He came home with a new mixer.

It was the same brand they had bought ten years ago, only a newer model with three jars and a button that pulsed blue when switched on. He placed it on the kitchen counter and waited for her to notice.

“You bought it?” she asked.

“The old one was making a noise.”

She had told him the old mixer was making a noise. She had not said it needed replacing. The small jar still worked, and she used it almost every day for chutney. The new one was heavier and took up more space beside the stove.

“Did you ask the shopkeeper about the smaller model?”

“This one was on offer.”

She nodded and began putting the jars away.

For years, their decisions had become like this. He bought the brand they always bought. She cooked the things he liked. They watched the channel he chose because she didn’t mind. When friends asked where they wanted to go for dinner, he answered for both of them.

Neither had planned it. It had happened one ordinary evening at a time.

On Saturday, they went to buy curtains for the bedroom. He held up a beige pair.

“These?”

She looked at the shelves behind him. There were deep blue curtains with tiny yellow flowers, the sort she would have chosen years ago, before every room became cream, brown or “easy to maintain.”

“I like those,” she said, pointing.

He turned. “The blue ones?”

“Yes.”

He looked at them for a while. “They’ll show dust.”

She almost said it didn’t matter. Instead, she took one panel from the shelf and held it against the beige pair.

“Then we’ll wash them.”

He looked at her, surprised—not offended, exactly, but as if she had changed a line in a conversation they had rehearsed for years.

They bought the blue curtains.

At home, he stood on a chair to fit the rod while she passed him the screws. One curtain hung a little lower than the other. He climbed down and looked at it.

“It’s uneven.”

“A little.”

“Should I fix it?”

She looked at the blue flowers moving in the fan’s breeze. “Tomorrow.”

He left the chair where it was. They had tea in the living room, the curtains still uneven behind them.

Later, when he asked what she wanted for dinner, she didn’t say “anything.” She asked for lemon rice.

He wrote it on the grocery list.

If this story stayed with you…

You might also like The Grocery List in His Handwriting, The Extra Plate, and He Still Remembered How She Took Her Tea.

KEEP READING →