She screamed from down the hallway. Her voice shattering the calm of my sleep.

“Mum, its Saturday….” I droned ritualistically.

“That is not a valid reason for sleeping till noon!”

I dragged myself to the breakfast table. Eggs and bread stared at me as I fought my tendency to sleep on the table. That’s when I saw it. Sitting silently on one corner of the table. Acquainted by its one true love. Oh, the perfection of it all!

I picked it up and placed it beside my plate. The warm sensation of its touch felt divine. So simple yet so delightful. I extended my hand towards its better half. I grasped it in all its glory - when my mother snatched it away from me.

“No coffee in your milk for breakfast honey….”

“Mum, its Saturday….”

“Your reasonability is impeccable”

She walked out of the room with the better half of my glass of milk. She walked out with the coffee powder.

With those steps leaving the room, the divinity of my glass of milk was lost. It became just another glass. Smoke swimming out of it and into the atmosphere. Immaterial to me without the heavenly scent of coffee.

Ah, some other morning perhaps!