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*9*
Love was the most ridiculous feeling on earth for me, a year ago. My previous relationships were based on physical attraction, never involving feelings. I had blocked every attempt of anyone who wanted to go through this barrier. For three years, things went that way.
Until now. I guess I was waiting for the one. It happens to be someone I felt hatred for. Someone who forced himself into my life and that I wanted to force out of my life. Someone who wasn’t on the same standard than me. Someone who was nothing like me, nothing like any other men I’d been with. But I loved him.
Harry and I were in the attic, a dusty but large place. We had opened the few windows to air the place so we wouldn’t die of suffocation. We were sat on an old sofa after removing the old plastic cover that saved it from dust. We needed some rest after the long walk we made in town.
Maura told me she had prepared a few things for me, at my arrival. This woman was truly amazing! She had gathered a few things from my old house in the attic. There were a few furniture, books and two photo albums. “Can’t wait to see baby Eve everywhere.” Harry chuckled, taking the first album into his hands. I smiled in acknowledgement of his words, the same thought being on my mind. He suddenly sneezed because of the dust, just as I did a few seconds ago. He sucked in air before focusing on the album.
I crossed my legs and leant towards him to look at the album. It was an old album, seemingly handmade. The cover consisted in thick recycled and brown paper, Indi words written on it. The photo spots were tied with each other by thin rope.
“Do you know what it means?” he asked, pointing at the Indi words.
“Sadly, no. She refused to teach me any word.” I replied, shrugging my shoulders. She didn’t like India anymore. She had Indian vases in her apartment, Indian features and loved the Indian scents. However, the scars she went through in India held huge spot in her heart. India was one of the first countries where she planted one of her firms while she could have better profits in other countries. That was sort of revenge, showing her success despite everything that happened.
My breath was shorter when Harry opened the old album. I had never seen pictures of me under five years old. My father kept all the pictures of me.
But I wasn’t on any of the pictures. James occupied every spot in the first pages, revealing his trip in India. There were pictures of James alone, in the woods, some in the streets and some with people of the region.
The young James and Niall were look-alike, showing they were related. He was a very handsome man, always smiling on each picture. He seemed very nice. I wish I met him.
Then, pictures of my mother appeared, with June 1987 written on the top of the page. My mother should be about twenty-five if I wasn’t mistaken. A smile was plastered on her face in every picture, she was wearing a colourful sari and her hair was down. Recognizing my mother in the picture happened to be really hard. She was so different!
