Ordinary Lives- 7.

by Somethinger

The sofa stood out in his room.

The colour was his choice, and the single seaters that came with it were facing the TV that he had brought in. The off-white was a point of debate because she was scared it may show stains. But he had  insisted.

“Stains are caused by kids, and I don’t see any in the next couple of years.”

He had spilled chocolate sauce that very day on it.

The bookshelf had neat separations. Her fictions were lined along the middle shelves and his reference books along the top. That hadn’t been a debate at all. He could reach the top shelves. The lights were perfectly agreed upon too. As sultry as the amber looked, they’d need the white for reading. They still kept the amber lamps fixed.

The rosewood cupboards he’d picked, the simplistic chairs. The space for another bookshelf.

Signs of him all over the floor. Where he’d stand, where he’d wait.

Where he’d watch her.

It had been a month since he’d laid his eyes on the house. Or her.

It had been a month since he’d picked a book, standing right behind her while she picked hers. Only while she picked hers.

A month since she’d heard the house smile.

She sat on the seat beside the dull brown stain of chocolate. Waiting for the minutes to pass. She could hear herself breathe, and in that sound she waited for the door to open. She closed her eyes, when it dawned upon her that she may miss something.

She waited to be wanted again. To be put in a place that she wasn’t flustered to the point of muteness. Ennui had passed and grown into a coma of her thoughts. She waited for the world to fall into place again.

For closure.

Her dead thoughts scratched her mind. She now heard her heart beating in her ears. Like the pause after a long, long run.

A moment later, as if on cue, as if the universe felt a wave of sympathy on her, and only to drive the listlessness that sunk her away-

He knocked. His eyes on the door-knob, his body completely still. His hand hanging in anticipation to knock again. Twice.

She held back a second, disbelieving her ears. But he was home.

She was alive to it.