BETWEEN GOODBYE AND FOREVER

The rain tapped against Annabel Rhodes' windowpane in her small studio apartment in the Lower East Side of New York City. The pale morning light sifted, casting a muted light over the scattered brushes and half-finished canvases. Cross-legged on the floor was Annabel with blue paint staining her fingers. Her brush moves slowly across a blank canvas with slight hesitation in her eyes. Her creative juice seemed not to be flowing as she wanted. She moved towards her table and drank some water. As she dropped the glass, her eyes were drawn to the corner of the wooden table where a wrapped package lay. The cream-coloured envelope had no return address or stamp except for a postmark from three districts away. When she saw it in the morning, her heart skipped. At first, she had assumed it was another letter from a fan. She had gotten several letters, cards and gifts in the past from her fans. The handwriting was written carefully and neat but the words, sentences and paragraphs were familiar. Something about it felt different and unusual. She sighed deeply, dropped the brush in her hands, and reached for the envelope. The rain intensified, giving a rhythm across the city. Early commuters rushing past the building, the distant honks of taxis, but the world in Annabel’s apartment was as still and slow as a thick fog. She broke the seal carefully, brought out the paper, and unfolded the letter. Her eyes traveled across the letter that smelled faintly of lavender and something old. Dear Annabel, Do you remember when you painted my face while I was asleep? You laughed so hard and I didn’t know the reason until I looked in the mirror. I used to say you are the sun in the day and the moon by night. Your smile when you drop your brushes. You said the colors had a mind of their own, like they were just waiting for a chance to escape you and become something new. I just can’t seem to erase your smile from my head and dreams. Sometimes I think I am stuck in your shadows. Or I could have let the smile save me. Sometimes I wish I had stayed. Sat beside you until the light disappeared, till we both forgot the direction of the door. But I left. Night and day have passed, but I still don’t know how to forgive myself. Yours, D Like one struggling for breath, she held the table, letting herself breathe, stared again at the letter, then picked up the envelope, searching inside it as if she was looking for a pen in a room. At first, the handwriting was unfamiliar, but the words she could not deny had just awakened the sleeping dog within her. The crumbs of her past were right in her hands, one she had long buried. She let her fingers trace the words again and again, as if she were memorizing the shape of the letters or tracing the fingers that might have crafted them. "It can’t be. He is dead. Daniel? Certainly not." She muttered. The lines and rhymes couldn’t have pointed to anyone from her present life. It had to be from someone who knew the deepest part of her she had hidden even from herself. She sat back against the wall, the letter trembling in her hands. Her phone buzzed softly on the table. Daniel’s charming and alluring picture flashed on the screen. He was the man who had helped her find herself again after her world had fallen apart. The guest list, wedding invitations, and the venue had been booked for their wedding in six weeks. Annabel looked at her phone, not willing to pick up the call. She rubs the silver engagement ring on her left hand slowly. It was the true definition of class, simplicity, elegance, and a promise of stability and love. But tonight it felt heavy. Annabel folded the letter carefully and tucked it back into the envelope. She wasn’t ready to face the ghost that awakens or the questions in her heart. She rose and moved toward the window, staring out at the streets. The city never really stopped moving, no matter how still she felt inside. People passed by, umbrellas bobbing and cars splashing through puddles. She tried to ignore the words in the letter, but her mind failed her. Her thoughts drifted back to the past, to the man who had disappeared without a goodbye three years ago, Davis. For a while, she hadn’t allowed herself to say his name out loud. She turned away from the window, her hands trembling as she gathered her brushes and jars of paint. Her phone buzzed again, this time a text from Daniel. “Thinking of you every passing second. Can’t wait to see you, Bel.” She smiled faintly as she dropped her phone. Two hours later, the doorbell rang. “I am not expecting anyone,” she soliloguized. She reluctantly stood up. Opening the door, she found the building’s mail man holding a small stack of letters. He handed her the bundle. As she dropped it on the table, she noticed another envelope, unmarked and sharing a similarity with the last one. Her pulse changed. She sat on the couch, picked it up, and unfolded it. It had a slight difference from the first letter. The paper looks older with creased edges, but the handwriting was the same as the former. Dear Annabel, I don’t know how many times I’ve replayed that night. The one where you stood in the doorway, exhausted but excited with paint on your wrist and your hair pulled back. You were talking about gallery deadlines and ideas you couldn’t wait to paint when I dozed off. I wish I had stayed and expressed the words I concealed from you. I should have told you how I loved you deeply and helplessly. That being near was all that mattered to me. The boardroom meetings, the family name, and this nightmare feels like a bad script I couldn’t reject or rewrite. But I didn’t say it, neither did I stay. I told myself that leaving you was good for you. That you would be better off without my baggage. I thought walking away was the kindest thing to do. But I lied to myself. I betrayed you, your love, and I betrayed us. They say time heals. But time only teaches you how to manage your pain. Sometimes I wonder if you ever looked for me. Your forgiveness, I don’t expect. But these letters are the only way I know how to go back. Even if I’m only going back alone. I wish I could turn the hands of time. I wish you were mine. Yours, D Her eyes speak of fear and uncertainty. The words felt like beckoning from a time she thought was gone for good. The past was staring at her, questions running through her head. For a long moment, she just sat, the rain tapping against her window, and she picked up the letter, then the previous one, as if seeking to solve a puzzle. Her phone buzzed once more, a message from Daniel with a photo of the flower arrangement he had chosen for the rehearsal dinner. She barely looked, put the phone aside, and stared at the two letters again. Her studio suddenly felt too small, like the walls were closing in with memories she wasn’t sure she could face. She dropped the letters, moved to the easel, picked up her brush again, making deliberate strokes as she began to paint the storm outside, the rain, and what seemed like the unspoken emotions welling within her. The rain began to ease, but the storm inside her had only begun.