Albert
I stood frozen in the doorway of our tiny kitchen.
There he was. Emon. Back.
He was back, he was alive, breathing, as if nothing had happened.
He stood at the stove, flipping something in a pan like it was any other evening. Like he hadn’t disappeared for three full days. Like I hadn’t nearly gone mad wondering if he was dead or hurt or… worse…. Left me.
His back was turned to me, shoulders moving with the ease of routine. The smell of rosemary and butter lingered in the air. I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to run into his arms. I wanted to shake him until the silence cracked. I wanted an explanation. Anything… to get a reaction from him.
Instead, I just stood there like a child who had forgotten how to speak.
When he finally turned, our eyes locked.
He didn’t smile. He
