Monday, May 16, 2016


The key clicked inside the lock with a hesitation. Even the door didn't want to budge. It was drizzling outside, but the air inside was hot and suffocating. In spite of that, he realized that her scent lingered thick in the house. He moved inside in no hurried pace. He threw the wallet and the key to the car onto the bedside table. The bed was unmade and the sheet was still crumbled. And wet from her towel. He went to the refrigerator and took out a bottle of water. And then he noticed the bottle of wine, half empty. He kept the bottle of water back and took the wine bottle instead. He moved to the kitchen to fetch a glass. The dishes weren't done. Their lunch, cooked but half eaten, was still on the stove. He took a glass and poured himself some wine. The red liquid splashed and swayed against the crystal of the glass. He moved to the living room. It should be called a dead room, he thought. He noticed the packet of cigarette on the table. He had quit smoking. There was just one left in it. He took it out and brought it to his nose. He smelled the length of the cigarette and stuck it between his lips. He went out onto the balcony and took a deep breath. Petrichor. Or a long reminder of that. There was a chill in the night and the sky was starless. He took out the lighter and lit the end of the lady in the white. He took in a deep drag as the end of the cigarette glowed in the darkness. Treat your cigarette as you'd treat your lover, he had said to her earlier that day. He exhaled a cloud of smoke into the unknowns of the night. He took out the cigarette from his lips with one hand and brought the tip of the glass with the other. He let the wine splash inside his mouth before letting it drown in his feelings. It's just the rain and me tonight, he thought.