He was half awake when she greeted him with a soft kiss on the cheek. He turned to look at her face and that familiar smile — reassuring, playful, yet sad. She giggled and draped the new shirt on his face. He feigned sleep and pretended to snore. She said nothing and buried her head on his chest. As he stroked her hair, he could smell the scent of the new fabric. That smell had always bothered him, he remembered how he had always hated trying on shirts at the mall. This time it was different.

She propped up and took the shirt. He sat up to take a better look at it in the morning light. It wasn’t the type of shirt that he usually gets from the store. Its bright color was in contrast to his sable preferences, the design of the print was a tad austere. But she lifted it, slid it slowly through his head and deftly guided his arms through the sleeves. Her fingers glided softly through the shoulders to smoothen the folds, her hands hovering here and there — caressing, flattening the creases on the seams. Every movement was defined, every gesture fraught with meaning. He was watching her all this time but she didn’t look at him. She was staring at the new shirt but he could tell that her mind was somewhere else. He took her hands and held them silently. She pulled him to her and hugged him for a long time. “It looks good on you,” she whispered to his ear, “don’t lose it.” Then she let go and walked across the room to finish packing her bag.


This piece originally appeared in Paperbag Origami.