He sat holding his head as clock struck two past midnight. He vaguely stared at ‘Chapter 5’ written on otherwise blank page on his laptop screen. Table lamp’s light sparkled off the edge of his specs’ silvery frame. His worn-out eyes told story of the seven straight sleepless nights.
Lack of sleep didn’t bother him as much as the lack of productivity did. Frustration had begun getting on to his nerves. Fighting the writer’s block was no less than fighting a world war for him.
She woke up. She saw him sitting clueless and discontented; eyes closed, hands on head. She knew what he was going through. She knew what he was battling.
Quietly, she went to washroom; and then to kitchen to have some water.
After a bit, interrupting his struggle, something clinked on his table.
He opened his eyes to see steaming coffee swirling in his favorite mug that she had gifted him on their anniversary.
She hugged him from behind and kissed him on head.
“I made you coffee, honey. Take a break. You’ll be through this. Soon. Very Soon.” She said before going back to bed.
His own quote, scribed on the mug, peeked partially from the shadow. He gazed at it.
‘Creativity is born at the Dead End.’ It read.
Inanely, he watched tiny bubbles holding each other as they whirled at the center of the coffee mug. He smiled seeing the bubbles merging into each other. He sipped one.
A minute later, she heard clicks of the keyboard. She sighed; and with a smile, she wrapped herself inside the cozy blanket.
Photo Credit: PublicDomainPictures