A hot cup of tea

By
HUDA Ansari

She hit snooze on her alarm clock for the final time. 

6:15 a.m.

She mustered her energies to push aside the warm covers, and pull herself out of the cosy nightly retreat. It was going to be a long one, and it was no use avoiding the inevitable.

The morning routine had commenced. She dragged herself to the washroom and turned the hot water tap on. She waited for the water to turn warm and slowly proceeded to brush her teeth. She lazily undressed and popped her arm out of the shower to toss her raiments into the laundry basket. She turned on her shower and bathed begrudgingly. The steam from the hot shower slowly started to fill the tiny room. But before the steamy surroundings could turn into the memory of a fleeting dream, she turned off the shower and draped her towel around her. She stepped out of the shower closet and wiped the steam off the cold surface of the mirror with her bare hand. She spent a few minutes blow drying her hair before moving back to her room. 

Still wrapped in her towel, she walked over to the kitchen in her studio apartment. She slowly lifted the chrome plated kettle and started to fill it up with water from the tap. She set the kettle onto its stand and flicked the switch on. 

She stood there gazing at the kettle as it gently started to make a slow whirring sound of water starting to heat up. She thought of all the things that needed to be done for the day; she thought of the mortgage payments due for the month; she thought of her mother's health; she thought of her brother's finances; she thought of the wars plaguing the world. 

The flicking back of the kettle's switch disrupted her thoughts. She picked up her large cup from the drying rack and put in a single teabag of her favourite tea blend. She slowly poured in the hot boiling water over the placid teabag. 

She watched as the caramel brown hue started to oozed out of the teabag now resting against the wall of the cup. She watched as it chased after its colourless tasteless counterpart, leaving a deep honey tint in its wake. The rivalry of colours always mesmerised her: the tussle of hues, the smooth persistent rise of the crimson and the eventual engulfment of red through the whole vessel. 

She gazed intently until there was no more colour left to dissipate. She slowly added the thick creamy whiteness of the milk to this battleground. The peace offering swallowed, the contents settled at the perfect winter tan. 

She put on her fleece gown, picked up her cup and walked out to her balcony. It was another cold grey morning. She sat down on her patio chair clutching her warm cup of tea. She slowly sipped the steaming gorgeousness of warmth, watching the world pass by. Nothing mattered in those precise moments each day. Everything could wait. For now, it was just her and her hot cup of tea.