That promised three a.m. talk didn't occur. I slept like the dead last night after tiring long hours of designing a new system for a company software. I shifted uncomfortably on the sofa, a groan escaping involuntarily from my mouth. Just thinking about codes and codes and codes makes me feel sick.

But then I heard the loud creak of a door. I look up to see my husband walking towards me. His hair was uncombed. A white towel hung around his neck. The morning has surfaced quite a little brightly against his fair skin, a contrast to the dark circles under his eyes. It was unmistakable that he had not indulged that much in a night rest.

And to add to the effect, he had an eyebrow raised at me, as if it was a crime that I greeted him, "good morning."

It probably isn't for him. My better guess would be that he waited to have 'that' conversation he so has pushed to a later date. Or hour.

I shrugged it off and ushered him to the kitchen for breakfast. This morning is not for fighting. Anyway, it wasn't my fault. Nor is it his. He didn't know that I don't wake up that early. I didn't know that he'd be that person who would do as he says.