The sound of a single water drop falling in the quiet of the bathroom echoes softly, breaking the stillness with its gentle tap. I listened intently to the soft, rhythmic sound of water droplets, the soothing echoes filling the quiet space as she bathes.
Each drop seems to mirror my heartbeat, a delicate harmony between her and my emotions. The sound, tender and intimate, stirs longing and admiration as I picture the warmth of the water and her graceful movements. It's a quiet, romantic anticipation, with each drop a whisper, drawing me closer to her in spirit and feeling.
I knew she would emerge any moment now, so I carefully replaced the couple's photo in its rightful spot, ensuring it was just as it had been, before casually turning my gaze to her graduation picture instead.
The door to the shower room creaked open, and she stepped out, clad in an oversized white t-shirt and short, saddle-brown pants. A towel draped over her shoulder, she walked toward me, her steps slow and deliberate. The moment she saw me standing in front of the wooden cabinet, by the bed, a flicker of surprise crossed her face.
She gently eased herself onto the edge of the bed and glanced at me.
"You're awake?"
I nodded, rubbing my eyes. "Yes."
"I used to love painting and design," she said softly, her voice carrying the faintest echo of longing.
"Oh, but used to?" I asked, leaning in, curious.
"Yes," she replied, a small, wistful smile forming, like the memory of it was both sweet and bitter.
"Now, you've stopped feeling it?"
She tilted her head slightly, her gaze slipping away from mine. That small gesture spoke volumes
"It's getting late for lunch. What do you want to do? Should we go out, or just order in?"
"What do you prefer?"
"I would like ordering, I didn't wash my hair…"
I moved closer to her, standing just beside the bed looking at her bright smooth hair..
"Why didn't you wash it thus?"
"So lazy!"
"I can help you!"
"No, I'll go salon"
"Ok. Are you feeling better?" I asked in a soft voice but filled with concern.
She smiled reassuringly.
"I am. I am okay now and thank you for your help."
A look of relief crossed my face.
"That's great to hear. Let me check the time."
I turned, reaching for my phone resting on the table beside the headboard, eager to see the time. The screen blinked back at me—almost 1 p.m.
"Are you hungry?" I asked, still keeping my gaze on the time.
She shook her head, a gentle movement that seemed to say everything.
"Just a little bit. And you?"
"I am," I admitted, "but I need to change first. Let me just take a quick shower."
"Sure," she responded, her voice light, as if the day was unfolding around us, peaceful and steady.
Honestly, I wasn't ready to return home. I longed to stay there, to remain in her world a little longer, to witness the delicate rhythm of her day.
Would she settle before her mirror, the soft light catching the contours of her face as she painted her features with a quiet grace? Would she breathe in the scent of her perfume—an elegant, lingering note that seemed to capture all the beauty of the evening?
But something in me whispered that she would not. Perhaps the allure of the outside world held no appeal for her today. I imagined, instead, she would find solace in the stillness of her own space, savoring the simplicity of a meal at home, where the world could fall away.
I stepped out of the bathroom, casually dressed in a pair of worn blue shorts and a simple black T-shirt. My phone buzzed in my hand, and I glanced down to find a screenshot of a picture of food she had sent me. A smile tugged at the corner of my lips—one I couldn't hide if I tried. Beneath the image, a short message awaited:
"I already ordered. Come here when you're ready."
I stood there for a moment, fingers hovering over the screen, trying to find the right words. After what felt like an eternity, I typed back:
"Definitely, my lady!"
A nervous thought flickered through my mind. What if, after reading my message, she decides not to open the door? Or worse, what if she's changed her password? The risk was too high, but the anticipation was too strong to ignore.
I noticed several people moving around, a clear sign that it wasn't just the two of us anymore. The quiet intimacy we once shared had given way to a livelier atmosphere. With a deep breath, I pressed the doorbell. A few seconds passed before the door swung open, revealing her warm, welcoming smile.
"Come in," she said, her voice light and cheerful.
"Yes!" I responded, stepping inside eagerly.
The aroma hit me instantly—refreshing and tantalizing, with a hint of mint lingering in the air. The table was set, a feast laid out in all its vibrant glory. My eyes were drawn to a plate piled high with a colorful medley of fresh vegetables, crunchy peanuts, and tender slices of beef. It was her signature beef salad, a perfect balance of freshness and spice that made my mouth water.
Next to it, a dish of seafood glistened under the light, its delicate flavors almost tangible. Beside that was a steaming bowl of Khmer lemongrass sour soup, its tangy aroma cutting through the richness of the other dishes. The scene was inviting, a celebration of flavor and care.
"You're quite the expert at ordering food, aren't you?" I said, a note of admiration in my voice.
She smiled, a hint of playfulness dancing in her eyes.
"I'm just fascinated by the attractive pictures of food, and it's not so bad. Let's see how it tastes."
"Alright!" I replied eagerly.
Picking up a fork, I carefully speared a piece of the beef salad, bringing it to my mouth. The flavors burst across my tongue—rich, savory, with just the right hint of spice to make it exciting.
"Well?" she asked, watching me intently.
I nodded, smiling to confirm how delicious it was.
"Is it the best thing you've ever eaten?" I teased, and her expression was sly.
"Don't be ridiculous!" she shot back, grinning.
She laughed, a warm, melodic sound that made the moment feel even more perfect.
"You know it tastes better when we have a dri…" Her voice faltered, and she paused, clearly uncomfortable. The word hung in the air, unspoken but understood.
I gave her a knowing look.
"You mean a drink, wine?"
Her eyes flickered to the side, avoiding mine. Instead of answering, she turned her attention back to her food, meticulously cutting into her portion. The silence stretched between us, but I wasn't about to let it linger. I reached across the table, grabbed a shrimp, and placed it gently on her plate.
"Eat," I said, my tone soft but insistent.
She glanced up, her lips curving into a small, grateful smile.
"Thank you."
For a moment, it seemed the tension might dissolve. Then I spoke again with a lighter voice this time.
"Oh, I saw someone new outside. Looks like we have a neighbor now!"
"Really?"
Her mood seemed to lift as she took a bite, clearly intrigued by the idea of a newcomer.
I leaned back in my chair, my mind elsewhere. A question had been forming in the back of my head, one I couldn't ignore any longer.
"Are you worried about any misunderstandings when I'm coming into your home?"
She paused mid-chew, her expression shifting. For a moment, she didn't say anything, her fork resting delicately against her plate. Then, instead of answering, she met my gaze and asked quietly,
"Who?" she asked, her voice laced with curiosity and perhaps a hint of suspicion.
"Anyone who sees us," I said, trying to sound casual, though the weight of my thoughts pressed heavily on me.
"It doesn't matter!" she shot back, dismissing the concern with a flick of her hand.
But I couldn't let it go.
"What if…?" My voice trailed off, the words lodging in my throat. I didn't mean to tarnish the fragile harmony we'd built, yet the question gnawed at me, demanding to be asked. What if she's still involved with someone else? What if she still has feelings for him? The thought surged forward, unwelcome and relentless. What if she's considering going back to him? The idea crept in, unwelcome and invasive.
I swallowed hard, imagining the possibility. Could I endure the thought of us growing closer, only to find myself entangled in a web of half-truths and lingering ties? No. The answer came swiftly and brutally: I couldn't.
Her posture stiffened. My unfinished question hung in the air like a storm cloud, and I saw the unease flicker in her eyes. She didn't ask me to explain. Perhaps she already knew.
"There's no path back!" Her voice was steady, but the weight of her words pressed into the space between us.
Continued...