the silent morning bed

That Silent Morning

I wake up with a start after a strange dream. I open my eyes to see it’s still dark and the dawn hasn’t yet knocked the door. I turn around to hold him close, only to find him not in the bed. I glance at the digital clock on the wall to see that it’s only 3:50AM in the morning. I sit up straight, panic rising in my veins.
It’s been around 7 months now that we vowed to annoy each other in every possible for the rest of our lives. But even after all this while if I wake up to not to find him by my side, I still feel panic attack kicking in, imagining the worst.
I call out to him but get no answer. The room is in complete darkness except the faint moonlight that’s peeking through the curtains it can trespass. I quickly leave the bed, stepping into my slippers to go looking for him. Passing by the bed I had just been peacefully sleeping in, I cross by the iron-table standing right in front of the mirror, and the red suit with white dupatta carefully ironed and placed over it. I stop to look at it and smile. It was the gift he got me on my last birthday. This reminds me it’s Friday morning, that the day of the week when he gets to choose what I wear to work. It’s been a ritual since last two years in response to my nagging query what should I wear. Surprisingly, he always manages to find me clothes ( his favourites) that are hiding at the bottom of the pile.
I walk towards the door leading me to the living room. The light from the room blinds me for a while. I see him engrossed in some calculations on his laptop. He doesn’t look up to see me but I am sure my groggy eyes caught a little smile on his lips. I assume this to be one of his sleepless mornings again. I wish to go and cuddle next to him on the couch but instead I go and sit by the balcony window and pick up the half-finished book that I had been reading last night before I was abducted to bed without knowing what happened in those unputdownable last pages of the book.
I speak a few things but his replies were mere monosyllables. I hate monosyllables but have gradually grown used to them mostly because they also let me know what’s actually going on in his mind. Like now, his single word held an entire sentence and I understood that this isn’t the best time for any conversations. I go back to my book to find out the killer of Sophia, the witch.
Few minutes later, putting down the book, unsatisfied with its ending, I glance up to see him snoring away to glory. His laptop resting on his chest, the place which only my head rightfully deserves. I walk up to him, place the laptop on the table at the side and nudge him to make space for me.
As I cuddle next to him, he murmurs, “Wear that suit I picked out for you, the one I gifted..”
“Ummhmm”, I hug him tighter.
“Happy Valentine’s Day”, he says as I rest my head against his chest, the place I call my world. I blush a little and then close my eyes to get the sleep before the day began.

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