3412 : The smell of remains

Once we parked the car - I was walking her to the airport entrance. Frail, she required my support to take the steps. Slow, labored steps. 

I give her my hand, and she firmly takes my palm. Its takes us a good 15 minutes to reach the counter. Her hands never leave mine. Another 30 minutes later, is boarding time, her hands still don't leave me. 

She does not speak much. She is observing the world around her, just as if, she is a stranger in a new country. Finally, the attendant helps her on a chair and off she is ready to go.

I help her in. Touch her feet. Tell her sweet nothings. She says nothing, ruffles my hair and finally murmurs, "Kanna".

I am trudging back. Reach the car and sit in the seat. A deep sigh, this feels hard. I wont see her for a few months at least. I see some red stain on the palm of my hand. Possibly her kumkum or nail polish. 

I look at my fingers. Post a good stare, I smell them. I can smell her. 

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