My first attempt at writing a fic in present tense, so please forgive any errors. I did my best!
That said, enjoy!
The Path to the River
She quickly finishes packing his lunch. The sandwiches are put in, the napkin given a final twist, and the whole thing put into a small paper bag that goes in his suitcase. There was never a note inside, no admonition to be careful, no plea to remember her or confession of love. He always promises her he will be back, and she smiles and waves. Once, she used to call after him to write to her – but now she sees the silliness of the request. If he remembers her, he'll remember anyway. And if he forgets…well, that's that.
Sudden quiet settles over the kitchen after he leaves, as if it doesn't know how to return to the small everyday noises of life around the gaping hole left by him. On the windowsill there is a small cup of water with a daisy inside. If asked, he would loudly deny having anything to do with it, but she knows it was the daisy he picked last night on the riverside path.
She hadn't thought he would follow her down that path, hadn't expected him to walk nervously beside her. Like lovers, her traitorous mind whispered, but she refused to acknowledge it.
But maybe his mind had a little traitor inside of it also, because he was unusually skittish, oddly quiet.
Strange, what the shadows and the moonlight did to them; he looked older, suddenly, ethereal and beautiful. And from the way he was looking at her wonderingly, maybe she did too.
They both knew this wasn't the time or the place. There was still too much to do, and many miles to go before he could come home again. It wouldn't be fair to place this burden on him. So she didn't ask for an admission of love, didn't plead with him to stay a bit longer. She didn't ask anything of him.
Instead, she turned to mundane things. She washed some of his clothes, she told him. Yes, she knows he can wash his own things, but really, he does such a bad job of it! She didn't put anything else in his suitcase, though, she reassured. She didn't have to change anything. He would remember her anyway; and if not, not.
Handily, she ignored the daisy he had picked and was twiddling in his fingers, as if trying to find the courage to give it to her. She wanted to accept it, but it was a pale promise that he had no guarantee of keeping. He gave up in the end, but slipped it into his pocket, and the next morning it was in the cup on the windowsill.
Gently, she picks up the flower and gives it a sad smile, before scattering it's petals to the wind and tossing away the stem. A flower would only fade away - but she knows her memory and feelings for him won't. Had he given her a stone, she might have kept it.
A reminder of dying love is a sad one indeed.
His figure dwindles in the distance, and she settles herself for the waiting, again. Days chase each other and seasons change with still no sign of him.
And one day, she sees a silhouette coming up the path – a small, lonely figure returning home. Yet it is not the one she is waiting for. It is his little brother, restored, and searching for his sibling.
The kitchen is always empty now, despite their attempts to fill it, and there is no one to follow her down the path to the river.
She knows, has always known, that he will never return.
And yet, she prays that he just forgot.
A/N: This fic was inspired by a very beautiful song, (which none of you probably know) by Yehoram Tahar-Lev. The idea kicked around in my brain for a while until I finally started writing, and this is the result.