VOTE | COMMENT
I glance at the clock: 7:45 am. He’s in the shower now, and I can already imagine the warmth of his body as he steps out, hair damp and fresh, eyes still sleepy but always so beautiful.
He’s got an early start today, and I want to make sure everything’s perfect before he leaves.
I’m not the kind of husband who sends my spouse off with some thrown-together leftovers or take-out and I’ve never been a fan of him eating at the company’s canteen.
Who knows what kind of greasy, unhealthy things they served there?
No, if Zayn was going to work hard all day, he deserved something made with love, something healthy. I wouldn’t have it any other way. I always make sure he eats properly – healthy, balanced meals.
That’s why I woke up early today. 4 am isn’t so bad once you get used to it. I did my yoga, had my protein shake, and then cleaned the apartment.
It’s just the two of us here in this cozy space – two bedrooms, one bathroom, and a living room that flows into the open kitchen. It's enough for us, and I like keeping it neat and after cleaning, I took a quick shower and got dressed in my favorite hot pink shorts and that loose white floral shirt Zayn likes. It’s comfortable and perfect for a day like this.
Now, here I am, the chicken sizzled in the pan, and I hummed softly to myself as I chopped the vegetables, glancing over to the hallway every so often, knowing Zayn was still in the shower.
The scent of freshly fried garlic and ginger filled the kitchen as I tossed the veggies into the pan, stirring with a wooden spoon, careful not to burn them. I added A bit of soy sauce, some sesame oil, and a handful of spring onions later, and it was coming together beautifully.
I flipped the pancakes next, making sure they were golden brown on each side. I’d make a stack, just enough to fill him up but not leave him too heavy. He’d have a busy day, and I didn’t want him sluggish at the office. The timer on the rice beeped, and I gave it a quick stir before turning off the heat. Everything was ready.
I smile to myself, imagining Zayn taking a bite later at work, maybe during a busy break, and feeling just a bit more at home because of this.
It’s silly, I know. But these little things – cooking his meals, making sure the apartment is clean, ensuring he has everything he needs – they matter to me. I want to take care of him, to make sure his day starts off right.
I hear the water in the shower turn off and my heart picks up just a little. I can picture him toweling off, that slow, relaxed way he moves in the morning. He doesn’t know it, but I love watching him get ready. He’s like my own personal sunrise.
I flip the last pancake onto the plate and slide the pan off the burner. The rice is done too, golden and fragrant, ready to be packed into the lunchbox I’ve already set out. Everything’s in place.
.
.
.
The silence settle around me as the last bit of steam drifted into the air. I sighed, leaning against the kitchen slab, trying to catch my breath.
My hands moved on instinct, tying my shoulder-length hair into a bun before they wandered down to my stomach, resting there lightly. Just two weeks. I’ve only known for one, and yet it feels like this secret is growing heavier by the day.
I’m pregnant.
The words still don’t feel real, like they belong to someone else, like they’re floating above me, waiting to settle down. But they’ve settled—deep inside me. I rub my stomach softly, as if some gentle touch can help me figure out what to do next.
