Usually in Sunday morning I would sleep a bit late, every times I woke up to find another half of the queen size bed empty, like an indentation of a paragraph, an empty space left on purpose. I felt the warmth on the other pillow. It was still warm. She must have waked up a few minutes earlier than me, never had once I woke up earlier than her or together, I wonder why. Scent of Coffee leaked into the room, her style to lure me up from the bed. Her coffee brewing skill is remarkably outstanding, I would say, working in her industry she has to make good coffee, a little bit less in its taste would have caused complaints to flood in; she would not let that happen. So, I got to my feet and went to our common space, the coffee table. She was already all set when I walked into the room, pouring coffee into tasteful tea cups she bought it from Egypt, not those elegant kind of kitchen ware, but rather it looked rugged and worn out, like some artistic masterpiece you see in art gallery, imperf...
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