CHAPTER ELEVEN

THE water turned out farther than I had anticipated. It still echoes; with it's waves slamming and crashing and then slamming again, but it was still not within our peripheral. It lay ahead hidden by the thick forest lair. 

We walked in silence still with him a few steps ahead of me walking smartly with his feet mercilessly crushing the dried forest leaves. He seemed out of it though almost falling from hitting a stone or two twice which he could have clearly avoided and for a moment there, just for a moment, I wondered what thoughts rested on his mind.

Strangely however, there was nothing awkward about this new silence that had settled between us. No coy innuendos either. We were just two strangers on a road whom are both right now left at the mercy of their thoughts.

Yeah, strangers! I liked the sound of that better and I found that was comfortable; seeing him that way, very comfortable indeed, like I could feel the tension in the air dissipating and my heart relaxing a bit.

I still have my worries; I can't just expect them to fade away, but I was allowing myself the luxury of basking in the forest's glee. Not minding the fact that today might just go down in my life's history as my worst day ever and yet strangely, bad as it is, being here right now just crossed an item on my to-do list—visit an island.

Perhaps not my worst day after all.

There is this list I wrote when I was twelve. Ten things I would like to do before I die. It was something I haven't thought about it in years; since after my dad. It was just one of those things that scald me whenever I remembered. And looking how I've lived my life so far, I would say I was subconsciously avoiding those ten things I, we; I and my dad, had penned down. It just stirs up memories, memories which were better left undisturbed.

However, I could feel them pouring out like an uncapped tap drowning my thoughts in its embrace completely. It was just too much, too unexpected that I couldn't help but face them head on. They were already flooding me.

That day, I still remember. I could almost feel the taste of the sandwich we've eaten, feel the hot wind on my body and the stench of fresh, dried and rotten debris filling my nose. I remember feeling happy, contented. I remember feeling at peace with myself and I remember thinking maybe life wasn't all that bad, maybe it was...fair. I remember everything.

It was the month before my world had began to crumble. The month I still had everyone and everything I have ever wanted; popularity, friends and love. That day, the sun shone bronze and the sky held the gorgeous of blues I've ever seen. It was hot, but not too hot, just a very nice day with a soft willowy wind spraying.

It was a Sunday. I had wanted to stay in and read a book; The Virtuous Woman by Zaynab Alkali, it was part of my school curriculum, but my dad had insisted we go out for a walk.

"Sundays are daddy-daughter bond day, Baby, and your going to secondary school isn't going to stop that, is it?" He had asked with his face which looked like an older version of mine locked in a playful pout.

I am a replica of my dad, his female version but my lithe body is all mom. My dad is taller.

"Nothing ever will, dad," I had hugged him possessively. "-nothing,"

And he had laughed hugging me back.

We had walked aimlessly for minutes with our arms locked. We, however, walked in silence, just being there; breathing, happy, contented. Maybe that was why here with Aman feels comfortable; it was a place I had lived in once, a place I had my happiest moments.

When we reached our spot, I spread out the carpet I had come along with in my backpack and then dad pulled out two bottled water and two sandwiches from his backpack. He handed one to me as soon as we settled down.

"God, I didn't know I was so thirsty," I exclaimed after downing the whole bottle at one go.

Dad laughed and handing me his, "You want more?"

I nodded retrieving it. I downed half and then gave it back to him. It was our little tradition. Whenever we went out together, dad never eats anything if it isn't something I have eaten. He smiled and drank it all. I laid my head on his legs

"Dad," I said softly.

"Yes, baby," he was stroking my head gently.

"Do you have an unfulfilled dream?"

"No," he replied with no hesitation and almost like an afterthought, asked, "Why do you ask?"

I shrugged,"My teacher asked us to write an essay about our dreams,"

"And?"

"My dream is to fulfill your unfulfilled dreams," I smiled

He pause smiling in turn."So what do we do now that your dream is already fulfilled?"

I shrugged. "I guess I'll just have to find a new dream.

"Would you like daddy to help?" He asked as he continued stroking my head.

I nodded.

"Okay, let's begin with things you'll like to do if given the chance." He paused, and at my silence went on, "They can be anything; stupid, intelligent, insane or stupidly intelligent."

"Dad," I said with mock shock.

"Well-

"Okay, let's see," I paused, thinking.

"They don't have to be amazing," he guided, "-they just have to be things that'll make you happy."

"Let's see, uhm....one," I began using my fingers to demonstrate "Live happily ever after you and mom. Two-eat lots and lots of biscuits, Three-"

"Stop, stop, stop." He stopped me. "These aren't dreams, Baby, these are wishes."

"Oh...," I said my mouth curving to form the letter O. "What's the difference?" I frowned

"Well, let's see. Dreams are like appetizers; they prepare us for what we are to become while wishes are like desserts; the finishing touches, almost like a smootheners."

"Like flour and icing?" I quipped

He smiled. "Yes, like flour and icing."

I smiled too.

"What was your dream, dad?"

"Uhm...let's see," he began thoughtfully. "To meet your mom and have a daughter like you."

"But, dad, how can that be your dream?"

"Dreams aren't always big, Baby, they are just compasses we use to find ourselves."

"Compass," I had mused softly but it had come out more of a question and Dad had nodded affirmatively

That day had given birth to my ten-things-I'll-like-to-do-before-I-die list and had awakened my passion for writing and now just a reminder of all the things I once had and lost.

"Aman," I stopped.

"Yes," he stopped and faced me

"I have to go,"

"What?"

"I want to ease myself, do you have water?" I rephrased

"Water?" He asked absently as he busied himself with unbuckling his backpack. He unzipped the bag and handed a bottle of water to me.

"Thanks," I murmured softly as I moved towards a thick tree covered by hedges. "Don't look this way," I called.

"There's nothing worth looking at, trust me, I've seen it all." he called back his voice marred with humour

Pervert, I thought ignoring him completely.

One...two...three...­four.

"What are you doing?" He sounded shocked.

"What does it seem like I'm doing?" I rebuked and continued. Six...seven...eight

"Why are you doing that?"

"To allow me pretend I am alone."

"Why?"

"Because," twelve...thirteen...­fourteen

"Because-,"

"I can't go with you hovering around me." Wasn't that obvious?

"I am absolutely not, hovering, over you."

"Then stop talking to me."

"Oh..." he began and then stopped. And then silence.

Twenty-three, twenty-four... twenty-seven

"Stop...doing that.

"Doing what?"

"Whatever you are doing."

"What am I doing, Aman?"

"This," I heard him say very close to me. It was so close I felt his breath on my neck. I gasped and looked up only to be confronted by some disturbing amber eyes.

Oh no! I've been caught.