i could see it in his eyes. my gut twisted, as i knew he wouldn't be leaving our shop today a happy man.
"you told me two weeks, it's been a month. how long do you expect my wife and i to wait? we don't have forever", your dad spoke in dismay. i apologized. profusely. an album of yours had encountered some mix up and we had problems printing it. i hated this. your parents had been the most gracious customers, but this, although beyond my powers, i could do nothing else but to apologize on behalf of the store. i wished i could have printed it myself.
your dad then asked me, when could it be completed? and this time, no delays.
as i answered him, i noticed how he had started frowning more. the lines showed. i wondered, maybe you kept him up late at nights? his presence, had not felt the same either. there was a drop in his shoulders, a tiredness in the way he spoke, and his gaze clouded his mind from the present. i don't think he was even listening to me speak because before i could end my sentence, your dad spoke again...
"don't tell my wife it's not ready yet". i nodded. "she's not feeling well. i don't want to make her worry". your dad pulled a gentle smile.
it's not uncommon to find women these days with post-natal depression. or maybe, parenting isn't as easy as they make it out to be? the around the clock care can be exhausting. i wondered. his eyes looking afar, his thoughts even further, he then said, "i want you to take more photos of her later when she comes in. as many as you can with our baby too. pictures paint a thousand words, don't they?", he raised an eyebrow, "and they remain eternal for that moment in that picture. never aging like dorian gray". i couldn't agree more.
i heard your mummy's melodious greeting while i was in the back of the store getting my camera. she said "hello everyone" with such delight, i felt i was stuck in a musical. when i saw her in the flesh, i was literally wowed.
(to be continued)
