Sunday Night

We sat on the cozy wooden chairs on my terrace in the dark, holding cups of steaming black coffee. He needed the caffeine for the drive home from my place. The plants were breathing and a little breeze was playing with them. Sometimes we would talk, and sometimes we would stay silent, just savoring the absence of a necessity to move.

Tomorrow would be another Monday. The start of a week’s worth of occasional 5-minute phone calls and perhaps intermittent emails. A week’s worth of ambition. But on the weekend he watched my entire volley game and I loved that. And we did a bit of shopping at the Ranch Market and I loved that. And I drove his car while he slept in the passenger seat out of exhaustion, and I loved that.

So finally we come to this short little moment on my terrace, stretching out our legs.

“This is great coffee”, he said with a hint of surprise.

“Thanks! … … … Okay, alright, my mum made it”, I confess.

“Yeah… no wonder”, he replied slyly.


And I loved that too.