"Harold?...your presence is required downstairs." I call out after I knock twice on the  massive wooden door, carved with beautiful depths and curves.

I wait. 

No answer.

I knock thrice now.
I Still couldn't hear him. No sign of any movement.

"Harold...? Are you in there?" I grip the handles and turn them slowly. The double doors open up with a loud creak. I crane my head inside.

The view infront of me was the same.

No changes.

The coldness, the dark, except for the light that enters the room from the window that faces our meadows, and....the smell of paint.

"Harold? I've been calling you...can't  you hear me? Sister is dying....she desires your presence."
I can make out his distinct figure sitting by the window, a brush in one hand and a palette in the other. He sat infront of his canvas which seems to contain some kind of a figurine. I called again, But no answer yet.

"Harold!" I shout out. Louder this time.
He must have heard me now. At least that's what it seemed like as he jerked his head up and looked out the window.

"Speak, Harold." I demanded.

He turned to look at me. Painfully slow.

"I told you not to disturb me." He informed.

"Sister is dying. Harold." I said.

"Tell her not to die yet. I'm  making this for her. It'll be a waste if she dies before I complete this. She will love it."
He chuckled but there was no heart there. His voice was slowly carried away with the wind as he turned back to the canvas and continued.

"Harold....Stop. She wants to see you. Be there for her as the brother that you are." I walked into the room.

"I. Said. Don't Disturb. Me." His voice was low and dangerous. It was not him.
The old Harold was gone long back when he saw his little sister that he loved...dying.

"You cannot hide your pain in art for much longer, brother. Come see our sister." I mentioned as I walked towards him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

He didn't stop. He simply just asked,
"Will seeing her make all of our pain go away?"

Silence filled the room.

".....no." I said as I found myself at loss of words.

"Then...The best I can do is hide it. Tell our sister to wait. I'm far from done."

***

It's been years now. The painting is hanging upon the wall...it is....but there was neither a  sister, nor a brother, who could admire it.

_________________________________