Part 2 Continued: Coming Home

"Dean, our ETA is about 2 minutes out. Yes. I think I know where that is. I'll find it. See you soon."

"He's already there waiting.", Vishal turning to me says.

"Okay, we are almost to the airport."

I clutch our things closer to prepare for a speedy exit. Everyone around us is doing the same.

"Let the first rush of people go and then we will go. We are fine on time. I don't want to be lost in the herd.", Vishal whispers to me.

I relax a little at this point. That's the way I usually do things when traveling. It's nice we do things in a similar way when able to. I was knocked and pushed around on the trip here. I even had a bruise from a man who was carelessly rushing to his gate with his luggage and bumped me as I left the restroom. Of course I had reassured him I was alright, but I had felt like scolding him or maybe slightly berating him for being careless. He had acted upset and annoyed at me slowing him down. It's people like that, that it's no wonder humans thought earth was the center of the universe for so many years. Instead I had ended up asking if he was alright and telling him I was fine. He hadn't even waited for my response before rushing off. It reminded me of the time I was sitting outside a class and woman tripped and poured her scalding hot coffee all over me. She was first upset about the loss of the coffee, then annoyed about being late, and finally worried she had burned a person who might possibly sue her or need medical care. Luckily I had a jacket on. That one I kinda understood. I lose a coffee I bought in the morning, it'd be a travesty of the whole day. Still people, and people in a rush, people rushing confused or lost is probably my least favorite environment.

We hear the shuttle braking and can see we have arrived. As soon as the doors open, more than half the riders frantically exit. We casually make our way out the empty isle. I follow Vishal to the left after we exit. He leads us through some doors to the Cafe where Dean is.

"Dean, Dean, Hi. I'm Vishal. I spoke with you on the phone. This is Ava."

"Hello. He shuffles a few pages he has been holding to the back and turns the screen to his phone off. Before the screen flashes off I see a picture of Vishal's Driver's License. I guess he must have been using it to literally I.D. him. Smart. The whole process is official. It moves the concept I had known as stamp collecting out of the hobby realm and more into another business. The process was conducted like any other business deal of today. I don't know why this is so novel to me, but it is. After pleasantries, paperwork, and other less thrilling aspects of the deal Dean opens the small roller suitcase he has had positioned next to his right shoe tip. In the center of the case and all the padding are the stamps. I try to hold it in, but a laugh escapes from me. I guess with all the build up I had let my expectations grow. Here were three small stamps in an oversized suitcase used in heist movies to present gems, but the stamps lacked luster. One would need a magnifying glass or a microscope to even read them, especially through the casing. Nafara's courier must be a stamp enthusiasts because he seems mesmerized by the actual sight of them.

"I knew Nafara's father, but never viewed his collection", he said seeming to explain himself to us.

Vishal takes a small box from his backpack with a combination lock on the side. Then he picks the stamps up in his hands. He admires them briefly before locking them away in his container.

"Thank you Dean. Tell Nafara Thank you for me. Pass the message on that when she visits in a few months on business that she is welcome to contact me and set up a time to view my collection with these new additions."

"I will."

With that, Dean secures his small luggage case and wheels it behind him as he leaves the cafe.

We go through baggage check. Vishal keeps the small locked box containing the stamps in his coat pocket as we go through the body check. Weaving in and out through people as we find our gate, we eventually arrive. Vishal makes no effort to inspect the stamps. He keeps them safely in the locked box in his pocket. Vishal got us first class tickets. I can't wait to be in my seat, lay back with a blanket, and observe the view out the plane window.
On time the attendant anounces boarding. We get in line with tickets. Once scanned, we walk the the covered path to our seat on the plane. It's not until we are seated that Vishal pulls the locked box out. He places it on the tray infront of him. Gives me a glance and then slides the combination on the lock into place. Opens the box and stares at the contents. This is when I notice a magnifying glass in the same carrying case. He pulls it out and begins observing the stamps.

"See how it reads post office here", he points out.

"Yes"

He is mumbling about the significance of the post office wording. Then he starts pointing out other various factors with each of the other stamps.

"See how this one has an error here. That actually increases it's worth. It's worth more than I previously thought."

"Congrats. Weird an error is a good thing. So that's good, but I don't think you just collect for the money."

"That's just a bonus."

Vishal waves the flight attendant down, "Miss, can you grab me two champagnes?"

"I'll be back shortly with your champagne."

"Thank you."

She is back in a couple minutes with two glasses in hand.

"I thought you were going to sleep?", I inquire.

"I am, but one drink will only help. Cheers to our trip."

"Cheers."

The bubbles spray my nose as I take my sip. I've never had sex on a plane and wouldn't, but I image that's the only way this feeling of contentment could be better.

Vishal takes first shift in sleeping. When I hear him snore I know he has officially drifted off. I'm surprised there is not one crying baby or screeching child heard on this flight. It is silent as we drift through clouds and sky.

We trade shifts. I sleep until I feel Vishal rubbing my head and gently rubbing my chest and repeating my name.

"Ava, Aava, Aaaaava, we are landing soon. We are home."

I stretch, open my eyes and kiss Vishal on the cheek.

"Thanks, I'm up."

The way he woke me is the nicest way to be awaken. If only he could be my alarm everyday. As I wait for the grogginess to wean, I take a compact mirror out of my bag. I check my appearance and wipe my eyes. My hair is slightly oily and my skin looks dehydrated from the flight. I add a little lotion to my face and put my hair up in a ponytail, while dreaming of a shower. Being confined around so many people for hours makes me desperate for a warm shower.

The landing is smooth, barely any bumps. We must have gotten an experienced captain or maybe a new fresh one that still cared. Either way it was an impressive landing. Some hit the landing so rugged you wonder what they've been doing in the cockpit; possibly hitting the sauce or sleeping waking just in time to land the damn thing. This captain had to be attentive because I barely could tell we had reached the ground except for seeing us on the runway tarmac. We glide in.

I stay seated even after the first and second group of people exit the plane.

"Am I going to have to remove you or are you coming?"

"I'm coming, just letting people go."

Truth is, I'm in no rush to end this. 

"Hey, it's going to be late when we get back. Could I stay at your place?"

"Yes of course.", I reply and then add, "Thank you."

"Better to ease back into life here", he says sheepishly.

We walk in a comfortable silence, both of us lightened by the knowledge we must be feeling the same way without having to discuss it or explain it.

We find his car in the parking spot we left it. He pats his pocket for the keys. An alarmed look comes over his faces. He pales to white and I start worrying he may faint.

"I don't have my keys or the box with the stamps. If they fell out. I'm sure someone got them by now. Maybe a flight attendant. Damn. Fuck. FUUUUUCK. Just what we need. If someone opens the box and looks up what those are....I'm never getting them back. You will lose your item. OMG."

"Are you done?"

"Why?"

"I put them in my bag. I forgot to tell you. You went to the bathroom and they were on the chair. I didn't want to have what you just described happen. Sorry. Here look, we have both items. It's okay, we are okay."

"We're okay", he repeats.

Once he see's the items and is sure both are really there he breathes a sigh of relief.

"I feel dumb now."

"You shouldn't. Happens."

The air in the car smells stale; a whoosh of air rushes my face with the opening of the door. We put our bags in the back seat. I climb in the passenger seat and immediately feel relief. We are away from the unknown and back in the familiar. Away from crowds and bustle of the plane and airport. On our way to my house. We listen to talk radio before Vishal switches it to music. We both hum and sing along to parts of songs. Drives always seem so much longer when you can't wait to be at the destination and you need a shower. Grimey is such an uncomfortable feeling. I have a pair of Pj's that are calling to me. I hope I have popcorn at home. I want to lounge around in my Pj's, watch movies, and eat popcorn while I wait for food to arrive. Shopping will wait until tomorrow. I know I have nothing at home since I threw most everything out before our trip. I'm glad I remembered to do this. Walking in to a disgusting fridge after vacation is horrible. I learned through experience a couple times when I forgot. Do it a couple times and chances are it will never be forgotten again.

I watch out the front windshield as we pull up to my familiar apartment, find my spot, and park. The tree trimmers have been here while we were away. I'm glad I was gone for that. Everytime they come I sit with my noise canceling headphones on trying to block out the screech of their machinery. The trees and bushes always look so crisp after. Makes my apartment look much more high end.

"Your apartment got a haircut", Vishal says.

"Yeah, looks great huh?"

"Yeah, much better."

"They wait for it to be really overgrown before they pay to do it."
"They just want people to be able to tell."

"Yeah that's it. It's fine, I'd rather not pay more to have it done regularly."

"Yeah"

We get out of the car and unload our luggage. letting them slightly trail behind us as we walk to my place. I insert my key in the lock and hear the familiar clanking of the lock mechanism turning.

"Honey we're home", I say on entering as I open the door.

"Finally huh? Do you still have that t-shirt of mine?"

"Yeah I do and it's clean."

"I need to borrow it tonight, to sleep in."

"It's yours, yes you can borrow it back."

"Thank you"

"Can we shower now?"

"You can shower first. I'm going to do a couple things."

"Okay"

"But don't take all night, I need a shower too."

"You can come in if I'm taking too long."

"Okay"

I hear the water turn on. I place an order for some sandwiches to be delivered. Then check the cabinet where the popcorn would be. I have two packs left. I open one and begin microwaving it. I rumage around in a dresser drawer and find Vishal's t-shirt. I even find a pair of soccer shorts of his. I place them on the bathroom counter for him.

"I hear you, come in."

"I put your shirt and some shorts on the counter for you. I have something in the microwave. I will get in, in a minute."

"Okay, Im done anyways."

I go to the kitchen a pour the bag of popcorn into a bowl. I grab two cans of soda from my pantry and place them in the freezer. I'm sure to set a timer for 15 minutes so they don't explode. I hear the water shut off. I take the bowl of popcorn a place it on the nightstand in my room.

"I'm going to take a quick shower. There is popcorn there and I have delivery on the way. Can you keep an ear out for the delivery. I should be out before it arrives, but just in case."

He's standing in the door way of the bathroom with a towel around his lower half and one around his neck.

"Will do."

"The remote is over there. Watch whatever you want to."

I go into my bathroom and turn the faucet handle on to hot. I let the bathroom get steamy. Before I step in I turn the temp lower. It's a foggy, misty delight. A shower never felt so soothing. A wash the day off of me. I just stand under the water for a couple mintues. Usually I'm a fast showerer, trying to do my part in water conservation, but today I allow myself the moment of quiet to regroup. When I step out to grab my towel I turn the water hot again, as hot as it will go. I let it run while I dry myself. Then shut it off. As I do Vishal opens the door.

"Wow wanted a steamy bathroom today huh?"

"Shut the door you are messing up the effect."

"What effect is that, a sauna"

"Steam is nice for breathing. Besides I dont want the cold air in yet."

He had shut the door.

"I came in to brush my hair, but the mirror in here wont help me."

"I'll do it. Come here."

I comb his hair. Parting it differently than he does, but it looks nice.

"Where are you? I could comb yours if I could just find you.", He jokes.

"It's not that steamy. Doesn't it feel nice though?"

"Oh there you are. Yes, I actually feel great. But, who is listening for the food?"

"Oh yeah."

"It's okay medicine woman, take your time. I'm going to go wait for the food. Take in all the steam you can handle. Can we possibly open a window out there though. My stamps aren't in their humidity controlled case yet."

"Oh, I'm sorry I didn't think of that."

"It's okay I will find a safe spot for them for the night. Obviously in here is out."

"Obviously", I agree.

I put my pj's on, comb my hair, and lotion up. Then yell through the door, "Are the stamps safe? I'm about to come out".

"Safe"

As I open the door the difference in air is striking. I get a rush of goosebumps momentarily. I run to the bed and get under all the covers.

"Aaaahhhhh bed"

By the time the food arrives we are both dozing in and out, almost too tired to eat. A couple bites, and our appetites take over.

"When is your painting suppose to arrive?"

"Any time in the next day or so."

"Where are you going to put it?"

"Either on the entry wall or on that wall right there", I saying pointing to the wall on the right side of my room.

"Think I'm going more towards the entry wall. What do you think?"

"Entry would be nice, but then where are you moving the entry piece you have there now?"

"I don't know, maybe my room. Although it's not really right for in here. You want it?"

"Actually, yeah sure I'll take it."

I was kidding. For some reason it surprised me that he wanted it and made me think maybe I should keep it. It wasn't a high end painting or anything. A painting, but not worth anything really outside the pleasure of just liking it. Why would he want it.

"You have a place for it?"

"Yes, I think I do."
"Okay, you can have it once the painting shows up."

"Thanks, then you can come over and figure out where I put it."

"Why do you like it? Just curious."

"It's a mystery."

I had purchased that painting when I first moved here. I found it in some random store for home decor. I had liked the feel of it. It was the first piece of art I had hung on the wall in this apartment to make it more inviting. I'd told Vishal about it the first time he came over. It was a sort of impressionist landscape with a single female character, with her back to the observer, whimsically looking into it. She seemed to be interacting with the scene in a way. Now I wondered if he liked the painting or what it represented sentimentally more. Did he even like the painting really?, I wondered. Where could he possibly be putting it. The painting did have a bit of a mysterious vibe to it. That had actually been the original reason for my intrigue in it and behind the reason I purchased it. It was a luring mystery that caused one to look at it longer and still walk away thinking about what actually was seen through the painting. In my opinion what makes a piece good. All the answers are there, but only interpretations can really be taken away. Really you are left with the lookers interpretation or the person itself.

"It will still be your painting, just on loan to me. You can come over and see it any time. I can give you a key to my place too."

"On loan. Do I need to draw up a contract?"

"He rolls his eye's. I'm teaching you too well."

We have the next two days off. We allowed extra days to acclimate ourselves to the time and schedule of home. However, we both would have things to catch up on. Tonight we fall asleep with the TV  on, unaware of our loss of consciousness.

Next thing I knew it was morning. As I stretched Ibegin to blink my eyes open. AsI assumed, Vishal is already out of bed. I hear clanging of plates and the crackle of my coffee maker in the kitchen. Then the patter of foot steps coming down the hall. Vishal appears carrying a trey. The clock reads 6:45am.

"It's so early. Must we be up right now."

"The point is to acclimate, not sleep in."

He's right. I want to say something smart in retaliation, but I haven't had my coffee yet. Plus, technically he is right. When this happens, if reversed, never stops him from arguing. Vishal hands me a coffee. I graciously take it. We sit drinking and eating our coffee while switching between programs on TV. After about fifteen minutes and a full coffee, I respond to his earlier comment.

"I love a good nap. Sometimes it's the only thing getting me out of bed in the morning.", Ra-bump bum bum.

Vishal is laughing a laugh I've never heard before. More genuine than any I've ever heard.

"Have you just been sitting here trying to think of something to respond to my earlier comment. That's what, like twenty minutes now. You needed coffee first huh. AND, AND you quote George Costanza. That's well, bravo."

He is doing a congratulatory hand raised up by side of face clap.

"Are you done? Can we nap now? Just because I recycled a line from your show doesn't make it any less true because I'm saying it. We got up, we had breakfast. We are partially acclimated by now."

"That comment earned you a nap, just not right now. You will thank me later."

"So what's the plan sunshine?"

"I need to go home, to take care of these stamps. Do you want to pack a bag and come with me? Do a sleep over at my place tonight? We can do laundry with my machines. You can get me acclimated at my place."

"Sure, but what if my painting comes?"

"Aren't you suppose to get an update? It won't though. Probably will take longer."

"Okay, sure. I have to call Yesi today though. She did take care of things while I was gone."

"Okay can we plan on leaving in twenty?"

"Probably forty, but who's counting. We'll call it a non-acclimated twenty."

As I exit Vishals car I brush crumbs from eggo waffles off of me and onto the ground.

"Did you save me one?"

"Yeah, all these crumbs are yours.", I say.

"Hey L'Eggo my Eggo! Do you remember those commercials?"

"Obviously, they aren't that old."

"I think the Dorsa Brothers would disagree, but lucky for you they aren't around to argue.", he mentions.

"Even Stranger Things showcases them", I add to just add an anecdote.

"Never watched an episode, not one", He says rather proudly.

"What, too trendy?"

"No, just too many other shows and stuff to read or do. There is only one of me. Plus, I'm pretty sure it's not my kind of show."

"Yeah, I don't think it's your kinda show, but maybe you could watch an episode and let me know for sure."

"Well I've made it this far without watching one."

I smile at the under handed way he is saying no, he can't be bothered to watch it. Our nonsensical pillow talk banter that transverses all our settings and time together is by far my favorite thing about us.

Vishal unlocks the door, letting us cross the threshold of outside to in. I feel home here, as much as I do at my place. I find this ironic since it has taken me years of living in my place and a lot of money in home decore to make my place feel this way. His place felt that way after the second time I went there.

Immediately after entry, Vishal goes about turning on the heat and checking on things. I remember he hasn't been home yet. A week away feels more like a month. There are countless tasks to complete. However, next thing I know, he is walking in, in a robe.

"That was fast.", I say baffled by how fast he changed.

"I'm home. You going to join me, so you don't feel over dressed?", he says.

"Don't you mean so you dont feel under dressed? Since you stripped down so fast."

"Under dressed? Did Hefner feel under dressed?"

"Jesus, I'll join you", but I make sure he see's me roll my eyes.

"Okay, I need to do some work for a couple hours. You be okay watching T.V. or reading? I could order groceries and you could make dinner? Or I could order food."

"I'll be fine. Could I watch you place the stamp?"

"Sure, can you make a grocery cart? I'll pay for it. Just items for dinner, snacks and breakfast?"

"Okay, I'm on it."

"The stamp preparation isn't very action packed. It's a boring series of events for most people. I have a very nerdy precise routine."

"Is this self-consciousness? I haven't seen this on you. Maybe I'm becoming a stamp connoisseur. Collector. Person. I don't know, I was just curious to see the whole process through."

"Not self-conscious. A little nervous. Ready to begin. And, slightly flattered I think."

He turns and walks towards his office. I follow him in. He pulls out a pair of fancy cream colored gloves and tosses me a pair of emerald colored gloves.

"They are cotton gloves, the best cotton. I don't actually touch the stamp with them, but incase I do."

Then he positions two small padded tweezers on a mat to the side of his work space. He looked like a surgeon preparing for surgery. He pulled out masks for us to wear and a pair of glasses for himself. He takes out the locked box and once again enters the combination. The breath and pause he takes before starting looks as if he's taking a moment of prayer. With no camera, I can't capture the moment anywhere but in my mind. Some how, I know it will be one I remember often. There is something about his intensity of care I'm drawn in to. Intensity held together with complete calm. I finish the grocery order and put on the gloves. A useless assistant to the expert artist. A protege in training, possibly.

He pulls a single sheet of acid free glassine paper. He picks up the blue mauritius stamp with the silicone tip coated tweezers. He places it on the glassine. Next he picks up the orange-red mauritius stamp and places it on the glassine along side the blue one. He places the sheet with the block under his stamp microscope. Here he shifts them around and adjusts the microscope. I watch him scrutinize the image, taking in as many details as he can.

"I inspect the stamps. I told you this was going to be boring. Are you sure you wouldn't rather be doing something else?"

"I'm fine really. Watching you work isn't boring to me, it's discovery."

"Discovery of what?"

"Discovery by definition. Discovery of you, a process, intricacies of a science. Or is it an art?"

"What's the difference. Things can be both. Come look at this."

I walk around to his side of the work space and peer into the microscope. I sit on his lap to do so. The magnification is impressively clear. Individual fibers of the stamp paper can be distinguished as well as each blot of ink composing the image placed on it. The mistake at this magnification becomes easily identifiable.

"That error is like looking at an extra dollar sign on these."

"Really? It's so weird to me still that a defect get's more money in the stamp market."

"This is the art aspect influencing it. The uniqueness gives it character. Makes it it's own."

I get up from his lap and go back to my spot across from him.
"What's next?", I ask.

"Next I take a stamp mount and cut it to the right size. I mount it to a piece of paper. Then the paper to that plaque. All of it gets placed in the cabinet after that.

"Hmmmm I see. Well, on with it. I want to see this illustrious cabinet."

The rest of the process goes quickly. Each movement is precise despite the speed behind each task. It's apparent to me he's done this numerous times before. The tasks seem to be second nature at this point.

Revealing the cabinet feels a bit like a scene from mission impossible; highly guarded, secretive, and high tech. Vishal locks the door and glances around a couple times before stealthily making his move. He grabs a small black remote. With the hit of a button he turns off a large painting on the wall. Where the painting was located, now has an empty pane of screen. Once that pane is swung out from the frame and lifted off, a cabinet that is built into the wall is unveiled. The frame of the painting, now is a decorative border for the built in cabinet. He uses the remote again, but this time to enter a code. A light switches on and an inside cover rolls back from behind the front glass pane of the cabinet. An impressive display of stamps are arranged inside the cabinet. I peek inside trying to figure out how far back the cabinet goes. I think it's a small cabinet, but with all honesty the way it's colored inside and lit I can't tell.

"I really thought that was a real painting. I couldn't tell the difference. Every time I've been here, I had no idea."

"Good. It's meant to appear like that. It is a real painting being displayed. Luckily you aren't suppose to touch art, so no one can tell it's not real. If I ever saw someone trying to touch it on my cameras I'd know something was up."

"I know. Wow."

He enters another combo and the door is released. He places the stamps inside. Makes a few other adjustments, making sure the spacing is correct. I hear an automated sound. He closes the cabinet door and presses another button. The cabinet has a soft sound and a small light turns on.

"The cabinet is adjusting the temp and controling humidity. It also aligns the rows and columns", he explains.

He looks through the glass at his collection. He has his hands resting on his hips. He is standing proudly, but relaxed. His stance comes off more appreciative than anything else.

"See that one in the center. That's the one that started all of this."

"That one is the one you inherited?"

"Yeah. See that one to the left and near the bottom corner?"

"Yes."

"That's the first one I ever bought on my own."

I knew every stamp in that cabinet had a meaning or story behind it. I'm sure I'll learn each one with time. I was now a part of one of those stories. He actually has a substantial collection. I'm surprised his collection surpassed what expectations I'd formed. I tried to guess how much money I was looking at. I knew it was substantial. His collection looked classy. As a whole his collection was less showy and ostentatious and more modest. This modesty made it appear more refined and in general more elegant. By elegant I mean wealthy. The way only true wealth from birth can do. All of a sudden I felt special and a little overwhelmed. He had let me in to his secret space. Allowed me to be part of it even.

I hear the shutter from a camera. I turn around and see Vishal standing with a camera.

"Smile please"

"Why?"

"First time I showed my collection to someone. No edit that, First time I showed my collection to another human and to my girlfriend. A day of firsts."

"I'm not your girlfriend"

"Oh, you're right to my fake wife or fiance. We told enough people in my work realm..."

we both laugh.

"No in all seriousness, I hate the term girlfriend."

"Really?"

"Yes, tremendously."

He sits at his desk.

"This I need to hear. Why?"

He waits for me to explain.

"What is Carla? Or that girl at your firm who isn't your assistant. Or the girl in one of your hobbies. What is Yesi?"

"They are all girl friends."

"Right. I think it's a way of our culture saying men can do whatever they like. It's all the same. Because any girl associated is a girl-friend. So essentially the title never has a true meaning to anyone, but the girl trying to be with the guy. The girl thinking she is THE girlfriend. Until she becomes a wife and then all others are 'girlfriends'. Whatever that is. Essentially what that one was. It's a lot of bullshit. Meaningless terms."

"Hmmmm", he is silent, but looking at me.

"I'm your 'love', until I'm not I guess is what I'm saying."

"So, I should call you my-love?"

"No. I mean, I don't know. Girlfriend is probably easiest."

Just then his phone started to ring. He looked at the I.D and picked it up.

"Hey, how are you? Oh yes yes, okay. I will finish that this afternoon. Look for it in your inbox tomorrow. Hey, have I introduced you to the love of my life? She is with me right now. Ava say Hi. This is my boss."

He flips the phone around.

"Hi. Nice to meet you too. Well, I guess I am. Yes. Okay, bye."

"Yes, tomorrow. Oh I know sir. Thank you. Bye.", he hangs up the phone.

"So my love, how'd I do?"

"Fine. Love of your life?", I give him a questioning look.

"Of my life. However, now I don't know what to call other females. I'm all confused. I see your point. Female acquaintances also doesn't seem better."

"How about just friends, but there should just be added care in keeping the girl friends less friendly in a way."

"I'll think on it, but I get your point."

"Why didn't you use your phone to take a picture?", I ask changing the topic.
"I don't want it in the cloud. Then my collection would be at risk."

"Makes sense. Your collection and cabinet are impressive."

He locks and covers the cabinet and repositions the screen on it's hinge. Swings the pane back into place and turns on the painting display.

"Let's go watch a movie and wait for our groceries. Also, I want to hang up the painting you gave me. That painting is you. It's so optimistic, but with the most negative undertones to it. When I look at it, it's unknown, but draws me in. I keep looking at it trying to decide what to adjust, but find there is no real flaw I want to fix."

"Thanx? maybe. So it's an interesting mystery? Pretend I'm boring, no mystery. What then? One day the mystery will be gone. Anyways, thank you for letting me see your collection. Let's go. The app says the driver is almost here. I think I'm getting tired, might need a nap."

"You have to fight through it. Wait to sleep. We could go through what ifs, but you are a mystery. I don't get what you are saying."

"I'm saying, when I'm not what you decided I am in your mind and I'm just this, no mystery, I think you won't be drawn in. That's people, that's infatuation, it's love until it's not. Until it's comfortable and convenient and then infatuations will be mysteries found other places."

"There are those negative undertones I was talking about, but optimistic because talking about the future. I can't imagine getting bored of hearing your thoughts;  What you think on a subject."

"Have you hung a painting before?", I change the subject.

"No, I usually pay someone to do it."

"You have a level?"

"No"

"We are off to a great start."

"We'll figure it out."

Vishal places the picture on top of a dresser in his room. I play up being exhausted and trust fall into him.

"What if I didn't catch you?"

"I knew you would."

He places me in a chair nearby.

My phone buzzes. Yesi is calling.

"Any desire to meet up with Yesi today?"

"How about tomorrow? I have to finish some work."

"I thought we had two days before we were fully back in our real lives."

"Sorry. I don't have to go in at least."

I let my phone ring out. I know it's taken a lot of work for him to get to where he is, and to have all he has. I need to accept that he is always working. I will work on not being all consuming, like his job. He seems to have no boundaries with it.

Negative under tones. Optomistic? Mystery? Is that me? If I'm honest with myself, I honestly never thought about it. Im pretty sure I still don't care, outside of how Vishal means it. Things I never thought about until now. What is a real mystery is how relevance works.





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