There’s a steady drip from the tap, dancing on the steel utensils in the sink. The sun is fast asleep, perhaps just fretting about a little before it wakes up. I switch on the lights, squinting to not startle the sleep I already broke. I gently shut the door behind me as I walk in, scanning the kitchen to locate the shelves I need. I glance to my left, at the daisy clock he’s put up. It was a Saturday afternoon, and I remember telling him about the geyser being left a few minutes too long, as I stirred the tea leaves, in the morning while I got busy in the kitchen. All he said was “Hm.” as he passed me the cup of milk. I’m not sure when he got the clock but I stepped in the next morning to find the daisy hanging on the wall.
It’s a quarter away from seven and the skies are whispering rain. We’re on a patch of green that almost caresses my bare feet as we walk along aimlessly to a spot empty enough to huddle five. You can feel the wind brush your hair away with the taste of thunder on its tongue.
It’s a quarter to six and you can see the winter nudging your sleeves as the wind picks up. You can see the pavements light up with their enlarged fairy lights and a lazy rush flood in. I glance at my ten year old watch as the signal still speaks red. Ten minutes to six. It’s an odd hour to hear Kishore on the stereo but I’m the last to complain. That’s if you ask me to at gunpoint. The road starts to clear and Kishore and I make our way back to the house by the time the clock strikes six. I’ve walked up to the front door but I can’t seem to look at it with its carved roses and clear glass that bends the light in the most magical way. I can hear the blood gushing through my ears ferociously as though it pumps right there. I place my left palm on the door, letting my skin recognize warmth on its cold surface. There isn’t any noise in this part of the city. You have the silence and the waves to keep you company. And my uneven breaths.
The yellow light adds warmth to the room that you can only see but not feel. Like an illusion, its comfort satisfies the mind with tricks and lies. There’s a dreamcatcher by the bed that’s caught more dust than nightmares. I twirl it once, contemplating whether it should stay or not; finally deciding that it could continue to stay for show. Leaving behind my suitcase, I walk over to the window. You can see the city and the beach from here. And somewhere at a distance, if you looked closely enough, you’ll see a ship going into the horizon, slowly, and then suddenly, completely out of sight. I tug at the sleeves of my black t-shirt, dragging it closer to my maroon nails, over my pale palms. I rub my arms with my cold palms trying to warm myself. Sitting down on the bed, I feel the illusion of the presence of another me staring into the window in front her.