First Light

The first light of day shimmered through the curtains. It vaguely grazed the walls and floor. The bed was still in shadow.

Samira awoke. She listened.

The apartment was quiet. David had risen in the middle of the night and left. The soft words and tender touches with which he said goodbye spoke neither of guilt nor triumph. They both knew that something inevitable had happened. They didn't need to regret it or exaggerate it.

She pushed the blankets aside and shivered briefly in the coolness that enveloped her naked figure. Sluggish, pleasantly exhausted, she put her feet on the carpet, got up, went to the window, and opened it wide. She took a deep breath.

Outside, a new day was dawning. Birds were chirping. People were stepping out of their houses. Someone whistled loudly and shrill. A traffic light at the intersection turned green.

A day like any other.

No, a new day in a new new life.