Disclaimer: I don't own anything


She is like firecrackers, bursting in colors, often in pink, sometimes in blue, but always in varying colors.

She doesn't impose and doesn't demand. She just asks and stays and helps if it's needed. Phineas grows a habit of not looking because he knows, without needing to see her, that she's there and she'll always be.

So they fall to pattern; of her exploding with all sorts of feelings and emotions, and of him just watching her with a smile that tells all. And maybe if he doesn't know where she lives, he'll conclude it's in the skies, right above the rainbow.

He reaches for her. Always.

And he must admit, the struggle is real. It's like feeling for air, like catching the wind. The soonest he gets a hold of her, she's off running. Elections, charities, volunteer work, part-time jobs, summer classes—things that are undeniably Isabella's cup of tea.

The contraptions get bigger every summer.

Ferb's right. They do it for the fun. And the ladies.

But the ladies are seldom around. Everyone is seldom around.

Phineas sighs and steps back to admire his most recent invention. Ferb is spending his vacation interning in Stark Industries. Candace is in college. The backyard is more silent now, and it's not silence of the good kind. Thing is, it's also not the bad kind. It's somewhere in between—neutral gray, mere and plain. If monotony has a song, this is it.

The family is complete for Christmas, but it takes New Year to get the gang together again. When Phineas fishes for his grandest trick up his sleeve, he makes sure the first glimpse of it is hers. Ferb utters an uncharacteristic but still very British, "Oh my." Surprised but pleasantly so, Candace puts down her phone. Buford and Baljeet each remark how they've forgotten it; how easily their friend can do all these neat stuff.

And Isabella? She's speechless. Fact is, she hasn't outgrown her fascination for dancing color wheels.

When a sparkler flies out in the empty space in the dark skies, and splits to myriad of brilliant hues, it takes all her self-control not to gawk at the sight.

"They're beautiful, Phineas."

Not trusting himself with words, he nods awkwardly in agreement. Phineas Flynn has done a lot of amazing things. This is just one from a long list of thousands. All of them are planned from point A to B. All of them are drawn beforehand, labeled from bolt one to bolt nine-hundred-ninety-nine.

But seeing Isabella's smile during the first minutes of the New Year? That's something beyond his blueprints. Something is exploding inside him which is somewhat ironic because he swears the fireworks are supposed to stay above. He just needs to look up. Yet he doesn't.

The iridescent display no longer has an effect on him. His eyes settle on the girl beside him. This is his tribute; to the one who's always looking, a message to the one who's always listening.

They're inches away, but it's like they're poles apart. Things are different now, but he figures it's alright. They're there for the big moments, and that's what counts. Someday, maybe they'll be for each other for the small moments as well. He smiles at the big what-if.

It's a big shot, and inconceivable for a man of science. Still, Phineas closes his eyes and makes a wish. One day, he's going to tell her. He has three-hundred sixty-five days and counting. He'll find a way.