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The phone rings, interrupting him from his screen ritual. For the first time in hours, he returns back to reality, and squints at the Caller ID. He picks it up.

“Finally,” the voice on the other end says. “The least you could do is call me back. Do I need to chase you down every-time?”

He laughs, but it sounds lifeless even to his own ears. “Sorry. Been busy with work. You know how it is.”

“Sure I know how it is. It’s what you say everytime I call you.”

“Sorry.” He repeats again, not knowing what else to say. He pushes down the guilt that arises, and decides that he doesn’t have the time for it. Not when he has a project deadline. He puts the call on speaker, and goes back to his screen. His hand picks up the stylus and it moves on the tablet automatically, drawing a line and then erasing it, then drawing it again until that line is exactly how it should be.

“It’s getting cold there isn’t it? Are you staying warm?”

“Yeah,” he responds. “But don’t worry. I don’t go outside much.”

“That’s even more worrying,” the voice says. “You need to go out more. Take a walk. Take a few breaks.”

“Maybe. I need to get this done first. I have a tight deadline.”

“Have you gone out this week at all?”

“Twice.”

“That’s nothing. If you don’t take care of yourself you’re going to get sick.”

“Don’t worry, I’m still young.”

“You’re not going to be young forever.”

“Well, maybe for another eight years, then it enters into grey territory.”

“I’m being serious. You can’t keep this up.”

“Yes, yes,” he says. “What have you been up to?”

The line went quiet in contemplation. “I recently got promoted. Better pay and longer vacation. You know the drill.”

“Wow, that’s amazing. Congrats. I bet mom and dad are proud.”

A laugh comes from the other line. “Yeah, I guess you can say that. They said that I need to buy them dinner soon. In celebration.”

He smiles, because that’s exactly what they’d do. Ask their daughter to buy them dinner to celebrate her promotion. “Classic. How’s you and what’s-his-name-again?”

“James? We’re doing well,” his sister said curtly. “Maybe a bit too well, actually.”

“How can it be a bit too well?”

“It’s been starting to feel stale. Boring. Predictable.”

“Isn’t that just being comfortable in a relationship?”

He could hear his sister tsk-tsk, practically envisioning her chewing on the inside of her cheek. “I think there’s comfortable… and then there’s stale. You know, lethargy. Stagnation. The death of love.”

“Bit dramatic there.”

“Life is dramatic.”

He rolled his eyes. “I thought he was going to be the ‘one’.”

“That’s what mom and dad said, too. They’ve been nagging me to get married. Said I’ve hit ‘that age’, that James seems like a nice guy, and to ‘get on with it’.” She drolls out, as if reciting something she’s heard a dozen times before.

He groans. “I don’t know how you put up with that.”

“Don’t worry. Your time will come, too.”

“Hopefully not too soon. And if you’re going to break his heart, make sure you do it gently.”

“I’ll be sure to keep your advice in mind when I break it to him.”

“Don’t be a smart-ass.”

“Don’t be un-reachable.”

He actually laughed this time. “Speaking of, I need to go. I just have one last push until I’m done.”

“Okay,” his sister said. “Make sure to call mom and dad sometime. They miss you, you know.”

“Sure,” he agreed.

“I mean it. It’s been too long.”

“Sure.”

He could hear her sigh through the phone. She said her good-bye. He was once again alone in his room, listening to the heater’s low rumble.

He works for a bit longer, until the sun disappears completely from the horizon, and his room is bathed in orange, then lilac, then a quiet blue and then sullen darkness, where his screen is the only light in the room. He doesn’t notice how dark it is until he finally decides to take a break, and he blinks at the contrast between his screen and his room. He wonders how long it’s been since the sun went down.

He looks at the time, and then wonders what he’s going to have for dinner. He walks the few steps towards his fridge, opens it, and stares at the bright white insides and its bleak contents. He really needs to go grocery shopping soon.

With what he has, he decides to make fried rice. He grabs the leftover rice from yesterday and heats up his stove. He chops up some broccoli and scallion, adds some pork, some garlic and onion, pours in the soy sauce, and watches the mélange sizzle. The steam rises up, and he uses his chopsticks to mix all of the ingredients into the sauce. It makes his mouth water, and he puts his hands over the pan. He sighs in contentment as it warms up his body.

He helps himself to a full bowl of fried rice, with a good proportion of pork to veggies, and goes towards his couch. Just as he sits down, he remembers that he has forgotten his drink. He goes back to the kitchen to pour himself a hot mug of tea, making sure not to steep the leaves for too long, or else it’d come out bitter. He returns to the couch one more time, flips open his laptop, and watches two episodes of the current series he’s on. He always limits himself to two, because otherwise he’d be watching at the expense of his work. It’s entertaining, the characters are likable, and it makes him feel a little less alone.

Once he finishes his bowl, his tea, and the two episodes, he brings his bowl and chopsticks to the sink and washes it. After he’s done, he pours another cup of hot water into his mug, steeps the tea again, and then heads back to his work desk, opens photoshop, and begins drawing. He ends the night in the early morning, and sets an alarm clock for ten. Just as he’s about to tuck himself into the inviting covers, he goes back to his phone and sets another alarm. Just in case. He’s been having a bit of trouble waking up recently.

Sleep doesn’t come easy, and when it does, it’s in starts and fits. It seems that just as he’s about to fall into that sweet sweet abyss of unconsciousness, he gets brought back by the kick of his heater, or by the upstairs neighbour shuffling about.

That night, he dreams of his sister, green tea in plastic bottles, his childhood home, and the sticky sweetness of summer. It fills something in him, and for the first time in a long while, he feels content.

That feeling quickly fades when he’s startled awake by his alarm clock, and no sooner than when he pushes aside his blankets, is the dream forgotten. He turns off the alarm, and he prepares himself for yet another day.

Mi Young is a senior Illustration major at the School of Visual Arts. Though primarily a digital artist, she believes that nothing can beat the feeling of pen on paper. She has a love for patterns, textures, household plants and fungi, all of which can often be found in her work. When she's not drawing, she can be found reading, writing, doing laundry, and watering her plants.