she would hold on to the memory of the two of you outside the tiny balinese curio shop. the memory of you sitting beside the pavement with your camera sling bag and refusing to budge until something was bought. and listening to her vaguely ramble in response while gently holding her on your lap. when she would start talking about buying placemats for the house, you would bring her closer and plainly tell her that you’d like to buy something. For her.
About quarter an hour and some gentle urging later, the two of you would walk out with a wooden necklace for her, a wooden curio for you and a set of placemats for the house. Walking down the road, she would begin gushing about how pretty the necklace was, only to hear you reply that there were men buying their women diamonds and rubies.
not knowing what to say, she would continue her pointless ramble, pausing only on seeing an icecream signboard at a convenience store. she would want one, and pushing aside her secret hesitation in making you spend, she would ask, tugging at your sleeve. you would look at her, this brand new wisp of a girl in your life, and mildly chiding her for sounding hesitant, you would buy icecreams for the two of you.
she wouldn’t tell you that night. she wouldn’t tell you about it days or weeks after. in fact, she with her famously muddled memories, would not even remember much of what she wore on the trip. but somehow she would carefully treasure that precious memory of the two of you sitting on the floor of the convenience store, enjoying the icecream and you fishing out your SLR to take take pictures of her with the wooden necklace clasped around her neck and her lips freshly moist with icecream.
it would be her favourite memory of your incredible tenderness. and it would turn out to be a memory that could not be traded for a million diamonds and rubies.
