Caged Bird | ✔

Chapter Thirty Nine

The popping sounds coming from the microwave increases rapidly before slowing down to a pop spaced out by a few seconds. The brown paper bag in the microwave has expanded to five times its size from the flattened bag it had gone into the microwave being

I look up from my book to glance over the back of the sofa to where William is standing, wiping his hands on the front of his jeans.

''I think the popcorn is done'' I say in Williams direction. I hear him open the microwave door and pull out the bag, muttering a few hisses presumably from touching the hot bag. If I were anywhere else but here I probably would have gotten up and taken out of the bag out of the microwave myself instead of alerting him, but I could not really do anything here without his permission, helping included

Every time I did try to help him whether it be with dinner, washing up dishes, plating my own food, or even opening up the curtains in the room I slept in, he would always stop me by uttering the words; ''here let me take care of that''

Looking down at my book again; a book that I owned a copy just like it on my bookshelf back at home, yet I never got around to reading till now.

I used to enjoy reading back in high school up till I went to college. It is not that I stopped loving reading but when you had a demanding job and a boss that you were screwing in-between trying to stay afloat with the college workload; I hardly found time to read. Moreover, because of the field of study I had chosen it had taken out the joy of simply just reading without trying to analyze and critique everything

No one tells you a journalism degree will forever change the way you read a book. Now most of the times I opened up any sort of reading material I had a pen on hand ready to edit, annotate, and underline.

Now not being the exception

''what do you want for dinner?'' he asks, breaking me out of the daze I had gone into

''whatever you want'' I say absentmindedly, glancing at him again just to see him open the fridge doors and scan the contents, then pulling out some ingredients and setting them on the counter. Him being completely and utterly engulfed by these simple acts that will inevitably lead to a finished dinner

''Do you like cooking'' I surprise both myself and William by asking this

''I don't mind it''

''That's not a yes'' I point out

''It's not a no either'' he argues

''But if you don't enjoy doing it, it qualifies as a no'' I insist

''I mean I do it -'' he trails off ''am I ecstatic throughout the whole procedure? - Probably not''

I let out a big annoyed sigh

Is he incapable of producing one normal answer?

''Why do you ask?'' William enquires stopping midway before throwing a cup of measured rice into a pot

I shrug ''is it a crime to want to get to know you better?''

Or would you rather prefer I stalked you?

I don't need to look up to know he is looking at me, I feel his eyes bore into my skull, I pretend I don't notice

''okay let's try again, -'' he begins

I look up to him, not entirely sure what he would like to try again

''ask me again if I like cooking''

Try the conversation again

I give him a sad smile

''that's not really how conversation works'' I point out