The Search for Serenity

24 - Blissful Perfection

- Alice -

We flick through the smooth cartridge pages of Toby's sketchbook, stopping every now and then as I ask a question on the story behind a certain sketch. My eyes will stick to every page in awe, trying to imagine the scene before me and imprinting my favourites into my mind.

The cover of the book is tattered, but inside holds a whole world of stories, scenes and moments that could inspire the greatest of poets to write endless sonnets and the youngest of children to smile in awe. The sketches make the most mundane feel so much more than just a blink of a second to be forgotten, they feel like forever.

"When did you start drawing?" I voice my curiosity as Toby turns over another page to one of a fallen tree, its shards of bark spiking upwards from the stump left behind.

"When I was around five, maybe? I'd just been fascinated with it after visiting an art exhibit in kindergarten." His voice is almost nervous as he shares with me, meeting my eye. I offer him an encouraging nod to continue on. "At first, it gave me a sense of enjoyment but as time went on, it became more of a form of self-expression, an outlet, I guess?"

I nod. "That's actually really cool. I'd love to see some of your first ever pieces, young Picasso." I giggle, easing some of his tension as he laughs.

"Oh, trust me, you do not want to see that."

I join him in his laughter, looking back down at the page. I open my mouth to ask about the concept behind the picture but as I do, a strong gust of wind blows between us, carrying some stray pages with it. We slam the book closed, scrambling to catch the pages as they drift off in all directions.

I turn to Toby once I have a good handful of them in my arms and he's picking up the last one from the ground, dusting the dirt from it and turning back to me.

"Well, that was pleasant," he huffs, sitting back down and tucking the pages back in his book again.

I step towards him, shuffling the pages into a neater stack rather than a chaotic splay in my arms. "That's one way to put it." I breathe out a laugh, stopping with a gasp as a picture in my hand catches my eye.

"What have you got there?" Toby tips his head up, brows pulled together in question.

I smiles, an odd nostalgia warming me as I scan over the familiar page that brought Toby and I together in the first place—the picture of the old man in the café.

"This," I tell him decidedly, "enter this."

He looks it over, his eyes shifting back up to me and nods in acceptance, a knowing smile on his face. I re-join him in our original seated spots, handing over the rest of the drawings. He places them back where they belong as another rush of wind passes us, making a shiver rack through my body. I tuck my arms around my body, which makes Toby glance at me.

"We should get going before you catch a cold." He offers, standing up.

"It's okay, really, I should learn to actually wear a coat in this kind of weather." I laugh it off, trying to ignore the iciness crawling through my fingertips.

Is it bad that I don't want this to end?

Toby insists on us leaving despite my attempt at convincing him the cold isn't getting to me, holding out his hand to help me up. I take it, biting my lip to contain the small smile at the warmth of the contact, my heart jumping at the gesture—a new constant for me whenever he's around in close proximity.

I stand, hand still in his for a second before I shyly clear my throat and let it go before picking up our jackets. My cheeks redden at my thoughts, embarrassment flowing through me.