SOMETIMES, WE get emotionally attached to some people without our knowledge. We do not quite understand the feeling unless we are scared. Scared of losing that 'someone'.

Aimée's disappearance was a huge blow to me. I spent several sleepless nights - because I was worried. I didn't know how, but Aimée Monet's presence was comforting. We have known each other for six long years, thanks to my school. In cultural programmes she would either play the violin or be the vocalist. She was skilled in both. And she was neither arrogant nor boastful. Rather, she would always lend a helping hand to everyone out there.

★

My first encounter with her was on a bright summer morning of 2013 when I was running through the hall towards the rehearsal room (I was late for the practice) and was about to slip and fall if it wasn't her who wrapped her soft hands around my wrist. The hand jerked me upwards and I composed myself. Then, looking up, I found a pair of bright hazel orbs with a perfect combination of black-brown hair staring at me.

"Quite punctual I see." she muttered. "And quite inexperienced as well. Junior, I guess?"

Her tone, her eyes both were genuine. She didn't seem to mock me for something I probably didn't know. I nodded to her question, silently indicating to her to continue.

And she did.
"Well, what's your name?"

I told her.

She took out a candy from her pocket and gave it to me. I wasn't reluctant. I took it.

She said, "From now onwards, be punctual only while coming to school and attending classes. To be absolutely fucking honest, and I'm not sorry for my language because you would've known the f-word anyways, no one comes to rehearsals on time. But I do."

She paused and turned her steady gaze upon me, waiting for me to say something. Her eyes were thoughtful. I kept quiet. Finally, she huffed.

"And from now onwards, you're going to accompany me here too. Got a problem?"

I was still silent. She shrugged and proceeded to go.

"Name?" I asked at last.
She didn't turn around. But her answer was loud and clear. "Aimée".

★

When Maryam Khatun proposed that we should go and visit the Monets, I immediately turned her down. My firm reply to her "Why?" was "No way."

"Why can't we pretend to go and show them our condolences? As juniors?"

"Condolences? For what?"

"For her disappearance."

"Two months later?"

"Of course. We can say that we were dubious, you know, with all the investigations going on, etcetera etcetera."

"That's stupid."

"I know, but that's a way out."

"They're not going to believe us."

"She studied in the same damn school. And we really are her juniors. How can they not believe us?"

"I don't know. But we're not going."

★

A two storeyed, off-white house goggled at us at the farthest corner of the street. The architecture had an appreciable combination of both Gothic and modern. A marble name plate, with the names S. Monet and C. Moulin and floral patterns carved on it, could be seen beside the iron entrance. There was no A. Monet written on it. A pebbled path leading towards the main door split the garden into two parts. As far as our eyes could catch, the bushes and trees lined in an elegant manner, came into view. The scene was...splendid.

Yes. We were at Ballygunge Place, at Aimée's. No matter how much I denied, Maryam Khatun's determined soul managed to convince me anyways. This time, however, it was not her cuteness that won over me; but, it was her promise to give me a treat at 'TRIBE' - where I had intended to go since ages, but couldn't. And Mar would keep her promise. Why? Because, just because.

Along with that, I inwardly wanted to talk with Aimée's parents as well. To be honest, during the past two months, I gathered information from her friends and other acquaintances except for her parents. Surely, I couldn't come up with any excuse to meet them. But, for the sake of Aimée, it was necessary. And so, finally, I agreed wholeheartedly and we went there the following morning.

Maryam pushed the gate and we entered. Though I was freaking out internally, I kept my face normal and calm. I reached out and firmly grabbed her hand. She responded, entwining her fingers with mine.

After ringing the bell twice, we were answered by a lean, middle aged woman. Her hair was slightly disheveled. She gave a perplexed look and waited for us to introduce ourselves. I cleared my throat and stepped forward with a bouquet of orchids (because I felt the sheer need to show respect by giving flowers).

"Morning, Miss Moulin." I greeted, handing her the bouquet, which she accepted with a faint smile. "I'm Triparna and this is my friend Maryam. Aimee's our senior and we know each other well. We came here to see you."

What the fuck was that? I inwardly groaned in displeasure for the messed up introduction. However, Mar was, as always, there to save my awkward arse.

"Actually, we were confused, you know, with all the investigations going on. We were not sure whether to come here or not. We're very sorry for disturbing you."

She literally copied and pasted.

Coralie Moulin let out a small laugh and began, "It's not a problem dear. We understand. Honestly, no one from the school except for some teachers came to see us. We are absolutely glad to see you. Come in."

She made her way for us to enter.

"Oh yes," she added in a soft voice. "Thanks for the flowers." We both smiled in response.

The living room was cozy and magnificent. As we walked on the carpeted floor, I looked around. Like a part of me had expected, there were casements, through which we could see the garden - perfectly adorned with deodars, marigolds and other plants I couldn't recognise. At one end, the couches and the coffee table were placed. Paintings, photographs and a ticking clock occupied the walls. The wall colours were soft, creating an unusually homely atmosphere there. I was staring at the staircase in awe when Miss Moulin's voice interrupted my thoughts.

"Why are you both standing?" she asked. "Take a seat, dear. Would you like something?"

I was about to say, "yeah, food" when Maryam cut me off, giving a polite smile, "Yes, a glass of water would do it, thanks."

Coralie nodded and went towards, as per my assumption, the kitchen. Maryam sat down, while I explored the paintings. Most of them were landscapes. A few were human figures. I approached one such portrait. It was a girl's. She wore a full sleeved, ankle length, peach gown with a smile plastered on her face. She seemed to be around my age, with brown curls dangling by her face. I stepped closer and observed the girl carefully. Her eyes were like Aimée's - hazel. My gaze lingered on her face for a while before moving towards the corner of the frame in the search of the artist. The initials were C and M.

"That's my grandmother, Fayette." said Coralie's voice. I turned around, finding her carrying a tray with two glasses of water and mouth watering pastries. It was official. Coralie Moulin was one of my favourite mothers.

Standing up, Mar reached for the tray as I made my way towards the sofa. "I saw the initials C.M. Who painted it?" I asked her.

"It's my mother, Cécile."

"She was beautiful."

A smile tugged at her lips. "She was."

I concentrated on the pastry. It was blue velvet with colourful sprinkles on top. I subtly smacked my lips and took hold of the plate. Taking a bite, I felt like I was surrounded by cherubs, that they were showering me with rose petals (although I didn't know why), and playing harp. It seemed like my existence mattered to every mortal out there.

Sensing my inward drama, Mar's elbow nudged me. The trance broke and I looked at her questioningly. She controlled herself from rolling eyes and turned towards Coralie, who was now seated on the cushion facing us.

"Um, I know it may sound inappropriate, but I wanted to ask you something." she said.

Coralie straightened up. "Why, of course."

"Why did the investigation stop abruptly?"

Wow, straight on point.

Coralie did not look startled. Instead, she sighed, "Well, it was my decision." We frowned. "I was scared, scared of what might have happened."

We silently waited as she paused to take a deep breath.

"When the investigation began, we were hopeful. We hoped to find Aimée. But, things got messed up when the police failed to get her whereabouts. They were dubious whether Aimée was alive or not. I was terrified at the thought. Because I knew I wouldn't be able to bear it if, you know, Aimée was no more. I realised that maybe it was better that way if we did not know the truth. I know it was selfish to stop the search just like that, but I just couldn't take it anymore."

While saying the last part, Coralie let out a trembled sob. Luckily, for us, she didn't break down (which we kind of expected her to do). A tear fell on her left cheek and she immediately wiped it with her fingers.

"Oh, I'm so sorry for bringing up such a question, Miss Moulin!" Maryam sincerely apologised.

Coralie let out a small laugh again, "No worries, dear. As far as I remember, Aimée often used to talk about Triparna and Maryam. Now that I see you, I can understand your concern about her. You don't need to say sorry, my girl."

We had no chance to speak as we heard footsteps approaching us. Our heads turned - a middle-aged man walked down the stairs. He had the same eyes as Aimée's. Yeah, that was the father - Samuel.

We greeted each other. He seemed kind of pleased to see us. It appeared that Maryam and my existence was well known to them. And Samuel Monet was happy that we cared.

"Aimée used to talk about you two quite often. She admired you. But..."

He halted. We didn't expect him to answer either. They were shocked and heartbroken, because Aimée's disappearance was certainly not something anyone could have expected.

All four of us were quiet; so quiet that it gradually started to get on my nerves. It was awkward - something I absolutely loathe. I nudged my elbow with Mar's, silently passing the message. She got it right away, smiled tightly.

"Everyone is pretty disturbed after everything happened. We're thankful that you could spare your time for us. I think we should get going now."

We got up. Coralie once again thanked us for the orchids. It happened to be her favourite flower.

"Oh yes," I stopped to say. "The pastry was amazing! Thank you!"

Coralie smiled, "It's one of Samuel's specialities."

Yup, Samuel Monet is a chef, a French chef. We thanked them as they led us towards the exit. Samuel asked us to visit once again and treat ourselves to his special Crème Brûlée. Promising that we would come again, we finally bid goodbye.

Our footsteps brushed the street roughly as we hurried for the last bus that was supposed to arrive in 2 minutes. Fortunately, it was late and we huffed at the stop.

Suddenly, Mar blurted, "Did you see Coralie's clothes?"

I threw her a flat look. "I don't stare at people's clothes."

"They were disheveled."

"So was her hair."

As soon as I said this, I realised something. We met each other's eyes that blinked knowingly, smirked and looked straight, waiting for that last bus.

★

a/n

what were the parents even doing? *wink wink*