Framed

She watched the people trickle in like buzzing bees.
She watched as their number increased, filling the living room, bustling in the hallways, chatting in the courtyard.
She listened as they played condolences like a hundred broken tapes interrupting each other.
She was silent as they dabbed at their tears with their hankerchiefs, sneaking impatient glances at their watches.
She kept mum as they pronounced him to be "at rest".
She stood at the doorway and watched the cars as they sped away with hasty goodbyes and clouds of dust.
When the last bit of dust had settled, she sighed, and slowly, turned around. She smiled as a breeze wafted in. Him. He was there.
His voice. His odour. His piercing eyes and kind smile.
All in the black and white photo high up on the living room wall; garlanded, framed.