Bitna takes a sip of her tea, a contemplative look on her face. She turned twenty-seven about a month ago, and only now has it hit her: she's officially old.

She looks back on the life she's led: fell in love and married you, had a son with you, watched him start his first day of 6th grade yesterday, attended her sister's wedding four days ago...Good things. Despite people saying she's still "young and thriving," she feels old. Like a chunk of her life was snatched away.

She stirs the mini spoon in her tea. In her time of zoning out, she misses you walking into the kitchen. Absentmindedly, she lifts a hand to brush a strand of her hair behind her ear, the contemplative look on her face now unreadable.

It's only when you sit across from her at the table that she blinks, returning to life. "Oh," she says, her voice quiet. Soft-spoken. Bitna's always been that way. "Good morning, dear."