On the lowest glass shelf of the gift shop, beside two dusty photo frames, sat a heart box wrapped in red foil.
We had not gone there for it. It was a Friday afternoon and Mousumi apu had taken me out to find a birthday card for our cousin. The shop was so narrow that two people standing side by side knocked elbows. The AC had raised the hair on my arms, the boy behind the counter was cutting ribbon into flowers with a pair of scissors, and the whole place smelled of new paper and cellophane. Apu was flipping through card after card. Then she stopped.
Her eyes had dropped to that bottom shelf. She picked the box up, turned it in both hands, read the expiry date on the back, pressed a finger into the fold of the packaging. Hershey's Kiss Chocolate Heart-Shaped 8-grain Gift Box. The card stayed in her hand, but the box went into the bag too.
Back home she put it on the bed and lifted the lid. Eight kisses inside, each one in its own foil, a small paper ribbon poking out of the top. The crackle of the foil coming off carried over the sound of the ceiling fan. In the palm the box feels light, but never empty. It had been in the fridge, so the first bite is cold — the smell of chocolate reaches you first, and it melts on the tongue after, slowly, in no hurry.
Since that Friday there is always one kiss in apu's bag. She gave one to our khala, one to our younger brother, one to the new girl at her office. The empty red heart box now sits on the corner of her table with a pair of earrings and two hair clips inside. What exactly changed in her, I still cannot name.
Keep one of these red boxes in your own house — watch how a face changes the moment the lid comes off.
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