Morning.
Chai.
Steam.
Quiet.
Her eyes.
Pause.
“What?”
Nothing.
I said nothing.
Still—
something wrong.
Tone.
Word.
Look.
Which?
I search.
Yesterday.
Last night.
Three years.
Nothing.
Her face—
injured.
Certain.
My mind—
Confused.
Explanation.
Another.
Another.
No.
Silence.
Distance
smaller room.
Later—
Soft again.
Almost warm.
Almost normal.
A thought dies
in my throat:
What happened?
Tomorrow—
Chai.
Steam.
Quiet.
Waiting.
Enough.