The blanket

She was freezing. The cold was getting to her lungs and there was still four hours to go. Her mind slowly drifted to warm blankets and other times....she remembered the dark figure of her mother, silently doing her rounds, room to room, she would peek in, and put extra blankets on them. Sometimes, her father had come in; to do just that, put a blanket on her. She remembered her teenage years, sharing the room with her sister, she would wake up and feel the extra weight of her sister's blanket on her. She remembered those years at the university, those wild and drunken nights when names were forgotten and friendships insecure...yet, even then, she could sleep on floors or beds knowing that the warm comfort of a blanket would come, covered by a friend or stranger....

It was human. To react like that. It was an act of love, but most importantly, it was human. That was why she was so sure at this moment about the person sleeping beside her. She recalled with embarrassment the conversation.....

"It is cold"

"Ah! This one is my blanket oh!"

"Maybe we can share...it is really cold"

"Ah! I cannot share oh, this one is my own"

He had tucked himself in the blanket and said "I love you".