I could see crimson orange streaks of sunlight getting scattered in the morning mist.
This was the time she generally got up and walked to the kitchen. The time when, with ruffled hairs and a wrinkled nighty, all dark and broody, she would look out of the balcony and breathe in another day. A day that would be broody or cranky or happy, depending on what mood she woke up with.
The Sunlight that streaks across the clouds of an oncoming monsoon would also be shining down her windowpane just now. Just now, she would also be looking up at the sky. Just now, she would also be alive in some other part of the world, thinking about everything but me.
I watched the sun hang in there for a moment, as if asking of me to move ahead and stop thinking about her.
And then I stopped thinking about her, and the day moved on.