Forever, Again

Past: October 1, 2016

At the start of October, the mornings were turning chilly. Aliya shivered and moved closer to Dylan's side of the bed, seeking warmth. Her hand met empty space, and the coolness jolted her awake. Blinking, she sat up and looked around the room that had been hers for the past five months.

The room had a cozy feel, painted in soft, foggy greens and browns that reminded her of a forest. Various plants in pots and glass bottles lined the windowsills, their leaves casting delicate shadows in the early morning light. A few candles, which Aliya loved to light in the evenings, stood on the oak table that dominated one corner of the room. The table was cluttered with books, reflecting Dylan's passion for literature. Above it hung a large photograph of them from their first Valentine's Day together.

Aliya rubbed her eyes, feeling the chill in the air. It was Saturday, and Dylan, who had recently started his master's degree in English, should have been in bed next to her. Instead, he was nowhere to be seen.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up, her bare feet pressing into the cool wooden floor. Wrapping a blanket around her shoulders, she shuffled to the window and peered out into the gray morning. The street below was quiet, with only a few early risers out and about.

Turning away from the view, she sighed softly and moved toward the door. As she reached for the brass doorknob, its coolness contrasted sharply with the room's warmth. The old, wooden floor creaked under her bare feet as she stepped into the hallway, rubbing her eyes and adjusting the blanket. She could hear the soft murmur of Dylan's voice coming from the kitchen. He was talking on the phone, his tone relaxed and easy. She paused for a moment, straining to catch his words before continuing down the hallway.

The blanket trailing behind her like a cloak. She could see the light spilling out from the kitchen, casting long shadows on the walls. As she approached, Dylan's voice became clearer. Leaning against the frame, she took in the scene.

Dylan stood by the counter, a tall, lean figure in a gray t-shirt and faded jeans. His hair was tousled, likely from running his hands through it as he cooked. The t-shirt clung to his shoulders, outlining his athletic build. He held a phone to his ear with one hand while the other hovered uncertainly over a chopping board covered with onion slices. The air was filled with the sharp scent of onions and the earthy smell of fresh-cut vegetables.

"Do I put the onion in now?" Dylan asked into the phone, his brow furrowed in concentration. His voice was calm but had a hint of doubt.

"Yeah, just add them in now. Make sure the oil is hot first," a woman's voice crackled through the phone.

Dylan nodded, though the person on the other end couldn't see him. He set the phone down on speaker mode and picked up the wooden spoon, giving the pan a cautious stir.

Aliya smiled softly, her gaze drifting from the messy countertop to Dylan's face, which was lit with the warm glow of the kitchen light. His brown eyes flicked toward her, and he gave a quick, distracted smile before focusing back on his call. She moved closer, her steps light and deliberate, and leaned over the counter to get a better view of the pan. 'Need any help?' she asked, her tone teasing. Dylan grinned, handing her a wooden spoon. 'Can you stir this while I chop the cilantro?' he asked. Aliya took the spoon, her fingers brushing against his, and began stirring the pot.

"Is it my mom on the phone?" Aliya asked, her voice gentle but curious.

Dylan glanced up, meeting her gaze for a brief moment. Aliya's eyes, a deep, warm brown, sparkled with curiosity and a hint of amusement. He felt a small smile tug at the corners of his mouth.

"Yeah," he replied, "making your favorite onion upma."

"Smells good already," she said, her voice warm and full of genuine appreciation.