“Why do you wanna go there?”
“Umm. It’s just something I’ve to do,” she replied while washing the veggies in a colander.
“But, why? Your parents are gone. There’s nothing left there. You said it yourself.” He skilfully flipped the lightly seared side of chicken in simmering oil.
His fastidiousness amused her.
“I know. Perhaps, that’s the reason I need to see it before they tear it down.”
She was dicing the carrots into even-sized cubes, just the way her mother had taught her years ago in their old house, which would soon be demolished.
“We’d erect a luxury tower there,” the builder she’d sold the property to, post her mother’s death, had informed.
The house was the final link to her past and she ached to revisit it once before it became a distant memory.
“Well, go if you have to. But promise you’ll be back.” He reluctantly uttered while checking the seasoning.
“Of course! Why wouldn’t I?”
“Dunno, you’re going to your country. Maybe you’ll meet a guy, fall in love, and decide to stay back. People do that sometimes.”
“Aha! Now I know where this is coming from, dorky.” She punched him; her gaze lovingly fixated at his goofy grin.
Written for Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner
Photo- Michael (Black) Ritter pexels-photo-41506