Post #268

COFFEE WASN'T READY ! By Hitanshi Parekh @hitucreates_ He layed in bed for days on end, Too weak to work, too tired to pretend. She held his hand, made every meal, Ran the house with aching heels. She fetched his medicines, wiped his tears, Whispered comfort, swallowed fears. No one noticed the sleep she missed, Or how her fingers trembled at the wrist. Then came the day he rose again, Back to work, free from pain. She smiled softly, tired but kind, Still nursing the storms in her own mind. But that morning she didn’t rise. The kitchen echoed with silent sighs. No clinking cups, no sugar stirred, Just quiet air, and absence heard. He stormed out, loud and red, “The coffee’s not ready!” — that’s what he said. No concern, no second glance, Just shattered cups and ego’s play. He didn’t see her pale and still, The fever hidden behind her will. He forgot love's not just what she gives- It's noticing if she even lives. He didn’t ask, “Are you okay?” Just barked orders, went on his way. And all she had was a worn-out frame, A tired soul with no one to name. The truth is this , in many homes, She suffers silently, dies alone. Healed him whole, and broke instead, But no one sees when she needs rest. Because in this world, she’s taught to serve, To love in silence, to bend, not swerve. And if one day her hands don’t shake the pot, She’s judged, unloved, and soon forgotten.