“Good, how are you?”

Nabeel sat quietly against the window in his apartment watching rain streaks roll down the glass. The night had turned to dawn and the grey rainclouds washed out the colors of the sun, as Nabeel followed with his eyes a drop of rain trickle down, absorbing into another drop, and then falling off the pane. He walked away from his window and only by habit showered for work instead of staring out the window for the rest of time.

Stale toast sat in the toaster, having cooled into bland bread which made the butter stick to the crisped, burnt face rather than spread evenly. He poured a tin of powdered coffee into a thin paper filter and turned on his coffee maker. Steam fogged the pot while he watched a slow brown drip evaporate off the glass, then two drips formed in the pot, and then a small puddle collected at the base. As Nabeel watched the coffee fill the pot he thought of his old coffee maker and how quickly it brewed the caffeine he so needed now; how, compared to this one, it had more than a simple on and off switch, with an auto-brew setting that could begin making coffee on a pre-set time when its built in clock struck a specific minute; how larger and grander and varied his breakfasts were, instead of cold toast with clumps of hard butter; how he used to have company while he ate his breakfast and sipped his hot coffee; how when he left for work his wife used to kiss him goodbye and his daughter would hug her small arms tightly around him. How he used to be married.

The coffee maker gurgled and steam escaped from the top as the coffee finished bubbling. He poured coffee in his travel mug and left for work.

Preston banged against his alarm clock as it chirped incessantly from 6:30am until 6:32am when he finally stopped it. He sat up and pulled the comforters off and rubbed his groggy face. He twisted in place and set his hands on the bed to crack his back on both sides. Preston saw his wife laying in the darkness fast asleep. He missed when she woke up with him and sent him off to work. He missed how often they used to make breakfast for each other and how, even if they didn’t speak, they would enjoy each other’s presence while they ate. He missed when they did talk.

Preston let the hot water spray the back of his head in the shower as it trickled over his forehead and ran down his sleepy face. He stood still and breathed slowly, like slumber, for twenty minutes before he uncapped his 3-in-1 soap and lathered head to toe in a chemical scent. His wife hated combinational soaps like the 2-in-1 and 3-in-1 “absurdities,” as she protested. She would rant about the impossibility a soap could function scientifically as a shampoo, conditioner, and body soap as a single ingredient while also properly hydrating and cleaning his skin healthily. It amused him how little he cared about the soaps simply because she went into her passionate spiel over and over until she had convinced him to let her pick out his separate shampoo, which was separate from his conditioner, and a separate soap bar. As Preston washed away the gooey soap he tried to remember the last time she cared about that. Even further back, the last time that was the only disagreement.

Preston walked through the rain to his 2007 Accord and sat in it, jolting the hydraulics side-to-side from his weight. He stared at the ignition key slot and wondered if he tried talking to a friend about his marriage, would it be too late to repair what was lost? He hadn’t told anyone close how little him and his wife spoke, how rarely they laughed together, how even more rare sex was, and how little they suddenly knew about each other. The shame and embarrassment – especially for holding back so long on the truth – might lock their relationship in this mutual loneliness where the only thing they shared with each other was the bed. Preston stuck his key in the ignition slot and started it.

Nabeel slouched at his desk and waited for his work computer to finish booting up. Cheerful promises on the screen encouraged him that the computer was close to starting. Almost there! Just a few more seconds! Hang tight! He took a sip of his coffee with a glazed, bored expression.

The elevator doors opened and Preston plodded out as he pulled down on his tie. He passed by Nabeel, staring at his monitor. Nabeel looked up at Preston and gave a quick nod. Preston looked back at him and nodded in return. “Hey, how are you?”

“Good, how are you?”

“Good, thanks.” And kept walking.