Nafis throws his arms in the air while falling down the hill.

They say you get 7 minutes of memories after you die. It’s a blessing if that’s true. The first time you went on a vacation, your first day at school, that one time someone was proud of you, the day you got that degree (Nafis didn’t), or that long conversation staring at the night sky looking back at how wonderful life has been to you. It’s harsh to fit all of that into a four-second fall.

The arms flail as if to fight that very irony of nature, or perhaps to gather the fleeting memories before the inevitable hit takes it all away. Would it be too big of a stretch to believe that Nafis had thought of it all, and then some about his now empty house? The news might’ve cut short Lia’s vacation, and the house probably doesn’t exist anymore at all. What does exist is one final painting, in a future world, beyond the eyes of the world that had imprinted the notion onto Nafis’ heart that his expressions were meaningless, visually unpleasing. The eventual blow of the land hits his body like a hug, then it kills him, almost with a mocking disregard for his wishes of painting one final portrait of his life, now lost in the mountains.

Enough about the dead. The door opens when Shayan finally enters his house with the painting. He places it by the window. He cooks himself a nice French toast, and sits across the table with a glass of milk. The sun falls on the painting, and the grass illuminates. He thinks of what’s next. Unable to figure out what to do, he asks an AI chatbot what things are possible with a ‘vintage human-made painting’.

Such a painting, in this age, is a miracle. The last remnants of creative expression died a miserly death, having been engulfed by every single AI model. Every move, every stroke, every note, has already been learned, and turned into perfection. You’re one click away from the melody of your desire. The catchy jingles that you (yes, you) grew up humming to, like that one where a dude travels the country, or the morning coffee ad, are now everywhere. And no one really hums to any of those. If nostalgia is a feeling brought onto the present, what is left in it later?

The AI bot tells him a dozen options, all while claiming, “If this is a stolen painting, I can’t help you.” Shayan simply tells it, “I didn’t steal it, a wonderful painter gave it to me. The painter was…my grandpa!” The AI praises his grandpa for the man he was, and then returns to those options. Shayan decides to scrap all of them, and does what is the most quintessential thing a 20-year-old could do, that is post an Instagram story. He captions it with “Tried by hand at painting <3”. As he presses post, a sudden bolt of light hits his eyes, blinding him completely for the moment. Suddenly, Shayan feels weightless, then he falls.

He falls from a height into a garbage truck. He gets up, and runs away. He finds a house, and hides behind it, trying to figure out what just happened. He sees a lady with two suitcases, about to leave for somewhere. He peeks up the fences of the house to look at the surroundings, but nothing seems familiar. He checks his pockets, and is relieved to find his phone. He taps on the screen, and the date reads 30 June 2026.

His eyes go beyond his forehead, and then his receding hairline, then return back to place. The air hits him a bit colder now, his walk a bit shaky. He whispers under his breath, “I hope I don’t get mugged here.” He moves into the small space between the house and the one beside it. He tiptoes towards the main street, when a loud splash of mud hits his pants as he stumbles onto the open gutter. A white cat crosses his path, but it’s fine since Shayan crossing the cat’s path would be much more ominous. He pets the kitten, and tries to take it in his arms. The kitten kicks him away, leaving a scratch on his arm. Despite kicking him off, the cat returns and rubs its head on Shayan’s leg. He names the cat Candy.

Scared to make a noise but still persistent, Shayan does a ‘pspsps’ towards the cat, and this time it hops onto his lap by choice. They move together towards a window. Shayan smells what seems like a slow-burning scented candle. He peeks into the window, and sees a man swiping on his phone. He squints his eyes to see what the man is swiping, and it’s the picture of the lady he saw leaving. The man is turned towards the canvas, as he brings out a bag full of colours. The figure of the man is the only tell for Shayan, until the man turns towards the window, if ever. He moves his hand over his lap but finds air. He sees Candy, now inside the house, walking around the different glass decorations kept on a small table by the window.

Trying the old trick again, Shayan whispers a loud ‘pspsps’, but the cat does not budge. Now near the candle, Candy tries sniffing the wax but ends up burning his whiskers. The heat stuns him, and he slaps the candle with a tight jab of his left paw. The scented candle falls onto the table and rolls in a small arc, hitting the curtains near the edge of the table. The smoke gets a bit heavier, and Shayan moves away from the window. Candy jumps out of the house, seeing the man inside run after him (or towards the curtain, what do I know?). Seeing Candy jump out, Shayan crouches and tries grabbing him. He notices the man whimpering in panic. The sight of the man’s face turns Shayan pale, making his arms cold yet again. Visibly shaken, he stares at the scene, watching the man stumble and fall on his head.

The thunderbolt returns, but this time Shayan finds himself in a dark vacuum. The place is almost bubble-like, one that makes him feel weightless. As if a screen had started playing, a visual begins in front of him. He sees the man, and then himself. He sees himself kick the man off the hill. The visual ends with another flash of light, as soon as the send button is pressed yet again. The light dumps him back onto the garbage truck yet again. He runs behind the house, and sees the woman leave for her vacation yet again.

A feeling of déjà vu hits, but it’s clearer than ever. He checks his phone and it makes him lose his breath. 30 June 2026. The sight comes with a sense of claustrophobia. The world around him shrinks in a way, as he loses control of what is happening to him. Each step feels heavier when the flash of light brings him back here. Shayan does not realize what these lights are, or what any of this is.

Read part 1: https://tbsgraduates.net/writeup/fiction/when-the-pastels-melt-part-1/