Up in the Clouds
The cemetery was wrapped in a hush, broken only by the soft rustle of leaves. I knelt by Ayah's gravestone, clutching a bouquet of irises, each one a symbol of my grief and longing. The early morning light cast a gentle glow over her resting place, but my heart was heavy, burdened by the weight of loss.
"Ayah," I whispered into the quiet, my voice barely audible. "I've been missing you a lot."
My tears fell unchecked, dampening the grass beneath me. I buried my face in my hands, trying to muffle the sound of my sobs. The distant hum of traffic and the occasional murmur of other visitors seemed to drift away, leaving me in a cocoon of sorrow. The world felt unbearably distant.
The sharp buzz of my phone jolted me from my reverie. I fumbled for it, feeling the rough edges of my emotions. It was already nine in the morning. With a final, lingering look at her tombstone, I slowly rose, my movements heavy with reluctance.
As I drove away from the cemetery, my mind was a whirlwind of frustration and anticipation. Today, of all days, a visitor was due to arrive—someone I knew nothing about. Kennedy, my assistant, was unavailable, leaving me to juggle my responsibilities alone. The thought of someone waiting outside my apartment only deepened my unease.
I spotted a bakery and, in my hurry, pulled into the lot with a jolt. The warm, inviting aroma of pastries hit me as I entered, but I was too preoccupied to fully appreciate it. The bakery was a whirlwind of activity: the hiss of the espresso machine, the clatter of dishes, and the soft murmur of conversation filled the space. I barely registered the flash of cameras until they surrounded me.
The bakery owner, a cheerful woman with a wide smile, proudly held up a cake. "My bakery will become just as renowned as the Ardels!" she proclaimed, her voice filled with pride.
I managed a strained smile, feeling the weight of the situation. "Yes, ma'am. If you don't mind, I'd like to take the cake now."
But she was relentless. "Don't leave yet, Mr. Ardel. We need a few more shots for the newspaper and our promotion."
The cameras flashed in rapid succession, each burst of light heightening my anxiety. I glanced at my phone—my father was calling. I answered, my frustration palpable.
"What's happening?" he demanded, his voice a mix of irritation and concern.
"I'm stuck in a bakery," I said, trying to keep my tone calm despite the mounting stress. "I forgot my mask, and now I'm surrounded by cameras."
My father's response was immediate and decisive. "Why didn't you tell me sooner? I'm sending help right away."
A wave of relief washed over me at his words. The strained relationship with my father, which had begun to mend after Ayah's passing, was a source of comfort in this moment of chaos.
I remembered a rare dinner from my childhood—a fleeting moment of connection with my father that I now looked back on with mixed emotions.
As I waited for his help, Ayah's words echoed in my mind: "There are no farewells in this world, Aubrey, not between you and me. We shall meet again in paradise."
"Stay with me," I pleaded, my voice cracking. "Don't talk about leaving."
Our fates were so tightly bound, that it felt as if her departure was a cruel twist of destiny, meant to unravel the life we had woven together. The very thought that she had left instead of me was unbearable.
"Why not?" she asked softly, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. "What would you do if I died before you?"
My heart ached at the thought. "My heart would shatter into pieces," I said, my voice heavy with emotion. "It would refuse to beat, leaving me numb. My blood would turn cold, and I'd feel nothing but an emptiness so profound it would swallow me whole. My shadow would stand alone under the sun, and my soul would drift aimlessly under the moon, lost without you. My eyes would see nothing but the void where you once were, and my arms would be forever empty without your warmth."
She smiled a bittersweet expression that made my heart ache even more. "Then I can't afford to die first, can I?"
"Never," I said firmly, my voice trembling with conviction.
Our love, so fierce and consuming, seemed to be the very force that led to our downfall. After she was gone, I spent countless hours searching for reasons, for some explanation to soothe my restless mind and stave off the guilt that gnawed at me. That night, as I lay awake, my body felt the same searing pain I had felt when Alex died, a torment that seemed to replay itself as if in some dark, tragic film.
The sensation was as if someone was orchestrating a macabre scene with an entirely different cast, yet the pain and the loss were achingly familiar. It was as though the universe was taunting me with the echoes of what could have been, replaying the agony of losing someone so irreplaceable.
Her voice was a soothing balm against the harshness of reality. I closed my eyes, feeling a semblance of her presence.
The bakery door swung open, and two bodyguards stepped inside. One of the guard's faces, etched with concern, softened when he saw me. "Let's get out of here," he said, his voice a grounding force.
I nodded, grateful for his support. As we exited the bakery, the cool morning air hit my face, a refreshing contrast to the claustrophobic atmosphere inside. I felt a renewed sense of hope, bolstered by the love I had for Ayah and the steadfast support of my father.