The Love-Shaped Rice

It was a fine morning, one of those quiet days where everything felt settled. The kind of morning that carried a softness, where the air smelled of home and warmth. She moved around the kitchen, lost in the rhythm of her routine—preparing breakfast, setting the table, making sure everything was in its place.

He was working, his eyes fixed on the screen, fingers tapping away on the keyboard. It had become a familiar sight—him, engrossed in his world, while she lingered in the spaces in between, filling the gaps with care.

After breakfast, she began washing rice for making it into powder, letting the cool water run through her fingers, feeling the weight of each grain. It was a simple act, something she had done countless times before, yet today, as she spread the rice out on a cloth to dry, something unexpected happened.

The grains settled into a heart shape.

She blinked, surprised by the small wonder before her. A smile tugged at her lips—how beautiful, how rare. A tiny sign, unplanned, untouched by effort. Just a quiet, accidental symbol of love.

Excited, she turned to him.

"Look!" she called, her voice carrying the warmth of discovery.

He walked over, glanced at the rice, and then… nothing.

No smile, no amused chuckle, no teasing remark. Just a brief look, a moment of indifference, and then he turned away. Maybe it wasn’t intentional, maybe he didn’t mean to dismiss it, but that single second was enough.

The warmth in her chest faded.

It wasn’t about the rice. Not really. It was about what that moment could have been. A small acknowledgment, a flicker of connection—something to make her feel seen, to remind her that love wasn’t just about being together but about sharing these tiny, fleeting things.

A single word, a little laugh, even a playful "Oh wow, love shape!" would have been enough. It wasn’t about grand gestures, never had been. She didn’t want poetry or declarations of love—she just wanted to feel that in the spaces between their worlds, he still met her halfway.

But he didn’t.

And that silence—cold, weighty, unforgiving—settled deep inside her.

For a moment, just a second, a different face flickered in her mind. Someone from the past.

If it had been him, he would have turned that moment into something else. He would have traced the shape of the rice with his finger, maybe drawn a little smiley face next to it. He would have looked at her with warmth, made her feel that her excitement mattered.

But this wasn’t the past.

And she wasn’t the kind of person to live in memories.

Still, a quiet ache spread through her, not because she wanted to go back, but because she knew—deep down, without a doubt—she deserved to be met with love. Not just in the big ways, not just when life demanded it, but in the smallest, most ordinary moments.

Because love, real love, isn’t about the grand gestures.

It’s about the way someone reacts when you show them a heart-shaped rice.

And that day, she realized something.

"I can be treated better."

"I deserve to be treated better."

She dusted off her hands, took one last look at the scattered grains, and turned away. The rice was still there, the heart still formed, but something inside her had already shifted.

It wasn’t about the rice. Not really. It was about the feeling—the need to be seen, to be met halfway in the little joys of life. A single word, a single smile, could have made all the difference.

She wasn’t asking for much. Just to be held, even if only in a moment.

But in that silence, she realized something.

She deserved to be met with love. Not just in grand ways, but in the small, everyday moments that make a heart feel at home.

Something had changed.

And she knew now, she would never let herself forget it.