#21Days

Day 11

10.07 am

I get up and stretch my hands in front of me. I'm smiling. I feel happy and well-rested. This is despite that I must have hardly slept for five hours. It was almost daybreak by the time Rohit and I made our way back home.

I'm enjoying working with him. Last night was no different. With the light-hearted banter, the occasional teasing, and flirting, and camaraderie we share at work; I'm getting a clearer sense of his priorities and passion. And somehow, every time I uncover a new facet, I fall a little more in love with him.

How did I miss all this? My conscience pricks. You were never around. I brush that thought aside. I've decided to be kind to myself. No point in beating myself up over things that cannot be changed. I need to be thankful that there's still time to fix things. It's important to look ahead.

I take a deep breath and inhale the aroma of fried eggs. Rohit is making breakfast. I take a deep breath. It smells delicious. I get up and make my way to the kitchen. 

The sight that greets me is that of Rohit, in a black vest and track pants, flipping the eggs over on the stove. A red checked tea towel hastily flipped over his shoulder. He is unaware of my presence, yet. And I take this opportunity to take his entire being in, casually draping my body against the kitchen door frame, just like he did the other day, and failing miserably, noticing subtle changes in him that I had missed before. A certain calm overcomes me, a feeling of togetherness. Domesticity is underrated. 

Just as begin to wonder when he'll notice my presence, he turns and looks at me.

"Good morning sleeping beauty." He looks at me and smiles. He looks relaxed. It perks me up.

"Good morning." I'm feeling lazy.

"Go brush, breakfast is ready."

"How do you know I haven't?"

He raises his eyebrow. I smile. He's looking cute. I want to hug him. But I resist the temptation.

I'm back in less than five minutes. But in the short while that I was gone, Rohit has set up and decorated our dining table. The table is now covered in a green gingham table cloth. He's laid out blue Italian bone china plates, flanked on either side with a fork and a knife. A delicate vase in the center of the table that holds a solitary beautiful white and yellow dandelion. The table had a plate full of buttered toast, fried eggs, sautéed mushrooms, and orange juice.

As I approach the table, Rohit pulls the chair for me to sit down. I accept his gesture, feeling extremely under-dressed for this special occasion. He hovers around me, serving me my eggs, and pouring me the juice, before he takes his place opposite me.

I'm impressed and a tad bit emotional. So I decide to focus on my food. Using my fork and knife, I rip apart a piece of the fried egg before asking for the salt shaker. The eggs are delicious, melt in your mouth. Rohit has used a liberal dose of butter.

"Rohit, what is wrong with you?" 

It was an odd weekend, a month since we'd moved out of the Sippy Mansion. Rohit and I were still getting settled into our new apartment. We had a housekeeper, who helped us with the cooking and cleaning of this tiny apartment. But she'd had an emergency and was off for the week. Tired of takeaways and frozen food, Rohit had decided to cook a fresh meal for the two of us, on a lazy Sunday morning - fried eggs, toast, and orange juice. 

He'd looked at me startled. "What's wrong?"

"This," I replied, pointing to all the food. "I can't eat any of this. I can't eat carbs, the eggs have too much butter and juice, too much sugar. Rohit I'm an actress and I can't eat whatever I feel like. When will you begin to understand that?"