The Last Two Cups

She waited for him. Now, she has given up. Those who wanna go, just go. Wait lasts forever

The Last two Cups



The kettle had just begun to whistle when Maya looked up from the counter, expecting--out of habit--to hear Daniel's footsteps coming down the hall. He always timed it perfectly, appearing just as the steam curled from the spout, grinning like the smell of morning tea had personally summoned him.
But the hallway stayed quiet.
It had been three months since he left "for a little space," promising he just needed time to figure things out. He'd packed lightly, kissed her forehead, and said he'd call in a few days.
He never did.
Still, every morning, she put out two cups. One for her, and one for the man she believed would come back the moment he remembered how much he loved warm tea and the sound of her voice.
Today, though, something was different. Maybe it was the way the sunlight fell flat against the kitchen tiles, or how the silence felt thicker than usual, like it had finally settled into the house for good.
Maya set the kettle down, reached for the second cup--and stopped.
Her hand hovered in the air, trembling.
The truth was quiet, but it was sharp. It was the kind of truth that didn't break you all at once. It simply... pressed.
He wasn't coming back.
She felt it not as a thought but as a weight, settling low in her chest. A slow, steady sinking. She pulled the extra cup away, slid it back into the cupboard, and for the first time, she noticed how small her hands looked when they weren't holding on to hope.
When she sat at the table with her single cup of tea, the chair across from her seemed painfully empty--yet finally honest.
The kettle clicked off behind her.
And in that quiet kitchen, with steam rising and her heart aching, Maya whispered, "Goodbye," not because he could hear her, but because she finally could.