I hate him. I just hate him.

The minute he enters, I believe it is the evening to understand him and start to love him. I will have my picture perfect romance sitting at the table with the dim pendant light casting an ethereal glow on me as I pick up my fingers to serve him the entreé. I was planning this moment throughout the day: scrutinizing recipe after recipe, imagining the flavors and matching it to his liking.

He is staring at the plate with a glare that's telling me, “What have you made?” I wait for him to say something: nice, edible, could be made better. But he sits in silence. After an eternity in the clock of our universe, he picks up his fork and knife only to tear apart my beautiful creation, discarding the bits I thought were tasty, leaving only a portion the size of a fishbone. He stabs it too with his fork, chews it thoughtfully and finally, nods his approval.

It is supposed to be our romantic night, but the dinner is a disaster in my book. I change gears not willing to let go of this time we have together. I pick up the remote and play the most melodious song on my playlist. I extend my palm and ask him for a dance.

He rises from his chair, grabs my wrists and places them on his shoulders. He moves with me to centre of the room, grooving to the soft tunes and humming the lyrics. I smile feeling my victory and step closer, continuing his lyrics and relaxing for the first time that evening. I move my palm from his shoulders, caressing his arm, to join his and step out my foot. He obliges by pulling me in a spin. I am spinning in ecstasy that it's working between us.

When I stop and steady myself, I am left in the empty room, alone, with no trace of him. I sit down clutching my head from all that spinning. “How did I ever think that this would work?” I question myself. It was my responsibility to keep him loving me and supporting me. And I failed to even hold his attention more than a few moments before spinning into my dreamy trance.

Dejected, I retire to my room. I pick up the quilt to slide myself in. But what I find are red rose petals scattered on our bed. His voice whispers against my ear, “That was just the beginning. We have to complete what we started.” He sweeps me off the floor and I am lost at that moment.

Hours after midnight, he nudges my cheek, dropping the words just next to my ear, "Check now."

I have completed writing 2500 words for today's update to my Wattpad story.

This is my affair with Mr Word-Limit who teases, questions, challenges me to complete typing a substantial amount for my readers to enjoy the story updates. However, the affair goes in the same cycle every time I start writing a new update.

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Header image is a composite I made with the background image from https://www.pexels.com/photo/man-and-woman-holding-hands-walking-on-seashore-during-sunrise-1024960/