Slowly Kamal started coming back to his senses. His friend was just taking the painting off the aisle. Kamal looked at the painting. His masterpiece, the portrait of the lady in the pink dress. “No,” he shouted. The lady was not having any face. Just like the no face lady on the profile of Applegreen. “Take it away at once,” Kamal shouted. He did not want to look again at the masterpiece of his own. His friend realized that Kamal was extremely tired. Without making any sound, he simply took the painting away from the aisle. “Let it be dried at my place”, he said to himself.
“No, you can’t take my Pink lady like that,” Kamal ran out of the room. By that time his friend was already gone, with the portrait of the pink lady, lying on the backseat of his car. .
His heart beating, whole body thumping, brain choking, he felt as if he was no more alive. The blank aisle was standing in centre of the studio, as if looking plainly in his face.
The scattered colour tubes and brushes loathed in colours, were telling the truth of his whole night hard labour. “But she said she will not leave me,” Kamal cried. He had spent the last night talking to Applegreen, She was sitting on the sofa chair, in her pink dress. Her long hair, half drawn back, half on her chest barely covering her soft cleavage.
He closed his eyes and tried to recall the features of her face, with whom he had talked the whole night. He could not recall her face. His pink lady did not have any face.
But she was gone.