She rubbed her eyes and felt around for the comforter, smiling inadvertently when she saw him hogging it, yet again. Every single night. Every night she covered both of them together, tucked them both in and snuggled up. And every night he turned over onto his stomach and took the comforter with him.
And every morning she woke up with cold toes.
She looked at his sleeping form, overwhelmed at the feelings that suddenly welled up within her; he looked so sweet, so at peace. Just like when she first saw him.
In some time, he’d wake up. And all hell would break lose. Till then, the house, their tiny, cozy home, was silent. Serene, even.
She pulled on some socklets for the cold feet and went to the kitchen. The thin Stanford t-shirt didn’t do much to protect her warm body which broke into goose bumps as soon as the cold air hit.
Hot chocolate for two, she thought as she put the kettle on.
Hot chocolate for two, she thought as she put the kettle on.
The misted glass on the windows always beckoned her; even as a child, she’d irresistibly be drawn to doodling on them..etching out a daisy, a cat… her name… Lindy.
… She squiggled. And her train of thought wandered to the tiny bed-n-breakfast she’d been in exactly five years back. It had been a cold December, coldest so far. Honeymoon weather? If you say so.
The glasses were misted then too. She’d doodled on them, then too.
The glasses were misted then too. She’d doodled on them, then too.
What fun they’d had. They had never been sure of what had caused the windows to mist up; was it the cold or maybe their constant, insatiable need for each other. They made love for hours and talked non-stop the rest of the time.
It had been like a moment stolen from time, one that they’d never gotten back. It was like they crammed a whole life time into those few days.
It had been like a moment stolen from time, one that they’d never gotten back. It was like they crammed a whole life time into those few days.
A small sigh arose from deep inside her.
A single tear escaped. It found its way over her pink, cold cheeks and dropped off her chin into oblivion, while her thoughts resounded from the memories of the past.
A single tear escaped. It found its way over her pink, cold cheeks and dropped off her chin into oblivion, while her thoughts resounded from the memories of the past.
The kettle whistled and she came to. As she turned the knob, she heard him wake up and wiped her eyes hastily. She poured the rich, creamy concoction into his favorite blue mug and added a generous dollop of whisked cream and the fluffy bits of marshmallow. It never failed to make him smile.
She heard him sneak up from behind. She smiled and set the mugs down lest she spill it. Almost instantly his tiny hands came around her knees; that was only as far as he could reach now.
She turned around and swept him up into her arms and kissed him sloppily on his chubby, red cheeks; his deep gurgles of joy always made her happy. One of the few things that made her happy these days.
Murad. Her pride.Her joy.The light of her life.
And the last gift Zohaib had given her.
Zohaib, her lover and husband of ten years.
And the last gift Zohaib had given her.
Zohaib, her lover and husband of ten years.
Hi~ I haven't been here in a while. It's nice to see there's new writings up for reads!
ReplyDeleteThis was... wow. WOW.
In the beginning, whilst I was reading this, I kept picturing 'he' was her lover, or her husband. You really did picture it that way: that she loved him, very, very much; how she smiled when she looked at him as she wakes up in the morning.
But then, I got to the part, "In some time, he’d wake up. And all hell would break lose." And I was taken back for a while, thinking that her 'lover' was an abusive one. And I thought that this was going to be one of those stories where she has fallen in love with someone dangerous.
I continued and found myself thinking why does this woman act like she is still in love with him? The two ideas didn't connect, but my brain refused to deny that idea.
And because I didn't want to dismiss that idea, it led to the most heartwarming ending. When I finally got to his tiny hands came around her knees, it suddenly made sense. Instead of a lover, she has someone to love. And I loved it.
The imagery was really aptly put too; the slight childishness to it. The hearts-on-misted-windows, the blanket-hogging, the hot chocolate and marshmallows and also the woman's flashback to when she was a child. even as a child, she’d irresistibly be drawn to doodling on them It's the little things, but it adds to the story :)
Then there's your style of writing this. You used repetition, and I find that really fitting as this is a story, in the end, about a child.
Kitts, Thank you very much! Thanks for coming back! Thanks for the encouragement.
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