Image header: Sheets, Vivian Chen [陳培雯], CC-BY-ND-2.0

“Someday I will be happy,” he said.
Lying on the bed, he was staring into space.
Actually, our “bed” was a bare mattress. It had been my idea to take it out of the bed and drag it from the bedroom into the living room. Although summer was all but over, it was a warm evening. The large windows of the living room looked out onto the street, which led to a square surrounded by cafes, pubs, bars and restaurants.

From the square, the chain of various establishments that serve food and drinks continued on both sides of the alley. Pubs, restaurants, snack stalls and posh bars lined up door to door. You could have oysters for starters, steak for mains, Panna Cotta for dessert, get drunk on Moscow Mule and finish the night off with a slice of pizza in a row.

Image: Pedestrian-only lane packed with restaurants, food stalls, bars and pubs, Douglas LeMoine, CC-BY-ND-2.0

We lived in the Old town. And tonight there was the happy sound of a bustling crowd enjoying sitting, chatting and laughing outside under a cloudless sky while a light breeze blew through the narrow alleys. Autumn was around the corner, but tonight it didn’t matter much.

The vibrant buzz around the square swept from outside through the open windows into the darkness of our lofty apartment.

“What do you mean,” I asked, “you WILL be happy SOMEDAY?” It was a Sunday. A Sunday evening.

We were in our early twenties and certainly had feelings and beliefs that came with that particular age. We felt strong and invincible and didn’t think much about illness, old age and death. Why should we, when the world was our oyster?
We were newly in love. He was tall, handsome and smart. I felt lucky to move in with him into a nice, spacious apartment in the center of the city.

Image: Stuart Conner, CC-BY-ND-2.0

I had been looking forward to enjoying the togetherness, and was pleased with the idea of lingering in the comfort of the bed while at the same time, without leaving the coziness, we could have the bustling, lively activity one floor below us.
With the lights switched off and the points of light from the street lamps reflected in the large wall mirror, there was something magical about the room.

As perfect as it seemed, he wasn’t in the same light-hearted mood as I was. We were out of sync.
“Are you saying, you are not happy NOW?” I went on.
He did not respond, instead he stared off into space.
Down on the street, the clacking of high heels echoed in the alley, overlapping the steady murmur.
I was paralyzed.
What was wrong? If I felt that I had failed to make him happy – on a Sunday evening.

Also read:
Be Content Where You Are from our story collection in INSPIRATION

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