The kettle whistled persistently from inside the cottage, but neither of them moved, they were so engrossed in each other.
“Let it whistle,” grandpa said, smiling as he carved out a slice of bread for grandma. “She’s only jealous we’re out here enjoying this beautiful evening.”
She chuckled, her soft white hair catching the golden light of the setting sun. “How can a kettle be jealous?”
“Because now, I'm getting all the attention. ”
“Oh, hush, you speak as if I don't give you enough attention.”
"Well...er... not really," he grinned mischievously. " The kitchen and the garden deprives me."
The two of them sat at their old wooden table in the garden, like young lovebirds, the lake rippling quietly in the background. Chickens clucked around their feet. A rooster strutted like he owned the place. The garden was bursting with late summer colors, roses, marigolds, and that stubborn hibiscus that refused to die.
Those two always bickered over one thing or another, but one can see their love for each other still shone through.
Grandpa reached for the tomatoes. “I could say that these are the sweetest we’ve ever grown.”
“That’s because you finally listened to me and stopped overwatering them.”
“No, it’s not because of that, it's because of the cow dung I mixed into the soil.”
She rolled her eyes. “Honestly, you’re becoming more like your mother every day."
He beamed. “The woman was the best thing that ever happened to me.”
Grandma rolled her eyes again, her mouth opened to retort, but she decided against it.
They fell into easy silence, cutting vegetables, sharing glances, breathing in the calm. Their fingers brushed occasionally. Neither said anything when it did, it was a way of showing affection for each other.
“I was thinking today,” grandma said finally, her voice soft.
“Oh boy.”
“Don’t tease.” She gave his hand a gentle slap. “I was thinking... we never got around to traveling the world, like you promised me years ago."
Papa looked at her, then out toward the garden, where nature looked its best, “We did travel.”
She raised a brow. "How?"
“From the madness of youth to the peace of old age, to now, we did travel quite some distance.”
She smiled, leaning against her husband. “Still... it would’ve been nice, you know. America. Paris. The beautiful Island of Mauritius.”
“We saw the world from our own perspective,” he said. “And this”—he waved a hand around the table—“is a gourmet's delight; fresh, natural. Better than anything we could have gotten at a hotel.”
She looked around. Everything looked perfect, surreal. This their world. The warm glow of the kitchen windows, the laughter of birds in the trees, the smell of roasted chicken drifting from the oven.
She nodded. “I suppose you’re right.”
“Of course I am,” he said,wrapping his arms fondly around her. “I’ve always been right. Just ask me.”
She laughed then, throwing her napkin at him.
They stayed like that, bathed in quiet joy, and deep satisfaction. Reminiscing.
They married when they were just 20. People said they were too young to take such a bold step, and even their parents gave their approval grudgingly. But they were deeply in love and turned a deaf ear to gossip.
Now, many years down the line, their love's still strong, sweeter like old wine....
Then the sound of something crashing came from inside.
“The kettle!” she gasped.
He shrugged, calmly sipping his drink. “Don’t sweat it.”
“What do you mean don’t sweat it? The last time you said that, we had to mop for two hours!”
“And wasn’t it fun?” he grinned.
She groaned, standing slowly. “Old man, one day, you’ll be the death of me.”
He stood too, gently holding her arm to steady her. “You said that fifty years ago, when we got married. And yet, here we are, still standing strong.”
She looked at him then, really looked, at the wrinkles around his eyes, at the gentle curve of his lips, the steady warmth in his gaze.
How time had passed, but her love for this man hadn't aged a single day. After all, the heart doesn't grow old.
Here they were. After all the fights, the rainstorms, the lost babies, the near bankruptcy, the bought house, the raised children, the funerals, the birthdays, the pain,the gain.
Here they were.
Still.
She squeezed his hand tightly as he planted a lingering kiss on her lips.
"Growing old with you is the best thing that has ever happened to me", wrapping his arms around her once more as they stepped into the house—like saying, Don't sweat it, I'll always be here for you.
Image is AI generated.
🌸My Motto is: work at making myself proud of myself.🌸
Thank you very much for taking time to read me. Have a wonderful day!
