The blank page stared at him. It could very well be accepted as a sign to end his writing career before it even started. He sighed. A blank page is also a sign to write something, he decided. That was the beginning of his writing career.
The curtain swayed as the air conditioning unit came to life. Athira opened her eyes. It was still dark outside. She let out a sigh of relief. Her headache didn’t subside and she didn’t want to wake up yet.
As she closed her eyes in an effort to go back to sleep, she heard a noise again. These nights without Raj made her uncomfortable. But this being yet another trip that her husband couldn’t avoid, she had to endure yet another night alone.
The door creeked open gently. Athira alarmingly sat up on her bed.
“Did I wake you up, Amma? Oh no! I’m sorry! I wanted it to be a surprise to you!” Her seven-year-old son, Athul was disappointed.
“What happened, dear? Are you okay?” She replied.
Athul slowly placed the breakfast tray in front of her on the bed. “Happy birthday, Amma!”
More than the heart meticulously crafted on the bread, she was moved by her son’s gesture. He woke up early to make sure that his mom will get his present first thing that day.
This fiction is written for #FictionMonday based on the below image prompt by the fabulous Shilpa Gupte hosted at Reflections by yours truly.