The Pasts

Chapter 6

A few days later, the soft light of dawn seeps into the room through the gaps in the curtains, casting long shadows on the walls. The apartment is eerily quiet, the kind of silence that amplifies the smallest sounds—the ticking of a clock, the distant hum of the refrigerator, and the faint rustle of leaves outside the window.

You slowly wake up, your body feeling heavy and reluctant to leave the warmth of the bed. You instinctively reach out to the other side, but your hand meets only cool, empty sheets. The absence of Natasha is a stark contrast to the mornings filled with her warmth and laughter. The bed feels too big, the room too empty.

You sit up, rubbing your eyes, trying to shake off the lingering sadness. The bedroom, once a sanctuary of shared intimacy, now feels like a hollow shell. Natasha's pillow still carries the faintest trace of her scent, a reminder of what was and what is now gone.

You swing your legs over the side of the bed and stand up, your movements slow and deliberate. You walk to the window, pulling the curtains aside to let in more light. The morning sun filters in, but instead of its usual warmth, it only highlights the emptiness of the room.

You make your way to the kitchen, each step echoing in the silence. The kitchen counter holds Natasha's favorite mug, a bright red one with a small chip on the rim. You pick it up, your fingers tracing the familiar shape, and a wave of longing washes over you.

You fill the mug with coffee, the aroma filling the air, but it lacks the comfort it once brought. You sit at the kitchen table, staring at the steaming cup, your mind drifting to memories of mornings spent laughing and talking with Natasha.

Your thoughts are a tangled web of emotions. You feel a deep sense of loss, not just for Natasha's presence but for the future you had envisioned. Every corner of the apartment holds a memory, and each one tugs at your heart, making it hard to breathe.

You think about the moments of joy and love, the small gestures that spoke volumes, and the plans you made. But those memories are now tainted with the pain of separation. You know you need to find a way to move forward, but the path ahead seems daunting and unclear.

You sit at the kitchen table, lost in your thoughts, when you hear the faint sound of keys jangling outside your apartment door. You're momentarily startled from your reverie as the door unlocks and swings open.

Maria steps into the apartment, her arms loaded with grocery bags. She pauses for a moment, taking in the sight of you sitting at the table, looking worn and lost. Her expression softens with concern.

"Y/n?" she calls out gently, trying not to startle you.

"Maria? What are you doing here?" you ask, your voice still thick with sleep and lingering sadness.

Maria sets the bags down on the kitchen counter, giving you a sympathetic smile. "I had a feeling you might need me. And some breakfast," she replies, pulling out a carton of eggs, a loaf of bread, and a variety of other items from the bags.

You watch her, feeling a mixture of gratitude and guilt. "You didn't have to do this, you've already done so much.." you say softly.

She shakes her head, waving off your comment. "Nonsense. I love you, and I want to be here with you. And from the looks of it, you haven't eaten a proper meal in days."

You can't deny it. The thought of food had seemed pointless without Natasha around. But Maria's presence brings a small comfort, a reminder that you're not entirely alone.

Maria starts bustling around the kitchen, cracking eggs into a bowl and slicing bread. "Sit tight. I'm making us breakfast," she says, her tone leaving no room for argument.