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She's making coffee while she hums a melody she usually sings when she finds a moment of silence. She's wearing a big cotton t-shirt with the sleeves reversed - barefoot with her hair tied up in a messy bun. But today he doesn't come into the kitchen and kiss her on the neck, nor does he prepare toast with tomato, nor sets the table, nor comments about the day's news, nor gets interested in her last project.
Today he stealthily stands in the kitchen's doorframe and observes her, and he thinks that the light that comes into the kitchen's window in the mornings is probably the most beautiful light they get at home and he tells to himself that breakfast is his favorite time of the day - that little moment they share before dealing with the world.
And she stops singing, removes the coffee maker from the stove and without turning towards him she asks what happens. And he says it's nothing, and he approaches her, he kisses her neck, he prepares the toast with tomato, he sets the table, he comments about the day's news, he gets interested in her last project and he asks her if she wants to marry him.