"You were here before. You Just forgot."
The words kept going in an endless loop in his memory as he tried to figure out if he had really been there before.
"Oliver... I am waiting!" The voice slithered through the darkness again, mimicking Hazel's voice but wrapped a wet, gurgling undertone beneath its sweetness. It hung in the air, crystallizing into frost that pricked his cheeks. But this time with great urgency in it. He was caught in the midst of Hazel's voice and the inscription with his name and a date attached to it. Comparing the urgency in the voice, he rushed into the dark. As his half body entered into the void, a sharp, calm voice sent a telekinetic message to his brain.
Be careful what you long for...!
The words seemed like an applause and also a warning, but his actions were already in motion. His entire body got sucked like a spacecraft with a hole in its structure, pulling everything into space. Birds whistling, crickets communicating with the night, and the moon walking on the surface of the waters.
'Why does it feel completely different in the inside...?'
'Why can't I hear the whispers that were calling unto my name...?'
As he looked around trying to find a clue as to what exactly was calling him, he was lost in thoughts.
'Was it really Hazel...? Or, did I leave her and followed a wrong person?'
His mind was drowned in longing, trying to give himself hope.
"Hahaha...!"
A soft, calm, airy laughter filled the room, like being in a musical feast. He could feel and sense Hazel's fragrance being described in the laughter—her fragrance was the kind that lingered—not just in the air, but in memory. A delicate symphony of jasmine at dusk, amber warmed by skin, and a trace of vanilla kissed by sandalwood. His eyes bumped in joy as the reflection of the mirror captured a five-foot, well-carved, succulent-shaped figure walking like a bride meeting her groom.
As she got closer to the angle at which she was, the room was filled with soothing pleasure. He couldn't resist but just had to let go of all the pain and worry in his mind. The walls had frames with no pictures; some had pictures but were blurry, and those that had clear pictures had their tops wiped off, only revealing the structure and the other details of the pictures. The torn pictures made his chest ache—half a wedding picture and half a family picture with countless people.
His gaze caught sight of a picture that seemed to resemble his fatigue, but then a gentle, charming voice filled with air voiced out his name. This time, the harsh voice now turned like a pillow on a cushion bed. His heart raged to get a clear view of the half-wiped frame pictures, but his mind replayed the message he received before being sucked into the void. Now, not knowing what to do, Oliver closed his eyes, the traditional means he usually does in times of uncertainty, trying to calm his system down and also be able to make the mindful decision. But as his eyes got covered, his vision turned to the crow writing he saw.
In his mind were relentless questions.
Why do some of the things feel familiar?
Why are the pictures blurry in a place like this...?
Why are some of the pictures being torn into two with only one part inside the frame...?
As his mind roared with questions, a light, foamy, gentle palm touched his chest—sending signals to his heart—like electric waves. At first it sent shivers down his spine, but later the shivers turned into sweat oozing from his body in a chilled form. The sweat served as a means to cool his body temperature to tally with that of the palm.
"Oliver...!" The voice purred, then cracked, "Why are your eyes closed?"
The words were as soft as a cellist striking his strings with his bow in a stadium playing Schindler's List, forcing him to release the drought in his mind—feeling the sensation of love. As his mind began to slightly give up its defense, the voice that seemed to be right at his face, with his lips feeling the air that oozed out at every word, now seemed to be behind him—a twisting time. He got a marveling feeling from the soft, foamy palm, which was touching his chest just a second ago and now touching his shoulders. With great expression to understand the movement around him, he tried shifting his head to get a glimpse, tuning his ear to the rhythm of the wind, and focusing his nose on Hazel's graceful fragrance.
With a swift turn, his eyes caught a lantern that seemed to be a long-forgotten favorite item—its light illuminating like the ray of the moon, giving the room the pleasure he feels whenever Hazel gets close to him. Without hesitation, he turned, with the anticipation of hugging her, but it seemed the corners of the room were aiding her to hide from him. It was as though he was being hypnotized. At every turn he took, her voice could be heard, but her presence was nowhere to be found.
"Hahaha...!" it sounded like Hazel's laugh… but slow, wrapped.
Then, it dissolved like an acid poured on a materialized cloth.
Knowing how much she loved to play this kind of game, he also mastered every single movement she would take. But now that the environment felt different, her hiding spots also felt alarming.
"Hihihi...! Are you tired?"
Giggling echoed around him, high and fluttery, as if children were hiding just behind the walls.
Using all his might and ideas without yielding any result, the laughter now came with a question. It drives his mind back to the day before they came upon the forest. With his head bowed down in anguish and grief, Oliver couldn't hold the tempo of his running mind. Got closer to the bluish laced cushion chair, with careful view of his surroundings, he sat in the chair like an old-age person who is ready to travel unto the next life. The arrangement of the chairs, the colors of the curtains, and the position of the frames brought a lightning strike to his soul.
"Oh! Dear Oli... Remember!" The voice wove through the air like incense in a church—soothing, reverent, and completely wrong.
It grew louder and louder, wanting him to uncover something. His state now, in a confused manner, started to fade away the joy that at first filled him, replacing it with a deep sensation of longing. As he got drowned, a frame that seemed to have skipped him earlier now unveiled itself.
The frame had a golden-bluish ribbon with flowers carefully placed at each edge. Inside the frame, a very good-looking, almost heavenly-like being. The person in the picture was adorned with dark-brownish hair, its length covering her shoulders in a curly manner. As his fingers caressed the face of the picture, his memories started flushing back—time really prepared this day to take place.