Scent of doom

The sun rays on the ground in front of Sara captured the buildings in front of her and reflected back to a past which refused to leave. And then they moved up to conquer the white clouds with blush pink. In that pink haze, Sara continued to stare at the ground in front of her. She was sitting on a park bench. Slowly the footsteps of joggers and walkers trickled to nothing. Still she continued to stare at the ground beneath. It was difficult to tell what was going on in her mind as she blankly stared ahead. She blinked only to moisten her eyes which didn't require that much moistening because occasional tears trickled down a paved path. 

I watch this from the high branch of a tree beside her bench. There's a bag beside her - not a shoulder bag, but a plastic bag with things inside it. I can see the outline of books and some trinket shines in the fading light. hooot... hooot..!  

Sara was unable to breathe, as if she was forgetting to breathe while sorting her thoughts. Will this pain ever go away? Will she be able to pick out the thousand splinters pulsating in her heart? She wanted to scream but her chest constricted. So, she just continued to sit and gather breaths. As if by fate or karma, bakula flowers were strewn near her feet. The bakul had always appeared at significant times - whenever she was struggling with relationships that meant too much but were threatening to die. 

You have no idea how much I can see because unlike you, I don't need to blink, even when I sleep. My eyes capture details that you will never be able to see even after zooming in a million times. For example, I can see the shivers that run down Sara's spine as she translates her memories into words. I see the tears softly forming and dissolving into her eye sockets as she moves from feeling to feeling. I can sometimes see what she sees in her minds eye - I can see the ache his thoughts give rise to, I can see the silent fight within her to gain control of herself. 

She blinked the tears and they fell to the ground. She imagined them falling on some invisible bakul seed deep inside, growing up to flower thousands of bakul flowers, tiny and pretty, the fragrance of which wont leave the hands. Their curse was that as they wilted, they became more fragrant spreading a whiff of the scent of doom. 

The notepad, she didnt remember bringing was on her lap, a pen threateningly poised in her hand. 

*** 

A leaf floated and a butterfly continuously flitted by. Sun rays continued to travel up and down the buildings. Bakul flowers continued to shower in front of her, as she channeled her soul .The pile of notepads rose beside her as she unclogged her heart. 

Days pass by as I see her with her pen - before I sleep during the day and when I wake up at dusk. Gradually, her gaze travels a degree upwards on each visit like a pilot slowly planning to take off. Each day, her stance also softens - a burden seems to lift. Until one day her gaze finds me sitting on the branch. 

Sara trembles and her eyes widen as she comprehends what has happened. She wants to give a sign of gratitude to her guardian watching tirelessly with un-blink-able eyes, but she is afraid to lose the sight if she blinks. So, she sits and watches the watcher watching her as the bakul decides to help and showers a million flowers, drowning her and her watcher and her notepads. 

*** 

When the wind blows the flowers, the bench and the branch is empty. Just a whiff of a dawn lingers on, the fragrance of which doesn't leave my hands.