The Last Stroke

"What is it?? What is it he holding in his hand?"
"Uh-oh, nothing, do you really think he is holding something?"
"Yes, definitely, look at his expression, his eyes! He is holding something. Curious!"
"Well, didn't think of it, only if you say so."
"Stop playing now, tell me, what is he going to hold?"
"I didn't meant him to hold anything, trust me."
"Liar, how can you make him pose so if he was not supposed to hold anything. Clearly, you had something in your mind. What is it? Vomit it out without delay."
Silence
"Say! what is he holding?"
"Why are you so curious to know that?" His eyes were watery. He tried his best to hide from her.
"You know me." She frowned. She was constantly gazing the painting without missing any tiniest detail.
"Ok, fine. Let's have a little game then." He smiled.
"What game?" She sounded more curious.
"Three guesses. So, what's the first one?"
"Wait, let me think. Is it a cut onion? See, he has a tint of tear in his eyes and there is a knife behind him."
She said happily.
"You could see the tiny tear there...." He murmured.
"Is it? tell."
"Honestly, do you think I will be making some random boy with a cut onion? And would that mean anyway?" He maintained a amused voice.
"Oh! My apologies. Can't be onion."
"Quick!" He chuckled.
"Fish, yes, it must be a fish. He is in seaside. Fish?" She eyed him hopefully.
"No."
"You are so cruel."
"Last guess now." He smiled. But she was lost in deep thoughts.
"Is someone is supposed to be present there in the scene? He seems to be looking at someone or something. Are you going to paint anything more?"
"No."
'If you could understand me besides my painting, you would get all the answer.' He talked to himself.
She was still lost in her thoughts. Seemed to be thinking harder each moment, she scanned the painting several times.
'Sea, on his knees, probably looking at someone in infinity, tear, holding something.. hey.. is it ... no, it can't be. And he looks so pale, maybe he is dying. Looks tired too, he is sick surely. ' She discussed to herself.
"I am waiting."
"Yes, you are waiting, and you shall not any further. The answer is medicine. Isn't it?" She gave a victorious look.
He looked her in disbelief. What the final answer she came out? Ridiculous.
"No, it is NOT medicine. Though he looks like in need of some."
She frowned again. And in the next moment smiled cheerfully.
"Whatever it may be. I came here to invite you to my wedding. Here is the card. And you have to come."  She gave her usual pretty smile and handed over the card to him.
He sighed and took it. Turning his back to her, he opened it with shaking hands.
"Look, I really want to come, but I won't be able to. and I .. I am really sorry for that."
"But why?" She asked in a worrying tone.
"I am leaving this state. Three days later. Won't be coming back ever again here."
"Why?" This was all she could utter in shock.
"Just like that, I am giving up this painting work. I got a nice offer. So,..." He was choked. Tears were trickling down his cheeks. He bit his tongue to stop that. He couldn't face her.
"This isn't fair. Why are you telling me so late? And what do you mean by not coming back ever?" She was crying.
He quickly wiped his face and turned to her. She was clearly very upset.
"I won't be getting leaves."
"For ever?"
"No, I mean, in near future, and then perhaps I will get so busy. Besides, I have no one here to come back for."
"Not even I?" She looked at him. Pain reflected in her eyes.
"Oh, you, you would be busy with your family by then. Come on, stop crying. Don't be upset." He tried to cheer her. But she wore the same expression.
"Okay, I will try my best to get a leave and come here some time. But it may be after a bit too long. Fine with that?"
"Yes." She gave a small smile.
"And for your grand wedding, would you like to have this painting for gift?"
"The incomplete one?"
"I will complete it. My last painting."
"Are you truly giving up this? Not even for your hobby?"
"Yes." He said in a stern tone.
At once she understood there was no point of discussing further.
"Fine then, I would love this painting." She admired the painting again.
"Good. I will send you this."
"Why don't you complete it now? The Last Stroke of your last painting. Let me see it."
"No, I shall like it to make while I am alone. Besides, no wedding gift before wedding!"
"Damn you!" She was irritated.
"Damned I." He laughed and she joined him.
"I must leave now. Have a hell lot of work to do. So you are sending this. Will you meet me before going, by any chance?"
"No, I don't think. I myself have a load of work to do."
"Okay. Bye then. And my wishes to you for your new life."
"Same from this side."
She left. He shut the door and cried silently in his heart.
Then he stared to the canvas. The last stroke, I must end it now. He paced towards it. Picked up a brush. Dipped in the color. Mixed a few shades in brush itself and made his last stroke. He drew the object the boy was holding in one, last stroke. It was a wounded heart.