The Colours Of Us - Chapter Fourteen
Where the Mountains Remember
Chapter Fourteen: A Ring in His Pocket
"Some promises begin long before they are spoken aloud."
Spring arrived softly.
The city awakened beneath flowering jacaranda trees, and warm sunshine replaced the winter chill. Cafés filled once again with people lingering over tea, children returned to parks with colorful kites, and the air carried the scent of blooming jasmine.
On her balcony, Meher smiled as the tiny jasmine plant Ayaan's mother had given her finally bloomed.
Its delicate white flowers swayed gently in the morning breeze.
She bent closer.
The fragrance reminded her of mountain mornings.
Some memories, she realized, knew exactly when to return.
Across the city, Ayaan stood outside a small jewelry workshop tucked into one of the oldest streets.
The craftsman greeted him warmly.
"Have you made your decision?"
Ayaan nodded.
"I have."
The elderly artisan opened a velvet tray filled with beautiful rings.
Gold.
Silver.
Delicate designs shaped like leaves and flowers.
Each one reflected the morning light.
"Which one speaks to you?" the artisan asked.
Ayaan looked carefully before his eyes settled on a simple ring.
Its band was smooth and elegant.
Near the center, two tiny mountain peaks had been engraved into the design.
Nothing extravagant.
Nothing loud.
Just quietly beautiful.
He smiled.
"This one."
The artisan wrapped the ring carefully inside a small wooden box.
"You look nervous."
Ayaan laughed.
"Is it that obvious?"
"It usually is."
"People buying gifts smile."
"People buying engagement rings think."
Ayaan slipped the tiny box into his jacket pocket.
"I hope she likes it."
The artisan smiled knowingly.
"If she loves you..."
He closed the box gently.
"...she'll love the thought behind it."
Meanwhile, Meher spent her afternoon wandering through a weekend book fair.
She had promised herself she wouldn't buy more books.
She left carrying four.
"I have no self-control," she laughed to herself.
At one corner of the fair, a local calligrapher was writing favorite quotes onto handmade bookmarks.
"What would you like yours to say?" he asked.
Meher thought for a moment.
Then she smiled.
"May we never become too busy to notice beautiful things."
The calligrapher carefully brushed the words across thick ivory paper.
She watched the ink dry beneath the spring sunshine.
Some sentences deserved to be carried wherever life went.
That evening, they met at their favorite riverside café.
The waiter greeted them with a familiar smile.
"The usual?"
"The usual," they answered together.
They laughed.
"We're becoming predictable," Meher teased.
Ayaan stirred his tea thoughtfully.
"Maybe."
"But I think there's something comforting about having a favorite place."
She nodded.
"I agree."
"The older I get..."
"The more I appreciate familiar things."
As the sun began to set, they walked along the riverbank.
Cherry blossoms drifted lazily across the water.
Children chased soap bubbles through the park.
Street musicians played gentle melodies nearby.
Everything felt beautifully ordinary.
Meher stopped to watch an elderly couple sitting quietly on a bench.
The husband unfolded a newspaper while his wife poured tea from a thermos into two small cups.
Neither spoke much.
They didn't need to.
"They're adorable," Meher whispered.
Ayaan smiled.
"What do you think they're talking about?"
She laughed.
"Probably nothing."
"And everything."
He looked at the couple for a long moment.
"I hope we're like that someday."
She turned toward him.
"So do I."
Without realizing it, Ayaan placed his hand inside his jacket pocket.
His fingertips brushed against the little wooden ring box.
His heart beat a little faster.
Not today.
He wasn't ready.
Not yet.
He wanted the moment to mean something.
He wanted it to happen where their story had truly begun.
He quietly smiled to himself.
The mountains would wait.
As twilight settled over the city, they wandered into a small artisan market.
Wooden carvings.
Handwoven shawls.
Ceramic mugs painted with wildflowers.
At one stall, an elderly craftsman sold tiny hand-carved music boxes.
Meher turned the handle of one.
A soft melody floated into the evening air.
"It reminds me of the wind," she whispered.
The craftsman smiled.
"My wife used to say music keeps memories alive."
"Did she enjoy this song?"
He nodded.
"Very much."
He looked toward the sky for a moment.
"She has been gone for many years now."
Meher's expression softened.
"Do you still miss her?"
The old man smiled with quiet peace.
"Every day."
He paused.
"But missing someone isn't always sad."
"Sometimes..."
"It's another way of saying you were lucky enough to love deeply."
The words stayed with them long after they had left the market.
Later that evening, they sat beneath the same old banyan tree where they often ended their walks.
The city lights shimmered beyond the river.
"Ayaan?"
"Hmm?"
"What do you think love becomes after many years?"
He thought carefully.
"I don't think it disappears."
"I think it changes."
"Into what?"
He smiled.
"Into habits."
"Morning tea."
"Remembering how the other person likes their coffee."
"Saving the last piece of dessert."
"Walking a little slower."
"Waiting without being asked."
She looked at him with gentle admiration.
"I hope we never stop learning each other."
"We won't."
He answered so quietly that she almost missed it.
When they finally said goodbye, Meher noticed him smiling to himself.
"What are you smiling about?"
He shook his head.
"Just thinking."
"Dangerous."
"It can be."
She laughed and waved as she walked away.
Ayaan watched until she disappeared around the corner.
Only then did he place his hand over the small ring box in his pocket.
He looked toward the evening sky.
Not every promise needed to be spoken immediately.
Some promises became stronger while they waited for the right moment.
Far beyond the city, spring sunshine shimmered across Rainbow Lake once again.
Wildflowers had begun blooming along its shores.
The ribbons beneath the Wishing Tree danced gently in the breeze, as though they already knew what was coming.
Somewhere among them hung two quiet wishes.
Waiting.
Patiently.
For the day they would blossom into forever.
End of Chapter Fourteen
To be continued...
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