The door creaked just enough to wake me up. Priya was late again. The clouds were finally calm after the heavy rain all day. Half asleep and burdened with the habit of double-checking everything, I dragged myself out to check if Priya locked the main door. Walking back past Priya’s room, I noticed the packed suitcases lying on the floor next to the bed. Without giving it another thought, I went back to my room and got under the heavy soft blanket.
Priya was moving out. She was going to do it in the morning, But why was she moving out? My arm suddenly felt too itchy. And within seconds I had scratched it to the color of blood, wondering why Priya wanted to move out.
We had spent last 6 months getting to know each other. Adjusting to our contrasting schedules and habits. It was such a process every time, Priya was kind, soft-spoken and very organized. Before she came to live with me, the kitchen used to look like it had been hit by an earthquake. But now everything had its place with clear labels on them. She even made the yummiest coffee for breakfast. Our short but very intimate morning conversations had become an integral part of the day. Even though she woke up at 5 am everyday with enough time to spare, strangely she was always in a rush.
But now it was all going to end.
I decided to make special breakfast in bed with French press coffee that was Priya’s favorite. Happy with my plan, I dozed off tightly hugging Mr. Brown Bear.
Next morning when I knocked on the door with the breakfast tray, Priya was already awake and dressed. And so we decided to eat in the room reminiscing over the past 6 months. I even got teary-eyed while hugging Priya goodbye. But then something unbelievable happened. Priya decided to cancel her plan to move out. I smiled holding the tray telling myself, it was the coffee.
But now I think I will have to move her to the storeroom because after 2 days, bodies start to smell a lot. And I am out of candles.
And then I hear the knock. I open the door for Monica. She is new in town and looking for a place to stay. I smile and ask, “Do you drink coffee, Monica?”
Black Coffee and Grey Stories 