Unveiling the love
The floor beneath me was covered in pristine white marble, so polished that I could see my reflection as I walked. The walls were a masterpiece in themselves, modelled after the grandeur of the Renaissance period. Elaborate wall panels displayed intricate designs left behind by some forgotten artist, their genius evident in every detail. The corners of the room were adorned with the opulent embellishments of French Renaissance style, gilded accents gleaming faintly under the light. A massive chandelier hung from the towering ceiling, its cascading crystals scattering light across the room, illuminating the space in a soft, ethereal glow. Large vases filled to the brim with red and white roses lined the hallway, their sweet fragrance permeating the air, as if attempting to invoke memories of the building's grand history.
As I walked down the hallway, I passed by my paintings, three hanging on each wall. I couldn't help but pause, lost in the memories of when I had first created them. One painting, titled *The Trio*, depicted three children linking their arms around each other's shoulders, dressed in their school uniforms, their faces beaming with happiness. Another painting was of the backyard of our childhood home, a serene scene with a swan gracefully gliding through a pond filled with water lilies. The last was a portrait of my brother, painted shortly after he passed away. His memories, his dreams, and his essence still live on in my heart, immortalized on canvas.
Soft instrumental music drifted from the main hall, setting the mood. As I stood there, my mind began to wander, imagining scenarios that could never be. In my daydreams, two lovers danced to the heavenly music playing in the background, wrapped in each other's arms. They moved gracefully, so near and mesmerized by one another's eyes, yet hesitating to express the depth of their feelings. The woman's ball gown, made of luxurious lapis lazuli fabric, followed their every step, gently brushing against the marble floor. She looked like a princess, a vision of elegance and beauty—Aubrey's princess.
With every deep breath, I felt the tension in my body ease. My right hand tingled as if it were being held, and I imagined someone resting their head on my shoulder, whispering, "My darling, you are doing exceptionally well." Sometimes, I could lose myself in my imagination, and I smiled at the thought. She was the one who got away, and I was the one who stayed—waiting every single day for us to meet again.
Each morning, as sunlight pierced through the darkness of my sleep, I felt her warmth once more. The laughter of children reminded me of her smile, a smile so pure and full of life. Life, I realized, is a long, meandering journey, taking us through goals and ambitions. People who fail are often too scared to try again, terrified of falling short once more. I was no different. Fear of the unknown haunted me, and I still wonder—what if we achieve the goals we set? What comes next? Another goal, another chase? It pains me to admit, but true peace seems unreachable until the day we lie on the ground, our view of the sky obscured. When that day comes, I'll greet death like an old friend.
If I had the chance, I would fall in love with her all over again. I would carry flowers to her door and kneel on one knee, asking for her heart once more.
As I stood lost in thought, the staff quietly prepared for the evening's event. One of the head staff approached the enormous door and opened it with a grand gesture, revealing the hall behind it. Michael maintained his stance at the entrance, welcoming guests as they arrived. The once-empty corridors now echoed with the unfamiliar sound of footsteps. With each new pair of steps, my heart raced faster.
Some of the guests who stood before my paintings had glistening eyes, moved by the emotions they evoked, while others appeared poised to pass judgment. I paused to catch my breath as if I had just completed a marathon, before introducing myself to these strangers. Why was I so afraid? It wasn't fear of criticism; it was something else, something deeper.
I continued greeting everyone, some familiar faces, others new. Some complimented my work, others admired my appearance, and a few seemed to be there just to mock me. But despite everything, it was heartwarming to see so many people. I had been isolated from the world for the past seven years, painting in the shadows, consumed by grief, screaming internally over her loss. If only I could rip my heart from my chest, maybe the suffocating torment would cease. Seeing so many people after all this time was overwhelming, especially considering I had once performed in front of thousands with my violin. The Aubrey I was seven years ago died with Ayah, and I was grateful for it.
Amidst the crowd, I hadn't noticed my in-laws arrive until I was enveloped in a sudden hug. The weight of a large hand on my shoulder grounded me, and when I pulled back, I saw a man dressed in a traditional white thobe. Beside him stood a beautiful woman, her husband, and their five-year-old daughter, all waving at me. It was Ayah's sister, Hayat, her husband, Aaban Qureshi, and my father-in-law, Mr. Zuhaib Ferdous. I couldn't contain my joy, "Abbu, I can't believe you made it."
"How could I miss my son-in-law's exhibition?" he replied with a grin.
His excitement was infectious, and I chuckled in response. I bent down to the little girl's level, smiling as I playfully pinched her nose. "How's my Noor doing?" I asked, watching as she scrunched her nose and pouted.
"Mom didn't buy me cotton candy, so that's not nice," she whined.
Hayat sighed as I made eye contact with her, silently asking for clarification. "She already had one cotton candy and was begging for another. We had to say no."
Aaban, too, expressed his concerns about Noor eating too many sweets.
Before I could respond, Mr Ferdous chimed in, defending his granddaughter's desires. Noor beamed, clearly proud of the support from her grandfather.
The concept of love had always been difficult for me to define, but in that moment, I understood it. Love is in the small, quiet acts of care—the way someone gently cracks an egg early in the morning to make an omelette for their loved one, even before they've gotten out of bed. It's finding a stray cat shivering in the cold and bringing it inside to care for it. It's staying up late to watch a game, cheering for your favourite team. Love isn't an emotion; it's a sensation, a warmth that can't be captured with mere words. Even when love fades into fear, anger, or sorrow, if you look closely, you'll always find a flicker of it in your heart.
Today, I felt that love.
Finally, the moment everyone had been waiting for arrived. After seven long years, I was ready to unveil my masterpiece. A short man entered the room with great flair, his wrists and fingers weighed down with bracelets and gold rings. He cleared his throat and began his speech, recounting his journey into the art world and how his business sought to discover and promote young artists. The first half of his speech was more of a promotion for his brand than an introduction to my work, but I listened quietly, my nerves bubbling beneath the surface.
"Now, let me present to you our young star, Aubrey Ardel, ladies and gentlemen."
The applause erupted, and I could hear my in-laws clapping enthusiastically beside me. My father-in-law even let out his signature whistle.
Michael nudged me to take the stage, but as I stepped forward, microphone in hand, I could feel the weight of every gaze in the room. The walls seemed to close in, and the air grew stifling. I felt smothered by the attention, until my eyes found her in the crowd—applauding for me, smiling. I knew she wasn't there, but for a fleeting moment, I believed she was.
"Seven years ago," I began, my voice shaking, "I met someone as exquisite as snow and as fierce as fire."
I chuckled at the memory. "I was enchanted by her the first time we met but I had walls built up. But over time, she peeled back the layers I had built around myself, showing me the beauty in the world that I had been too blind to see. We fell in love—an impossible, inexplicable love—but we denied it for as long as we could."
I paused, my breath hitching as tears blurred my vision. "True loves," I continued, my voice barely a whisper, "can never stay apart."
My body began to tremble, and I lost sight of her in the crowd. Panic rose in my chest, my breathing quickened, and I could feel an attack coming on. Michael recognized the signs immediately and ushered me off the stage, guiding me towards my in-laws. Aaban's strong arms supported me as he led me to a chair, while Michael took over, handling the situation with his usual calm.
Two men carried a large, veiled painting onto the stage. The crowd's anticipation grew as they waited for the reveal. The red veil covered the masterpiece, hiding it from view. Michael rushed over to check on me. "I can't do this," I whispered. "You unveil it."
"Aubrey, I can't. This is your moment," he insisted.
We bickered quietly, while the audience grew restless.
"I can't," I repeated, my voice trembling.
Then, from behind me, a familiar voice said, "Yes, you can." It was my father.
Arthur Ardel stood before me, his sharp features and emerald eyes unmistakable. The Ardels had always stood out, their striking appearance making them recognizable in any crowd. The room buzzed with whispers as people realized there were two Ardels present, an uncommon sight.
"Dad," I murmured.
He didn't need to say anything. He simply placed his hands on my shoulders and gave them a gentle squeeze. That small gesture was enough. It meant everything to me.
I stood up, facing the audience once more, my heart pounding in my chest. With trembling hands, I reached for the red veil. This was it—my confession to the world, my revelation. Thirty-five television stations were broadcasting the exhibition live, and curiosity hung thick in the air.
Taking a deep breath, I pulled the veil away, revealing the painting at last.