The air carried with it a certain chilliness. From between the partially denuded trees, the comforting yellow rays fell on the lake. The still water shimmered like diamonds. The brown leaves crunched under Dorothy's orange-colored shoes. Her wistful eyes reflected the yellowish-orange hues that painted the surroundings. Placing the coffee cup on the table, she sat on the wooden bench located in a quiet corner of North Creek Park. Swimming across the lake, ducks quacked. A white bird with a long, pointed beak rested on a rock. It looked around and observed the otherwise deserted green abode. Like a self-appointed local guardian. Leaves rustled under the influence of a cool breeze and one of them landed on her cheeks. The lone drop of tear acted as an adhesive and the brown leaf with a few blemishes on it clung to her skin. Not bothering to get rid of nature's element, she stared at the lake, not blinking even once. "Honey, we are getting late. Prayers start in half an hour." Her father Tom paced up and down the living room. He tugged at the cuff and looked at his watch before announcing the time. She imagined her father's nose turning red and a wide grin danced on her lips.  Tom knocked on the door and before she could respond, he pushed the door open, inserted his head through the gap, and said, "Dorothy, what are you up to?" She turned to face him, displayed the lip colors in her collection, and asked, "Which one?" "We are going to the church for Christ's sake. Why do you need makeup?" His eyebrows arched and inched closer. She pouted, rolled her eyes, and went back to admiring her reflection.  Running her fingers on the tubes like she was playing the piano, she selected a brown shade. Unperturbed by the ticking clock, she took her time to paint her lips with precision. Tom sighed and it felt like a lion roared. He threw his arms in the air and walked to the living room. Thirty minutes later, she announced, "Let's go, Dad." "Oh, finally," he stood up and reached for his keys. Before she changed her mind, he leaped to the garage. "You are in the choir group. Are you well-prepared?" he asked with his eyes fixed on the road. "Oh, yes, dad. You worry a lot," she waved her hand. She rested her chin on the window sill of the car and let the wind play with her hair. Tiny hints of brown, red, yellow smeared the road. The shriveled leaves flew in the air and chased her. Trying to challenge them, she peeped out of the window. She loved autumn. The chilly breeze sprinkled with a bit of warmth, the myriad hues spread across like a fine platter. The season had a lot to offer. It heralded the festive season. She never understood why her friends associated the 'blessing-from-God' season with gloom and destruction. The car stopped. Tom joined his friends. Her girl gang waved and she ran to them, her white gown fluttering in the backdrop like a subtle wave. As her lips moved in synchronization with the guitar, her eyes fell on the young man playing it. His fingers deftly danced against the strings. Those curled tresses swayed to his tunes. But what pulled her towards him were his hazel-brown eyes. Her favorite color. The color tugged at her heartstrings. Lost in his eyes, she missed a note or two when her friend stealthily pinched her. She winced and he noticed her. A flash of red spread across her face and she lowered her gaze. An hour later, she walked to the dining room. She reached for the last piece of pastry.  "It's not that good. Believe me," she heard a voice. She lifted her gaze and her eyelids fluttered. It was him. "I'm Peter," his husky voice invigorated her. "What is wrong with the pastry?" She tried to divert her attention. "The cherry has turned bad." He put his tongue out. She laughed.  "I'm Dorothy," she extended her hand. Warmth spread through her skin as they shook hands. The grasp remained longer than she expected. His rough hand with callouses all over it gave her a strange sense of comfort. He was older than her. But that hadn't stopped her from being attracted to him. They walked around the room, examining the humble spread. She took a bite making sure her lipstick stayed intact while he smacked his lips, enjoying every bit of the food.  She hadn't realized that an hour had passed until Tom walked to her and said, "Honey, we must go." "Can we meet at the North Creek Park? Walk a bit and then stop for a cup of coffee," Peter didn't hesitate. It was the first time someone had asked her out. A tinge of pink spread across her cheeks. Her lips flittered but words failed her. "I can talk to your dad if needed," he smiled widely. "I'm a big girl, Peter," she whispered. "Next Saturday at four." He waved at her as she left the church. Trees formed a canopy. It felt like an array of dying embers painted the sky. Tom drove in silence while she tuned in to the radio.  "Who is that young man?" Tom took her by surprise. Her eyes widened. She played with her hair for a few seconds and answered, "I have no idea what you are talking about." "I'm talking about the guy who just asked you out." Tom was in no mood to leave her alone. "Oh, that's Peter. A friend. He plays guitar in the choir. We plan to exchange notes on music." A set of well-rehearsed words escaped her.  "As long as you think before exchanging your hearts," he spoke loud enough for her to hear. She heard him but had chosen to ignore the remark. The remaining journey passed in silence and she thanked God for it.  A week later The orange rays fell on his black pants making it look a tad bright. The white shirt clung to the skin revealing the well-built muscles. Droplets of sweat dribbled down his locks indicating that he had run a little. With his right leg on the bench, he stretched those hamstrings, and his waist rose and fell setting her heart on marathon mode. "Peter," she tried to sound casual.  But her heart pumped blood faster than usual and she appeared flushed. "Dorothy, I'm glad you came." It felt as though he wanted to kiss her but he took a step back. "I hope I didn't make you wait too long," her lower lips stretched. "These leaves, birds, and ducks kept me company," he smiled. "Lucky them," she bit her lips. They walked. There was a nip in the temperature. But a hint of warmth embraced her like a familiar stole.  "Are you a regular walker?" she asked. "Yes, this place offers me solace. It heals some of the deep-seated, invisible wounds." His voice turned low. His eyes misted and she wrapped her hand around his. She felt blood flow through his wrist.  "My father and I used to frequent this part every weekend until he died. He had encouraged me to learn guitar. He used to say that music is a great companion. The guitar reminds me of him. And, sometimes I don't want to even touch it. But I do it anyway hoping that it would make him happy." His voice cracked.  His skin turned cold and she felt a part of him shiver. Her grasp around his hand tightened. His breathing pattern changed.  Minutes later, he returned to being his former self and she felt a surge of contentment rush through her veins. "Your father will be proud of you. I love the way you handle the guitar. Your fingers dance, sway, run, and pirouette on the strings. I and my friends go all gaga over it." Though she was embarrassed about putting her feelings out into the open, a sense of calm swept her off her feet.  "One more reason to hone my skills." He reciprocated with a smile. "Tell me about you," he said. "My mother died a week after I was born. So, I don't know anything about her. My dad is all I have. He is my best friend." As she spoke about her dad, everything he did flashed before her. She couldn't put a cap over her bottled emotions. "You can add me to the list of loved ones," he coolly mentioned. She looked at him intently and tried to gauge his thoughts. "Only if you wish," he added. The winged eyeliner thrummed like a bow as her eyes danced to the tunes of his words. She had lost track of time. Only when her legs ached did she realize that they had been walking for more than an hour.  "Let's get coffee," he sensed her exhaustion. Holding a cup of coffee in her hand, she walked back when he held her hand and said, "Let me show you something. I'm sure you will love it." Intrigued, she followed him. Another mile of slow-paced walk later, she spotted a lake. There was a table and a bench under a tree. The bench was carpeted with brown leaves. Yellow and red-colored leaves filled in the gaps. But it was mostly brown. His coffee-colored eyes mirrored a hint of blue. He cleared the bench and asked her to sit. Ducks squealed in the background. Tiny droplets of water caressed her back and she felt rejuvenated. "This is my favorite spot. A go-to place," he said. She sat by his side, the hotness of the coffee casting its spell on her.  "I like it here," she looked at him. "Your presence makes this a better place." He ran his fingers on her hand and drummed it like it was a musical instrument. She twisted, giggled, and loved every bit of it. "I have had a couple of relationships in the past. But you feel special," he inched closer to her. Something inside her changed. Juices in her stomach churned happily. He cupped her face and kissed her on her cheeks. The kiss was slow and detailed. It was filled with endearment. Slowly, the sky turned dark. Eventually, the days would turn shorter. But something was exciting about it. "It's getting late," he said and stood up. Visibly disappointed, she nodded and followed him.  As they walked back to his car, she wished the sun appeared again. Appearance of light meant she could spend more time with him. As they reached the driveway, she saw her father waiting for her on the porch.  "Hello, Mr.Tom," Peter introduced himself. After a brief talk, he was about to leave. Tom walked into the house. She got on her toes, bent forwards and their lips met. "I'll be performing at a pub tomorrow," he winked. "I'll be there. What's your day job?" she asked. "I make furniture." He kissed her one more time. "I'm in college and will be a nurse soon," she said. He smiled knowingly and left. She waved at him until the car disappeared and walked to her room. Exams were on her head. She had a lot to do. But she was in love. For the first time. That changed everything. Autumn faded into oblivion paving the way for winter. Their love blossomed like a beautiful rose. Two years later, on a picturesque evening, he proposed. It felt like autumn acted cupid and showered them with happiness. Tears coursed down her cheeks and fell on the ring that shone on her finger. She vividly remembered that moment. There was no champagne. There was no guitar. No lights. She was seated on the usual bench, facing the lake.  "Close your eyes." He kissed her lips. Seconds later, "Open your eyes slowly," he whispered. In his hands was a platter decked with brown leaves. In the center was a yellowish-red colored leaf. On it was a ring. "I wish to be a comforting shade on a scorching summer afternoon, your companion as leaves rustle under your feet and a cool breeze envelops you on an autumn evening and a stream of warmth on a wintery night. I wish to spend the rest of my life loving you and caring for you. Dorothy, will you marry me?" Words flowed effortlessly. The words were well thought but the emotions felt raw and deep. Tiny beads swam in his charming eyes. He was the one. Her man for life. "Yes," she cried and covered her face with her hands. He gently slid the ring onto her finger. Suddenly, she felt her finger appeared even more beautiful. He reached for a dried leaf hidden in his pocket and gave it to her. "Dorothy and Peter" was painted on it.  "Did you paint this?" she squealed.  "No, my sister did it for me." He held her close and caressed her lips. Tom wasn't happy with the idea of her getting married at such a young age.  "You have a lot to do," he had said. "Peter is a good man," she tried to convince him. "I know princess. You are too young for marriage. But if you feel that you and Peter will lead a happy life, go for it." He kissed her on her forehead. Six months later, they got married. It was a quiet ceremony. With his finger, Peter lifted her chin and kissed her softly on the lips. He was slow, delicate, and meticulous. And, that was the best kiss they ever had.  A few months later, a house was put on sale. It wasn't inhabited for a long time giving it an almost wrecked appearance. Peter remodeled the house while she worked on the interiors. Together, they had built a humble yet cozy home. A home they would live in for the rest of their lives. Time acted like a thief vanishing into nowhere.  Four years later, a baby girl entered their lives and they couldn't be more happy. Peter was a dotting father. He had encouraged Dorothy to continue working. They lead a content and blissful life until one wintery evening. Peter had trouble breathing. He took long, deep breaths. His muscles tightened. His jaw twitched.  "Dorothy," he shrieked.  She rushed to him and was appalled at what she saw. She was a trained medical professional. Trained for situations exactly like those. But her senses had given up on her. She had become numb. She stood still unable to move an inch. It was only when she heard their daughter Rebecca cry did she rushed to help him. He was rushed to the emergency care unit.  "There's a blockage in one of the blood vessels." The doctor had said.  Knowing what ensued, she didn't need to hear the rest. A surgery was performed. A week later, he returned home. Still in recovery but full of hope and gratitude. The recovery phase felt like walking on a landmine. Every step they took was written with care and caution. Years passed. Rebecca grew up to be a fine young woman. She developed wings and was off to college. An opportunity had knocked on Dorothy's door. One of her acquaintances had offered her a job. The money was better and Peter wasn't able to work like before. So, she agreed. Responsibilities at work grew and the time she spent with Peter had become less. She knew that he felt lonely. That look of desolation on his face smeared her with guilt. But they had bills to pay, and mortgages to clear. Age and experience had transformed her into a pragmatic person. One morning, she was getting ready to work when Peter said, "Dorothy, stay with me today. Don't go," Dark bags concealed his once-alluring eyes. His hairline receded. But his smile remained the same. Intoxicating and enticing.  "I can't a day off. The hospital is short-staffed and they need me. I'll be home soon." She kissed him and ruffled his hair.  An uncanny sensation churned in her stomach as she walked to the car. Something didn't feel right. It felt like something bad was about to befall them. She turned and saw that Peter stood at the door and waved at her. "I too need you. By my side. Holding my hand, caressing me gently like a warm ray of sunshine." She imagined him saying. "I love you," she sent a flying kiss his way. "I love you too......" He was frail and exhausted. Without waiting for him to complete the sentence, she got the engine to work and left. Her heart raced as she the scenes from that evening played in the screen of her mind. She closed her eyes, threw her head back, and tried to stop the imagery. But nothing worked. Those dreadful moments seemed to have taken her soul hostage.  The house was dark. Placing her bag on the couch, she walked to the switchboard.  "Ahh," she screamed and felt something ooze out of her feet.  Limping her way around the living room, she switched on the lights. A shattered vase lay on the floor. Where was Peter? It was unlike him to leave the broken pieces on the floor. He was the cleanliness freak and she was the messier one.  "Peter, I'm home." She looked for him.  Blood trailed down her body and she spotted Peter's hand in the kitchen. He lay with his face pressed against the floor.  "Peter," She shook him vigorously. Her hands shook in anticipation of the worst. She turned him and his widely opened eyes stared at her. His body was cold and she didn't feel his heartbeat. The heart that only beat for her. She sat with her back resting on the wall. The chilliness from the wall crept under her skin. But she didn't move even by an inch. The night's darkness disappeared and the morning rays streamed through the window and fell on her eyes. She opened her eyes and for a while, she had forgotten about the previous night. Her loss. Peter's head was still on her lap and she felt a strange odour hang in the air.  "You are gone forever my love," she hugged him one last time. She watched the casket being lowered into the grave and felt a part of her wither. Brown leaves landed on his headstone. The leaves she loved all her life. A feeling of guilt and disgust swept over her. She should have been there for him. How could she prioritize work over him? Everything around her felt blurry. Clasping her head, she landed on the ground and cried, "I'm sorry, Peter." Rebecca rushed towards her and helped her to stand.  "Mom, it's going to be okay," repeated Rebecca till she fell short of breath. Rebecca stayed with her for a month but she had a life of her own. She returned to college and Dorothy felt alone and abandoned. Upon the suggestion of a friend, she took up volunteering. Mornings were spent at the hospital while she passed her evenings telling stories to ailing kids. The desire to live slowly evaded her. She never overcame the guilt.  Five years later, she met Mark. He was a lawyer by profession and volunteered at night. After a hiatus, she had someone to speak to. They shared the same wavelength and had common interests, and that made it easy to forge a beautiful friendship. Spending time with him helped Dorothy wade through the deep waters of loss and guilt. When Rebecca visited her during Christmas, she was happy to see her mother smile after a long time. They decorated a Christmas tree together. It had always been Peter's job which he executed to perfection. Festivities without him felt incomplete. But Rebecca had insisted they celebrate Christmas. She played the guitar, reminding Dorothy of her love, with tears of mixed emotions caught in the back of her throat.  "You must invite Mr. Mark for dinner," Rebecca had suggested.  Mark was a good friend and a patient listener. She thought it was the best way to express her gratitude. And, life just went on. Like a twig drifting in the direction of the current, she sailed through the mucky waters life had to offer. She struggled to stay afloat while Mark tried to act as a life support.  Six months back, Mark had asked her to marry him. The moment it happened everything around her had come to a standstill. She hadn't expected him to propose. A relationship wasn't in her mind in the least. Mark was a good man. But she could never love him.  Her phone rang and brought her back to the present. "Mom, where are you? I'm waiting outside our home," huffed Rebecca. "You will find the keys under a pot in the backyard, honey. Make yourself a cup of coffee. I'll be home soon," spoke Dorothy. She had uttered the same words, a decade back to Peter and returned home only to find him dead. Emotions hit her hard like unexpected lightning. She tremored. Through her misted eyes, she looked at the surroundings. Vibrant hues painted the park. Brown leaves formed a carpet giving the earth a refurbished look. Everything reminded her of Peter and nothing felt beautiful anymore. She was seated on the same bench Peter loved. But it wasn't comfortable. It pricked her heart. She has been visiting the same park for a decade. Every evening, she would visit the cemetery, share a cup of coffee with Peter, regale him with how her day went, and then walk to the park. Eventually, her bones gave up on her. But she never deviated from her routine as it offered her unbridled solace. She stood up and was about to leave when she spotted a single leaf hanging from a branch that drooped from a bare tree. Every other leaf had parted from the tree and bid adieu to life preparing for a rebirth. But that leaf stood firm, facing the harsh winds. It was alone yet it had the zeal to live. A wry smile crossed her wrinkled lips as the resplendent rays of the moon enveloped her. She stayed in the park a little longer than usual.  On reaching home, she saw Rebecca sipping coffee. Unknowingly, a sense of relief rushed through her soul. "Mom," she hugged her. They shared dinner and Rebecca spoke about her life. She was in love with Tony. A smile interspersed with tears played on Dorothy's face as she imagined how Peter would have responded to the news of their daughter being in love.  Two hours later, she said, "I'm going to sleep." "Mom, I want to talk to you about something," Rebecca held her hand and made her sit next to her. "Mom, give Mark a chance. I know that Dad was your first love. But you need to let him go. You need a partner to hold your hands during the twilight years. Someone with whom you can talk, laugh and cry. Dad would want that for you," she held her mother's hand and felt the shivering settle. "I need some time to think," Dorothy managed to speak.  Rebecca kissed her good night and went to her room. The lone leaf holding onto life made a profound impact on her. A month later, she decided to give life a second chance.  Six months later "I'm not ready for marriage. Not yet." She tried to gauge Mark's response. "I understand," Mark began to speak only to be interrupted by her. "But I'm willing to give our relationship a chance," she smiled nervously. "I'm listening," he held her hand and gently squeezed it. "You can move in with me if you wish to." The words were finally out and she let out a lung full of air. There was a strange look on his face.  "I have loved only Peter all my life. But I wish to give living my life another shot," she said. "I will," he smiled. Two weeks later, Mark moved in with her. Peter was her first love. She knew that she would never be able to love Mark like how she loved Peter. She would never be able to forget the man who had shown her the meaning of love. Nor did she intend to. But Mark was a good man. He would be a companion, holding her hand during the tough times and helping her sail through the storms of life. She walked to the porch and dried brown leaves coupled with a few reddish ones landed at her feet. Maybe, she would start loving autumn once again. And, fall in love with herself too. Life was all about change and she would embrace it. Sooner or later.   Penmancy gets a small share of every purchase you make through these links, and every little helps us continue bringing you the reads you love!