Praveen Kumar 
the kettle whistles on the stove, steam dancing in the morning light, your laugh echoes through the kitchen, warmth spreads like honey through my chest;
i watch you stir sugar clockwise, the same way your mother taught you, these small rituals anchor us, like roots finding rich soil;
sunlight paints golden squares, across our wooden table, where we plan weekend adventures, and share dreams over toast;
the newspaper crinkles between us, but our eyes keep meeting, finding stories more interesting, than any headline could offer;
this ordinary tuesday morning, becomes a masterpiece of moments, where happiness tastes like tea, and love sounds like quiet laughter.
