The Last Adieu

The Last Adieu

The Last Adieu

Sunrays gushing in through the high windows illuminate the hall. At one end of the hallway stands a table with a box on top of it. An intricately carved box - like the cortex of the brain. He brings out the key from his pocket and unlocks the box. As he opens the lid, a sequence of photographs flurries out. Floating in the air, the old sepia photographs arrange themselves in front of him, unravelling a story lost in the depths of memories.

An event - a memory - distant, yet close - strange, yet familiar. Childhood love that never saw the light of day. She moved out in the stillness of the night when the nation burned with the agony of partition. The last adieu - an invisible wedge struck in the fabric of spacetime. 

He opens his eyes and smiles a little. "The Last Adieu", he writes with his shaky hand on a page from the diary. He still searches for the vestiges of an era lost - in his memories - in the box safely locked away in his mind, searching for details, smelling in the petrichor of his ancestral soil. The sun has kissed his tears dry. Eighty-five summers have come and gone; but Alzheimer’s disease has failed to vanquish him.