French toast.
The very first thing came to her mind when she opened her eyes to the early rainy morning, she looked at the window through dancing curtains to see the stream of raindrops making various patterns on the glass, and she smiled. She lied down on bed for some time, maybe seconds, minutes, she didn't know. Breaking the blank and directionless trance, she checked the time in her mobile, it was 6.41 am, not so late but still time to go for her preset alarm but for once she decided not to wait for the alarm to officially wake her up. She got up, once again peeked from the window, and went to the bathroom. He did not came home last night, she was thinking about him from last night, and of course she missed him. She was worried when he informed that he would be late, and she was of course worried about food and she knew he would eat and manage. Still, it was not her thing to sleep without him, not from last seven years.
She tuned into the local radio station, and started preparing for his favorite French toast. She knew he loved it and she wanted to give him early morning surprise as he didn't came home last night. He liked it and generally, he would make himself as he would like to present himself nearly as perfect as he can. She, in fact, learned from him only and today was the day she would make him a good, no, best French toast. While humming her favorite song, she prepped for it and made it. She tasted it. After the fraction of a second, she threw it in a dustbin. It was time for another one. She made another one and tasted again. She smiled, savoring the perfect taste in her mouth. She made coffee and remaining breakfast and that was the moment, the doorbell rang. And she opened the door. It was him.
Wet.
He was wet.
He looked tired, of course, she thought. She dint invite him. She walked into the kitchen and he followed. Seven years of habit, there were no more formalities. She picked up the breakfast tray and took it to their balcony. In the rains, her favorite place of the house was their balcony. It was simple, but green. There were all kinds of plants in it, wooden stylish table and chairs, a small swing nearby the rails and few wind charms and of course the view, from the 15th floor. She put the tray on the table and sat down in the chair, adjusting her white camisole and pink pjs. He looked at her in a weird way, she frowned a little and smiled. She asked him if he is too tired for even breakfast, in return, she was answered that he would be back after quick fresh up. She waited. It was raining heavily now. She loved it. She was watching rains, and enjoying the sound of rains mingling with the music on the radio. According to her, nothing could ever be perfect than this. And then, suddenly the music stopped.
He came in changed cloths, and fresh. But still his eyes were red and tired. There was something wrong the way he looked at her. She knew, she knew in her heart that something, just something was wrong. She did not know what but the sinking feeling in her heart was not at all welcoming. She looked at him questioningly. She asked why he stopped the music. He did not answer, instead, he came forward and sat on the other chair, facing her in the eye. The most shocking thing for her was his look, because now he looked afraid like he was going to lose something. She was afraid as well, just from his look. She asked him again what was wrong. He was speechless. To reduce the little bit tension rising up in her heart, she offered him a French toast with a smile. He smiled a little, and looked even surprised. But not as to what she expected, she avoided the weird feeling in the pit of her stomach and started talking about how she planned it and made it. Random talking, the escapism from reality, her weapon, she knew what she was doing. She was avoiding the inevitable. And in between her constant stupid talks, he stopped her. There it was.
We need to talk. He said. And she, somehow, knew that something was going to break her heart.
