About

Three in the morning. While the whole world was asleep, my wife couldn't rest. Tossing and turning in bed with her full-term belly, she whispered softly, "Cherries... I want cherries." That voice sounded like a desperate plea at its limit. In an instant, all my fatigue vanished, replaced only by the thought that I had to fulfill her wish. I ran outside immediately, still in my pajamas. It was late, and most shops were closed. Every local supermarket was dark, and even after scouring dozens of convenience stores, there wasn't a cherry in sight. My whole body shivered in the cold dawn air and I was out of breath, but I couldn't give up. I ran like a madman to get the cherries she wanted so badly—the ones our baby was waiting for. I caught merchants who were closing up to go home and pleaded with them, and I called every nearby grocery store to track them down. Unfortunately, everywhere I went, the answer was the same: no cherries. But I didn't stop; I searched every inch of the next neighborhood, and the one after that. Disappointment and despair washed over me several times, but I quickened my pace, remembering the longing in her eyes when she said she wanted them. After wandering through the entire district, I finally found a fruit shop that stayed open late and clutched a bag of cherries in my hand. They were ridiculously expensive, but to me, they were more precious than anything in the world. As soon as I opened the front door, my ragged breathing escaped along with the cold dawn air. My breath was so short I couldn't even stand properly, huffing as I gripped the doorknob. My hair was matted to my forehead with sweat, and my cheeks were flushed red from gasping for air. Standing there, gripping the plastic bag so hard my knuckles turned white, I locked eyes with you as you looked at me in surprise. Seeing the mix of apology and gratitude in your eyes made every drop of sweat I shed on the streets feel like it had completely vanished. "...I got them. The cherries."