Another Blue Umbrella By Minarva Priyadarshini

Mr. Steve had always been an artist driven by passion. He spent his days painting the world around him, capturing the nuances of life with each stroke of his brush. His studio, filled with unfinished canvases and the smell of oil paints, was his sanctuary. But it wasn’t until he discovered the village nestled near the outskirts of the town, home to a small tribal community, that his art found a new purpose. The people there had a rawness to them, a simplicity that spoke to Steve’s creative soul. Every visit to the village breathed new life into his art, and each painting became a homage to their culture, their traditions, and their way of life.

He would often walk down to the village, sit on the grass, and observe their daily routines. The colors of their clothes, the rhythm of their work, and the harmony with which they lived in sync with nature fascinated him. Among the villagers, there was one girl who caught his attention. She was always working in the field, her movements graceful yet strong. Her skin glowed under the sun, her hair tied up, and she was always dressed in the vibrant and intricate patterns of her tribal attire. She didn’t speak much, but her presence was magnetic. Her laughter, often carried by the wind, reached Steve’s ears as he sat at a distance, sketching her.

He didn’t know when he started falling in love with her. Perhaps it was the way she moved, her simplicity, or maybe it was the way she looked so peaceful in her world, far removed from the chaos he had always known. One day, he finally worked up the courage to paint her. Sitting under a large tree, he captured her essence as she worked in the field. Her hands moving gracefully through the crops, her focus undisturbed by the world around her. When he was done, he nervously approached her and showed her the painting.

Her eyes widened in surprise and then filled with joy. She beamed with happiness, a smile so pure that it melted Steve’s heart. It was in that moment that he knew he had to see her more often. Over the next few weeks, they met daily, talking about simple things, sharing silences that felt more profound than words. As they spent time together, Steve learned more about her likes and dislikes. One day, she casually mentioned her love for umbrellas. It was an unusual fascination. Umbrellas in the village were rare, as the people there were accustomed to the natural weather. But she had always been enchanted by them—an umbrella, to her, was a piece of magic that sheltered and protected.

Steve was taken aback by the innocence of her desire. He promised himself that he would gift her the most beautiful umbrella he could find. He scoured the town until he found it: a delicate blue umbrella with intricate designs along its edges. It was perfect—just like her.

A week later, Steve invited her for what would be their first proper date. He had chosen a serene spot in Shimla, where the mountains kissed the sky and the air was crisp and clean. It was a place that reflected her calm spirit. Excited and nervous, Steve boarded the bus to Shimla, the blue umbrella carefully wrapped in his bag, ready to present to her.

But life, with its unpredictable hand, had other plans.

The bus winded its way through the narrow mountain roads. The view was stunning—dense forests below, and towering cliffs above. But nature’s beauty also hid its dangers. As the bus rounded a bend, the ground above loosened, and with a thunderous roar, rocks and earth came crashing down. A landslide. It happened so quickly that there was no time to react. Steve's bus was struck, and the chaos that ensued was unimaginable.

When the dust settled, Steve was left with a deep, numbing pain in his heart. The girl—the love he had so quietly nurtured in his heart—was gone. She had been on the same bus, on her way to meet him for their first date. The landslide had taken her from him, just like that. In the blink of an eye, the future he had dreamed of, the happiness they could have shared, vanished.

Days turned into weeks, but Steve remained in a state of shock, unable to process what had happened. The blue umbrella, still wrapped, lay in the corner of his studio, untouched. It became a symbol of his deepest regret, his unfulfilled promise. He hadn’t even had the chance to give it to her, to see the look of joy on her face one last time.

Years have passed, but Mr. Steve still keeps the blue umbrella with him. It has become his most treasured possession, more valuable than any of his paintings. He keeps it close to his heart, a reminder of the girl who had brought him happiness in the simplest of ways. And though she is no longer by his side, her memory remains alive in every brushstroke he makes, in every canvas he completes.

The blue umbrella is more than a gift he never gave; it is a symbol of love, loss, and the fragility of life.