Mary can't sleep.
This wasn't an uncommon thing for her. Her eyebags had always brought it away, despite the effort she made trying to hide them. She didn't know whether it was a coding thing, like a side effect of her being born a 'meh' or something she had somehow manifested in her childhood but dear lord does it annoy her to the core, especially during nights as silent as these.
She looked around the bedroom, her eyes long accustomed to the darkened environment, trying to bore herself in order to fall asleep faster to no avail. Mary sighed and froze, feeling Mel's arms hold her tighter, his sleepy voice mumbling something incoherently.
Mary shifted slightly under the weight of Mel's embrace, her thoughts still racing like a freight train through the dark tunnels of her mind. She gently pried herself away from his arms, careful not to wake him, and slipped out of bed. The hardwood floor felt cool beneath her feet as she tiptoed to the window.
With a soft exhale, she drew the curtains aside just a fraction, allowing a sliver of moonlight to spill into the room. The gentle glow revealed the familiar contours of the space they shared—the comfortable rug underneath the bed, the cozy armchair in the corner, and the photographs adorning the walls, each capturing a moment of their journey together, from their wedding to eventually the birth of their son.
Mary sighed in frustration. Her insomnia had always been a stubborn companion, like a mysterious shadow that seemed to have no clear cause. She often wondered if it was linked to her logic-focused mind, her penchant for overthinking everything, or simply a quirk of her coding. Whatever the reason, it had become a part of her life and she didn't like it one bit.
Careful not to make a noise, she padded softly into the small kitchen, a realm where her late-night rituals often took place. The soft yellow light from the refrigerator bathed her in a subtle glow as she searched for a remedy among the shelves of herbal teas and supplements. Tonight, she opted for a calming chamomile blend, hoping it might soothe her racing thoughts and hopefully, ease her further into slumber.
As Mary waited for the kettle to boil, she traced the contours of her mug, remembering how Mel had gifted it to her on their first anniversary. It wasn't much; just a white mug adorned with a cheesy message that still made her 'smile', despite not expressing it. She couldn't help but mumble an amused "hm" as she filled it with hot water.
Returning to the bedroom with her newly brewed cup, she saw that Mel had shifted in his sleep, his brow furrowing as he mumbled something unintelligible. Mary tilted her head at his position, she knew her restlessness sometimes worried him, but he had learned to accept it as a part of her, just as she accepted his occasional bouts of grumpiness in the morning.
Climbing back into bed, she cradled her warm mug of tea, its gentle aroma embracing her like a familiar friend and leaned in closer to Mel, pressing a soft kiss on his forehead. To her surprise, Mel's eyes fluttered open, and he blinked sleepily up at her.
"Can't sleep again, dear?" he mumbled, his voice filled with warmth despite his drowsiness. A new quirk she had gotten used to since he started accepting his multi-expressionism.
Mary nodded, her eyes reflecting a mixture of gratitude and frustration. "You know me too well," she whispered.
Mel smiled, his hand finding hers under the covers. "It's okay." His hand gently squeezed Mary's, the touch becoming a reassuring anchor in the sea of her restless thoughts. He shifted to make room for her, and she settled back against the pillows, the mug of chamomile tea cradled in her hands.
"You know," Mel began in a soft-spoken manner, "I was thinking about that old saying, 'counting sheep.' Have you ever actually tried it?"
Mary chuckled softly, her eyes twinkling with a hint of amusement. "Counting sheep? Really?"
