The Cobra of Smoke - The Burden of Sight

Chapter 18

"Thank you," she said, touched by the gesture's significance. "This is perfect."

"I've had three more cases since Maria," Dr Hassan said quietly. "I've been sending them to you for coffee meetings. I hope that's alright."

Shantali nodded, thinking of the conversations she'd had over the past months, helping others navigate their own crossroads without falling into the trap of obsession.

"It feels right," she replied. "Like passing on what I've learned."

Later that evening, as they shared their first dance as husband and wife, David whispered in her ear, "Any regrets about not pursuing the mystery further?"

Shantali looked around at their gathered loved ones, Marcus and Sophia, Elena and her new boyfriend, David's grandmother, watching proudly from her wheelchair as she recovered from hip surgery. In the corner, Maria and Marcus laughed together, their move to San Francisco just weeks away.

"Not a single one," she answered truthfully. "Some mysteries are meant to guide us, not to be solved."

Six months later, Shantali received an email from a small publishing house interested in her novel, "The Serpent's Gift." The editor had found the manuscript compelling, particularly its exploration of choosing love over fear at life's critical junctures.

As she signed the contract in their apartment, the cobra statue watched from its permanent place on their bookshelf, no longer an enigma to be deciphered but a reminder of the wisdom they'd discovered together: that true prophecy lies not in smoke and visions, but in the courage to embrace the present with an open heart.

The book was published the following year, finding its way to readers who were themselves standing at crossroads, uncertain which path to choose. Among the letters Shantali received from grateful readers was one that stood out, from an elderly man who wrote that the book had helped him, reminding him that his journey of love and life, which he had chosen, was the right one after seeing the Cobra 40 years ago. After his wife’s passing six months ago, he started to question his choice; however, after receiving the book from his grandchild three weeks ago, he visited the Metropolitan Museum of Ancient Arts, where it was also sold in the gift shop alongside bookstores.

Shantali ran her fingers over the elderly man's letter once more, tears welling in her eyes. The paper was high-quality stationery, the handwriting elegant but slightly tremulous—George Abernathy, the previous owner of their apartment. She hadn't made the connection until now.

"David," she called, her voice catching. "Come see this."

He appeared from the kitchen, dish towel still in hand. "What is it?"

She handed him the letter. "It's from Mr Abernathy. The cobra found him, too, forty years ago. And now my book found him when he needed it most."

David read quickly, his expression softening. "The circle completes itself."

"It's more than that," Shantali whispered. "Don't you see? The statue they gave us was their guide, and now it's ours. And somehow, my book made its way back to them."

Outside their window, spring had returned, the park across the street vibrant with new growth. Two years had passed since that night in the museum, and life had unfolded in ways both ordinary and extraordinary: David's promotion to head of security, Shantali's book finding its audience, and the small nursery they were preparing for the baby due in September.

"We should visit him," David said, setting the letter on their coffee table. "He can't be far if his grandchild visits the museum."

Shantali nodded, one hand resting on her growing belly. "I'd like that. To complete the connection."

The following weekend, they drove to Sunset Meadows Retirement Community, where George Abernathy had moved after selling them the apartment. The facility was bright and welcoming, with gardens in full bloom surrounding the modern building.

Mr Abernathy was waiting for them in the community lounge, his eyes lighting up with recognition as they approached.

"Ms Cross, or rather, Mrs Chen now," he said, rising slowly to greet them. "I can't believe you came."

"Your letter meant a great deal to me," Shantali replied, clasping his weathered hand in both of hers. "And please, call me Shantali."

They settled into comfortable chairs, and George's gaze immediately went to Shantali's pregnant belly. "Life continues its cycles," he said with a gentle smile. "Margaret would have loved to see this, the young family we sold our home to, bringing new life into the world."

"The cobra statue you gave us," David began carefully. "It's been a guide for us too."

George's eyes twinkled. "I thought it might be. When my granddaughter brought me your book, I knew immediately that you'd seen the serpent as well. The way you described it, the jasmine scent, the clarity that follows, only someone who experienced it could capture that so precisely."

"How did it find you?" Shantali asked. "You mentioned the Cairo Museum?"

"Ah, yes, the Cairo Museum," George settled back in his chair, his eyes distant with memory. "Margaret and I were on the verge of divorce, young and stubborn, both of us. She wanted children, but I was terrified of the responsibility. We'd said terrible things to each other the night before visiting the museum."

He paused, his fingers absently tracing patterns on the chair's armrest. "We were in the ancient artifacts wing when the smoke began rising from one of the display cases. Margaret saw it too, a cobra made of jasmine-scented mist, showing us glimpses of possible futures."

"What did you see?" David asked gently.

"Two paths, clear as day. One where I remained selfish and afraid, ending up successful but alone in my seventies. Another where I chose courage, chose Margaret, chose the beautiful chaos of raising children together." His voice grew thick with emotion. "We saw ourselves at forty-five, laughing as our teenage daughter rolled her eyes at our dancing in the kitchen. We saw ourselves at sixty, holding our first grandchild. We saw the life we could build if we stopped being afraid of it."

Shantali felt tears gathering. "And you chose the second path."

"We both did, right there in that museum corridor. Held hands and promised to try again." George's smile was radiant despite his age. "Forty-three years of marriage, three children, seven grandchildren. Even after Margaret's passing, I never regretted that choice, not until these past months when the grief became overwhelming."

"What changed?" Shantali asked softly.