It was a cold morning.

The clock continues to click on time, the smell of detergent lingers, and the window hazy as if morning’s cloud had blown its icy breathes to it. The sun was shyly revealing itself, yet the curtains seem determined to drown any of its advancements inside the apartment. Despite the dark and warm comforts of her bed, something inside her begs for her to wake up.

“Your body alarm,” she once heard him coin the term.

She slowly shifts her hand from under her head, and the soreness of her arm reminds her to stop napping. It would always end up with her sleeping in an awkward position. She massages her sore arm for a while, rehearsing in her head what she should do for the day. Oh, there was that leaking sink after she finished cleaning the dishes yesterday. She tries to catch if there were any dripping sounds from the kitchen, but all she hears is the subtle snores of the man beside her. She chuckles as she turns herself, and examines the man.

Little stubs were starting to form on his chin, and she reminds herself to cut his sideburns sometime during the weekend. A little hint of his sclera peeks under his eyelids, but she knows he is still in very deep sleep. His crow’s feet are not as prominent as when he is awake and alert. She also notices a few strands of white hair hidden underneath his thick, raven hair. His nose was turning to the lightest shade of pink, so she pulls their blanket closer to his face. Her hands warm as it brushes through his warm breath.

She says a silent prayer hoping that the bed does not squeak as she wakes up. The bed complies with her wishes, and she quietly walks to the kitchen. The leaking stopped. He must have read the note she stuck above the sink. Giving a short smile to no one in particular, she takes a pot and fills it with water. She turns the stove to life, and left the water to boil.

As per say, she cleans herself up and looks at the mirror. Age surely does not lie, she thought. She notices a wrinkle that she swore must have formed overnight. The woman then hand combs her hair. Her comb was still in the room, and she did not want to risk waking the poor man up. She was about to pop a pimple near her chin, when the water burbles a little too loudly.

She takes out all the ingredients she had prepared the night before, and feeds it to the water. She lowers down the heat, and covers the pot to let it simmer. Looking around, she starts to get lost in her own thoughts. She should really try to make her own kimchi rather than buying the ones from the supermarket. A new rice cooker would be good too, but she shakes off the idea. The pot she has is sufficient. She arranges her washed plates from the previous night, making sure to wipe off any moisture left. The towels were left to dry, leaving the dishwasher untouched as when they first moved in the apartment.

She was placing the last cup back in the cupboard when she hears someone open the pot cover. She turns to be greeted by a small smile, and it was more than enough. She takes out the bowls, and he tastes the soup. He seasons it a bit more, and takes it off the stove. The microwave dinged with yesterday’s heated leftover rice, and their humble breakfast was ready.

Both savored their breakfast slowly, letting the heat of the soup flow through their bodies. His feet were cold. She could feel it when he accidentally brushes his feet to hers, and quickly mutters an apology when she flinches. She brushes it off and asks if he wants coffee, but he said he would get coffee on the way to work. It was then back to silence. The woman wonders how others would think of their life. Would they think their marriage is simply out of arrangement? Or would they believe it when they said they actually did fell in love? She wonders as she looks at the man before her, dipping a spoonful of rice into his soup before eating it. He flinches when she takes off the rice at the corner of his lips, and says a thank you afterwards. His phone suddenly rings with a message, and he smiles a little reading it.

She starts to wonder what things would make his smile reach to his eyes. Was it the car that he has faithfully drove in for three years? Was it the raise or promotion from last month? Or was it when he finally gets to put a ring in her finger just the day after he confesses to her?

“Bomi,” he says.

She hums in return.

“Let’s go out.”

//

She feels herself shiver, and pulls her jacket closer to her body as she waits for her husband to pull his car out. She quickly gets in, and warms her hand in front of the heater. He chuckles as he reminds her to put on her seatbelt first, before he starts to drive.

Bomi has to admit she was bad at her sense of direction. She still had to think twice if someone asked her, which is west, and which is east. Hence, she was grateful when her husband used his phone’s map instead of asking her to point directions. He was listening to the autumn playlist that she had made for him before their marriage. Soft piano music played, and the woman could not help but feel her eyes droop as she listens to the music softly lulling her. Her head leans to her window, and she falls into slumber.

(However, she could still feel when the car stopped, he unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned her chair backwards. After making sure she was comfortable, he then put his seatbelt back on, and continued on the road.)

//

She was awoken by his gentle squeeze on her hands, and he raised her seat. She glanced at something before her, and saw a small lodge. It was all wood. The roof seemed to be recently replaced, judging by its contrasting color from the rest of the building. Swirls of different hues of brown decorated the wood, and it covers the little chips that had formed over the years. The lodge was built on higher ground. The stairs leading up to it looked frail, but it could handle the heavy snow blanketing it. It had a modest balcony and a bench. The snow was thick on the bench, for it did not seem that anyone has tried to disrupt its stay. The lodge reminded her of her childhood home, and she immediately took a liking.

Her voice cracks a little as she asks where they where, and he only answers with his twinkling laugh. Bomi is suddenly reminded of the first time he laughed at one of their “dates”. It was when she had accidentally brought her brother’s underwear when she wanted to return his handkerchief. How that happened, she had no idea but she would bring his underwear again if the situation ever occurred. 

Her husband circles around the car, and opens her door, like the gentleman he is. She remembers him being so startled when she opened the car door herself before he could open it for her. He says it was a refreshing experience, but he wants her to let him open the door next time. When his wife forgets, he now simply asks her to get in again, and let him open it for her. She thinks it is ridiculous, but she had to admit it was probably what made her first grew a liking to the man.

He offers his hand to her, and they stepped forward together in the snow.

//

“I did not know you could make a fire,” she says. The man smiled as he placed another wood at the fireplace, and takes his place beside his wife. Offering him hot chocolate that she had found somewhere in the kitchen, he graciously takes a big gulp and returns it to her. She then opens the blanket wrapping around her, and he accepts her invitation. Their shoulders are pressed against each other, and the crackling sound of wood served as the background.

“Kyungsoo?”

It is his turn to hum in return.

“Why are we here?”

She could feel him shifting his position, probably because his bottom feels sore against the hard floor. He takes her hot chocolate, and puts it on the table beside them. He pulls her closer to him, and heaves a sigh of relief. Bomi circles her thumb around where their intertwined hands would allow it. She feels her husband relaxing against her, and she wastes no moment to squeeze closer to his warmth.

“Just because.”

Bomi did not press on further.

//

That night, Kyungsoo seemed to be touchier, she notices. He volunteers to help her cook dinner, and it seems that they had to do everything together. Bomi knew he was a good cook, yet he seems so out of it today that there was no use in delegating tasks. They just had to do everything together. She wanted nothing more than have him out of her kitchen, but she just cannot seem to resist his sheepish smiles.

As they were having dinner, he suddenly wanted to feed her. She could not remember the last time he fed her, except when she was sick. Their walk also was warmer than they both have. Holding hands was usual, but having him giving her a back-hug was probably something that she could hold as a very unusual sign. She breaks of his grasp, and blows air to her mittens. She then holds his face dear against her hands.

“Is something wrong?”

He looks at her so, so deeply that she feels she is swimming in the abyss. His dark orbs were that of a galaxy with a million stars exploding. She could see her reflection in his eyes, and he looked lost. He was lost in the galaxy that he had made in himself. He pulled her to his embrace, and rested his head against her shoulders. She could imagine him knitting his eyebrows together, in deep thought. Hence, she sung. She sung their song that they accidentally listened to on the radio after one of their first arranged meetings. She sung their song that had played in the mall while they were looking for rings. She sung their song that he had serenaded her with when he did his own, willing proposal. She sung their song that had played as the background whenever it was their anniversary. She sung their song every time Kyungsoo was having a hard time sleeping. She sung their song when she missed him.

She could feel his heartbeat slow, but his embrace becomes tighter.

//

“I have a confession to make.”

They were nestled in front of the fireplace, and her head was leaning against his shoulders. The fire was now stronger; Kyungsoo had gotten a better hang of how to control the fire.

“There is this girl in the office.”

Bomi nodded against his shoulder, and kept mum.

“Was she beautiful?”

He chuckled, and answered honestly.

“She was pretty.”

She only nodded, but Kyungsoo could feel her drawing circles at the back of his hand.

“I liked her.”

Bomi clenched her blanket tight, but Kyungsoo saw what she did.

“Why did you use past tense?” she asks, exasperatedly. She was starting to understand why it was difficult to love an all-too-honest man.

“I realized it was lust.”

She lifts up her head, and looks at his side profile. He has a pretty nose, she realizes. His lips were also beautiful.

“She was pretty. She kept her shirt crisp, her hair neat, and her scent sharp. She was almost like winter.”

Tears threatened to emerge from Bomi’s eyes; he was really trying to drive her away.

“But, then I get home, and summer comes.”

She feels his gaze at her, but refuses to face him. She does not want him to see her tears.

“With a wrinkled dress, a messy hair bun, and the smell of warmth.”

He took her shaky hand, and she realized, he too, was shaking.

“And I realized, I could live through summer, but not through winter.”

She does not care for her pride any longer, and lets her eyes flood with tears. He hugs her as if he is clinging to dear life, and apologizes profusely.

It was when she woke up after crying too hard that she could see dry stains of tears on his cheeks.

//

It was at the break of dawn that Kyungsoo also woke up. He fluttered his eyes open, and could see his wife gazing at him.

“Is it morning?” he croaks.

She chuckles at the slightest, and shakes her head. He smiles back. He feels his cheeks stiff as if his tears had cemented his face. She caresses his cheeks, and the man closes his eyes, savoring the heat of his summer.

“Kyungsoo?”

He hums in return; he had picked up the habit from her.

“I’m sorry.”

Kyungsoo felt his tears reemerge.

She left coldly like the winter morning.

This was not exactly what I had in mind, but I really enjoyed writing this piece.

I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did writing this.

Have a blessed day!