Hue
"Have you ever fallen in love?", he shyly asked her. She looked at him and turned a bright shade of crimson, which he had never seen before.
It was a hue of the colours on his palette of memories : the scarlet of his mother's favourite saree gifted to her by his late father during their marriage; the mahogany of the table with the support of which he had taken his first steps; the sangria of the first Holi which he had played; the carnelian rose necklace which his grandmother wore all the time; the auburn wall paint of his father's mysteriously enchanting study and the burgundy shirt which he was wearing.
She kept smiling at him as he was still lost in his reverie.
He continued admiring her, right from her warm honey eyes which reminded him of the "liquor tea" which his father was extremely fond of to her caramel, creamy skin which reminded him of the delicious fudge which his uncle used to bring him whenever he came to visit them. She had subtle orange lips which reminded him of the mangoes he used to steal with his friends from the neighbour's orchard and her amber ring was of the same colour as the sacrificial fire of the religious occasions he had been to.
He put his hand out to reach her face but realized that his enamored beauty wasn't there.
She was everywhere. In the skies, in the fruits, on newspapers and within everyone's embrace.
Spring, they said her name was.
It was a hue of the colours on his palette of memories : the scarlet of his mother's favourite saree gifted to her by his late father during their marriage; the mahogany of the table with the support of which he had taken his first steps; the sangria of the first Holi which he had played; the carnelian rose necklace which his grandmother wore all the time; the auburn wall paint of his father's mysteriously enchanting study and the burgundy shirt which he was wearing.
She kept smiling at him as he was still lost in his reverie.
He continued admiring her, right from her warm honey eyes which reminded him of the "liquor tea" which his father was extremely fond of to her caramel, creamy skin which reminded him of the delicious fudge which his uncle used to bring him whenever he came to visit them. She had subtle orange lips which reminded him of the mangoes he used to steal with his friends from the neighbour's orchard and her amber ring was of the same colour as the sacrificial fire of the religious occasions he had been to.
He put his hand out to reach her face but realized that his enamored beauty wasn't there.
She was everywhere. In the skies, in the fruits, on newspapers and within everyone's embrace.
Spring, they said her name was.
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