Her often unbraided hair would waver in tranquility as the soft breeze of the garden would blow through them. The many-hued flowers scattered across the verdure of the garden, would quiver tenderly as she’d walk by, touching them humanely. The sun, a mere splash of amber on a cerulean sky, would gaze upon the frangible anatomy of hers plodding towards a tree in the farthest corner of the garden. Soon she’d stop before a tree covered in the blanket of vermillion flowers; this tree, a Gulmohar, would be her refuge…her escape from the draconian bondages of the world.
She’d sit under the shade of Gulmohar, mindlessly plucking blades of grass. Under this tree she’d feel safe and protected but more than that, she’d feel wanted.
A tune stained with the murmur of sketchy lyrics would drench her lips only to remind her that the shoulder she covets is no longer there to comfort her. She’d not cry, she’d just swallow the imperfect song…as if it was a trivial blurt of maiden passion.
As the day would weaken, she’d look for last shafts of sunlight piercing through the tree; gradually they’d fade away too. She’d stand up then and with reluctant steps she’d leave her Gulmohar behind.
She’d not promise that she’d come back…but she would.