The Night Counts

The door creaked open, and a tall, lean man of around 35 stepped inside, shaking off the dust from his black formal shoes. His black hat was slightly tilted from the wind, and he tugged at his grey overcoat with a tired grunt, the fabric rustling softly. The sound of his shiny black gloves squeaking against the material echoed as he hurried to remove them.

As he entered, the cool air from the air conditioning on turbo mode wrapped around him, welcoming him with comfort from the sweaty, smelly weather outside. He inhaled deeply, catching the faint scent of freshly cooked dinner wafting from the kitchen.

“Welcome home,” his wife greeted from the kitchen, standing at the counter with a dish towel draped over her shoulder. She approached him, taking off his overcoat with a teasing pout. “Thank goodness you’re home! Our child has been waiting for you past his bedtime to hear a bedtime story. He’s practically bouncing off the walls, asking me when Daddy will come!”

The man laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that echoed through the dimly lit hallway. “Then I suppose you should thank me for rescuing you from creative exhaustion. Just doing my duty to serve you, milady!” He grinned, shaking his head as he hung his coat on a nearby hook.

“Yeah, yeah! More like I’m not lazy enough to conjure up different stories for him. Now go,” she replied, crossing her arms with a mock-serious look. “Before he collapses from the dread of anticipation, and then it’ll be your fault for taking so long.”

Then, as if summoned by their conversation, their child appeared in the doorway. His sleepwear was rumpled, and his eyes were still heavy with sleep. He rubbed them with a tiny fist, staggered over, and launched himself at his father’s legs. “Daddy! Hurry up! Story, story, story!!”

The father chuckled and bent down, wrapping his arms around the boy. “Alright, alright! Let me just catch my breath first, champ. But say…… Did you see all those mangoes outside?”

The child nodded sleepily, still clinging to his father. “The ones on the tree?”

“Yep,” the father said, his voice playful. “They’re practically begging to be picked. Remind me tomorrow to grab them before they fall and make a mess, okay?”

His wife rolled her eyes, a smile creeping onto her lips. “Right, as if you’ll remember!”

“Not really!” he exclaimed, his tone teasing. “I wouldn’t want the neighbours ogling those sweet, plump, juicy, ripe mangoes.”

“Sheesh! Not in front of him!” she whispered with a laugh.

“What!” His reply was tinged with innocence.

“Nothing!” she sighed, knowing full well he had a knack for acting innocent in situations like this.

The boy giggled, finally loosening his grip, and the father stood tall again, the light from the kitchen casting soft shadows on the walls. “Now, are you ready for your adventure with Daddy?”

“Yassss!” the child chirped, bouncing on his toes, excitement igniting in his sleepy eyes.

“Thennn…. let’s gooooo!” The father winked at his wife, who stood back with her arms crossed, a helpless smile on her face.

As he led the child down the hall, the soft sounds of laughter filled the house, momentarily pushing the weariness of the day away.

“Daddy, what’s a Count?”

The boy’s small, sleepy voice broke the quiet of the dim room. His father, sitting on the edge of the bed, glanced down, smiling faintly at his son nestled under thick blankets. The shadows in the room were long, stretching across the floor, but the child’s wide, curious eyes cut through them like light.