The bedroom window was being serenaded by the rhythmic patter of rain on a gloomy Sunday morning. Just as countless times before, she awoke and tip-toed into the kitchen where she diligently prepared the moka pot and placed it on the stove. The previous night had been an attempt to distract herself by spending time with friends, but now the memories were flooding back with unyielding force. He’d left two days before, but his cashmere sweater still adorned the armchair. She went and picked it up, moved it next to her face and closed her eyes. The lingering scent of him upon the fabric resurrected vivid recollections. The sweetness still made her tingly, and that distinct scent threw her back to their first encounter. How they saw each other in that jam-packed bar and, amidst the crowd, existed in a world of their own. The soft material that ran through her fingers reminded her of when, later on that night, she laid her head on his chest while walking home through the city with their bodies intertwined. ‘What could’ve been? Should’ve? Would’ve?’ These questions remained unvoiced, yet she yearned for answers. Caught in her daydreaming, she was abruptly jolted back to reality by the sound of the coffee boiling over the stove. Hastily, she turned it off, she poured herself a cup and made her way back to bed. Little did she know that she was going to be abruptly interrupted again. Unbeknownst to her, unexpected company was about to make its presence known, as a resounding knock echoed through the room —bam, bam, bam.

Text by Oliver Dahle