Pink Alpines(Ayush Kumar) Pink Alpines

By Ayush

Yes, she waited for him, but her longing didn't reflect in her eyes; for they were sparkling as newborn sun. She'd sit at her window every morning and would paint the flushed alpines that scattered across her little yard; they'd planted them together- he loved the color pink. Her hands would loop in swift curves as they'd swash pink in scalloped shapes to paint petals, then darker shades would circle the heart and a coy pink Alpine would blossom on the white canvas. The aged wall of her humble cottage in the country was adorned with her paintings of pink alpines; each was different but each was similar, too- for each craved sunlight and she never painted the sun. She'd ask herself, sometimes- "do my eyes really sparkle? Or it's just the tears they hold back,that makes them shimmer..."

As winter haunted the lush country fields, the alpines in her yard withered; their pink was turned into a gloomy pale and with it dulled the hope that he'd ever come back.

Winter had always been harsh on her, and so it was; for her health waned and her emotions froze in the ghostly winter breeze- he wasn't there...He never would be.

Her limbs had sunken and her eyes, swollen; her back hurt and every time she reached to pour herself some water, it would not reach her insipid lips without spilling on the carpet below.

Two days and she couldn't get out of bed; she knew this was it, she didn't want to live anyway...What was the point without him?

The next morning when she woke up, she cursed herself for being alive...She didn't feel like stepping out of bed; she reached for the pot on the table next to her and poured in the glass- she sipped...and it brought back the loveliest of memories.

Butter tea?

She struggled but pushed herself up, then throwing away the cozy blanket in which she was wrapped, tumbled down the bed and dawdled to, where the window was.

At the window was a soldier boy, his uniform fresh and his face bright, he turned to the rhythm of her footsteps and the moment their eyes met; they let out the tears, they held so dearly for so long- he'd come home.

And the witness of their love was a pink alpine that blossomed on the canvas.

*****

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