The tale of the Ramen Bowl @Mizu

The day had come. The storm had risen. The final call was taken. And there she stood, finally going for dinner with her father. He was a simple man with a wrinkled nose. An upright posture and thin, pursed lips would make you believe he was a tough man. But only she knew how often his eyes moistened. How freely he laughed. How dearly he loved. But today, he was all alone.

She stayed with her mother, a woman who had her heart in the right place. But she had her foot in her mouth, at most times. She was genuine yet grumpy, and mostly angry. But both of them together, were a disaster. At the age of 12, she knew she was more mature than both her parents put together. The divorce took a piece of her. Because it was the only time she had seen her loveable father show a side of himself that she cringed to see. She shivered thinking of the day he raised his hand on her poor mother, his wrath reverberating through his body. And it was all lost. In that split second.

She sat across the table with the same man today. His defeated eyes struggling to meet hers. It was the first time they were supping together after that day. They sat listlessly, talking about their day, exchanging smiles and slurping on some ramen. The cold vibes were finally being warmed. Even if it was by a bite of spicy teriyaki chicken, a bowl full of regrets and a dash of forlorn love.

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