving around with the bouquet weighing, the atmosphere growing heavy with anticipation, I stayed lost in my thoughts of moral values. It sure was a good idea to give flowers to someone's grave but what if I might upset the soul or their family? Would that be an ethical thing to do? Here I am lost in thoughts, whether or not it would be a sensible thing as I stopped in front of a name that struck the most in me. Avani Lilie Abilene. A star that returned to the sky early. I kept looking at the name as it called out to me and felt warmer. As I was about to take one more step towards it, to read what else was written on the gravestone a voice made me stop my movement. It startled me more than necessary.

"No, I've taken the day off. I'm pretty sure I will reach as soon as I can. Yeah, definitely." That same voice still sends shivers down my spine on every occasion. I turn around, meeting with the same face that has been haunting my daydreams on those days of my brain going through scenarios like crazy, the man who has ruled my thoughts ever since he found the chance to. A quick glance behind me confirms what my brain dreaded and my heart wanted. Abhay Singh Katiyal stood there in his full glory, with the usual business demeanour despite being in his shirt alongside vest and office trousers, the arm supporting a flower bouquet and his suit, his words highly professional, despite the place he is standing. The sun a bit above the horizon gleams over his figure, the charcoal grey suit shone, his face towards the sunset, his vision missing sight of me. Just when I thought that I could leave without agitating his energy level, he swiftly looked at me, and I turned away, speed walking out of the way, giving him the privacy he might need. I heard his voice ask for a pardon from the caller on the opposite end of the call, "I will call you later. Yes, thank you. Good day to you, too." I tried to escape a few more steps just so I could pretend I hadn't heard him, but this traitor's mind of mine stopped at his words or rather words, and my steps came to a halt. "Laadli." A serenity travelled over me even though I stopped as abruptly as the word of my name was pronounced by his mouth. I turned back to him and gave him a smile. He took a look at me, his eyes roaming all over me, especially waiting for a moment on the bouquet in my hand. After a quick assessment of my presence, he took not-so-rushed steps towards me, crossing the bright marble gravestone in just a couple of steps. He comes close enough for me to get a light whiff of his perfume mixed with the evening air smell. " I didn't expect to see you here, Laadli. Who are you visiting?" He gently asked me, calming my heart in the instant it had been on the verge of killing itself. "No one particular." "No one particular? Then why are you here, Laadli?" His surprise was given, no one went to the graveyard without having to visit a close one resting here, not until they were eagerly intrigued by souls and people. But genuinely, what would someone like me who had never visited a grave know? "Is it wrong?" my voice feeble from a guilty feeling. I definitely didn't want to make anyone feel bad or ruin their family's vibe as an outsider. I found him shaking his head, "No, it isn't wrong to visit the grave. If you don't mind me asking, why the flowers?"

Thinking about if it was right to tell the whole truth, I decided to let him know whatever made me feel the as the correct answer of the moment. "Lana brought me along to visit her mother." "So the flowers are for her mother?" "No. She asked me to give it to one of the graves here, so I have been going around thinking which might be the right answer, giving or not. I know no etiquette and was thinking if it was impolite to give flowers, and then I zoned out in that stimulation. What about you, Abhay?" He gave a gentle smile at my explanation and looked at the grave of Avani Lilie Abilene. I followed the suit of his gaze. "I'm here to meet her." The look with a ghost of a smile that travelled on his face made an impression on my worst nightmares, eyes looking as if it went into arson, and he wanted to do nothing to save himself but sit there and burn. Never in my worst of dreams have I thought of someone this way, and he scared me for the first time ever, a fear I never felt. "Family?" I asked, even though it sounded a slight bit stupid, given that Abhay was a Hindu as far as his name suggested. He laughed at me sarcastically, answering to me in words. "Closer than that." A pang of strange emotion passed through me, going through all the scenarios that could invoke all the scary turmoil Abhay was going through. "Lover?" This time, he laughed and looked at me, his eyes hollow, signs that he was slowly regaining his lost self. "Damn, I hope her soul still lives here. She would laugh and gag at the word you just said." I looked at her resting place as he kept laughing, the feelings inside me getting heavier, anticipating his next words. His steps grew closer as his aura grew heavier alongside my feelings. "She was much closer than that, Laadli. Closer than family, closer than any lover I could ever have. So close that with her, I have given a part of my life away the day she was buried." My breathing grows heavy, his words threatening yet confronting. "I am the one suffering Laadli. I am the one who lost her, why are you gasping for breath, I wonder." "I just, I thought that if she was that special, then you must have lost yourself when she left to rest eternally." A few drops of tears flow down, imagining the pain of someone that special being lost to the young Abhay. It doesn't matter if it wasn't his lover or family, as long as it's someone special, someone so close that they have a part of themselves in each other. I see his eyes soften and return to a humane level. He gives a sarcastic chuckle, probably to himself, while whispering loud enough for me to perceive. "And here I thought you were jealous." "Sounds absurd." "Why so, Ms. Chibber?" "You lost a person that close and want me jealous? Never in a million years." "Then I will wait for the billionth year for you to be jealous." he smiles and walks towards the grave, kneeling and dusting it off its old flowers and dirt before placing his flowers and praying. He looks at me after crossing his heart and gives me a smile. "Say, did you decide the grave you would give the bouquet to?" "No, not yet." "Then, would you mind giving Avani your bouquet?" "Are you sure I can?" "Yeah, you can. She would appreciate it more than mine, I am sure." "But why is that?" "Because this idiot would love to befriend an amazing person like you. If she were a part of this world, I guarantee that she would be eager to befriend you." His extended hand towards me made me accept it as I squatted beside him, placing the flowers on her grave and looking at him. "Just put your hands together and pray for her peace and guidance, that's all. You just need to be genuine more than anything." I put my hands together as I bow in front, praying for her peace and a request to look over Abhay forever. A gentle breeze, warm yet sweet, passes over my face. Once I open my eyes, I find Abhay looking at the grave, sad but not lost.

He doesn't face my way but asks a very terrifying question. "Laadli," his voice gentle but in pieces, "have you got someone who was your confidante? A person you say everything to, knowing they will be there forever and keep in their safe all your worries and sadness, and everything that might be haunting you, in daylight or night? Do you have someone like that?" my mind thinks back to Shekhar and Bajrang and answers him in the affirmative. He smiles, his hand reaching out and caressing my head with the broken smile. "What will you do if you lose them?" My world stopped spinning at his words. My mind couldn't fathom the thought of both my cousins not being there. The world started looking bleak and desperate, one where even if I was lost, I wouldn't mind. One where my death seemed better, even though my brain knew the universal truth of everyone dying. I can't imagine a world without them. The caressing from Abnhay pulled me out of my spiralling thoughts as he gave me an apologetic smile before looking back at the grave with thousands of silver spikes acting as a forbidden barrier to the impending doom of flood. "Avani, was that to me." His long silence followed an answer that took away all the air from my lungs, my brain fooling me into thinking that my medulla oblongata stopped its function of making me breathe. "She was my best friend. The one and only. The one I lost due to my own foolishness." My body shivered at the thought. "Five years ago?" He smiled at my perception of calculating the time from her grave. "Yes." I stare at this utterly lost man, knowing he has been stagnant without in his emotions. He gets up as I keep sitting there looking at Avani, shedding a few tears for him and her both. He presents me with his hand, which, on having no response from me, grabs mine with an apology and pulls me with him towards the parking. "How did you come here?" "With Lana." "Let me drop you home." "No, it's fine." "I insist." "I am not going home." "I can drop you wherever." "Wouldn't you rather be alone?" He opens the car door to me and lets me gently get inside his sheer luxury as he closes the door and walks to his side. I put on my seatbelt when he puts on his and pulls the car out of the parking lot. "Right now," his voice made me look at him as he took a breath in and looked at me with pain, "I shouldn't be alone. Especially now.I know what is going on in my mind and that is not something I am comfortable with, these thoughts are scaring me. Mind giving me the company Laadli?" His words make me ask him to drive to one of my favourite cafes, which takes a journey of three hours, including a roundtrip. The whole way, silence prevailed, and as his hand gripped the gear shift, I gently patted his hand while asking me to drop me off at the bookstore as Shikhar called me there. After a whole evening of this trip, his stopping at my location made me monitor him. As I was about to get down, his hand gripped mine. As he pulled it towards himself, I wondered if all he wanted was to kiss it, but to my surprise, all he did was touch it to his forehead, "Thank you for today, Laadli. I genuinely thank you. Thanks for keeping me safe today." The surprise didn't cease to flash itself on my face. His ghost touch of lips pressed themselves before a tear dropped on my hand, and he walked out of his car to open the door for me as he rubbed his eyes. I got down from his car, and he drove off. I walked myself to stand in front of the bookstore, awaiting Shikhar's arrival. 

Once Sikhar dropped me home, I decided to do what I never would have done in my worst dreams. I walked to the wall where my dad's picture was hidden and pulled down the cover as I sat in front of it for half an hour, when upon the almost nearing of my mom's arrival, Sikhar moved me from there and covered the picture again, as I was left in my room with the last letter written from him. I lay down on the bed, keeping myself from tears.