- You pour the milk into a saucepan and place it on the stove with medium heat. Remember, it's unsweetened almond milk. That's what he used to like. He asked why you never used water. You mentioned how replacing water with milk makes the hot chocolate creamy and flavorful. Perhaps that's what he didn't relish. That extra sweetness. He found it too unreal for his taste.
- Mix cocoa powder and sugar into the milk and heat it until warm. You reminisce the warmth of his embrace. He'd wrap his arms around his from behind, catching you off guard. You think wistfully about the feel of his hot breath at the nape of your neck and how it used to make you go weak in your knees. You stare at the dark brown powder submerged in the swirl of white. Two contrast shades blend into one, just like you and him. How different you both were. He loved parties and spontaneous backpacking trips. As a nature lover, you enjoyed those hikes. However, you were more methodical and not much of a late-night owl. Yet you'd accompany him to those parties for fear of losing him even though his friend's circle didn't enthrall you. You felt they had too many airs for your practical bankers' mindset. You wanted to make the relationship work. He was one of the few liberal men in Indian society to accept a woman raised by a single mother, even if his family had reservations.
- Once the milk is warm, add chocolate chips, just for that extra sweetness. Like how you went the extra mile to please his family, friends, and people who were important to him. Those high tea parties you hosted. You'd try to make it to every gathering at his place, impress his mother with your culinary skills, and his father with discussions about the Stock Market. You whisk the chocolate bits until they melt in the milk. The way you hoped he'd melt the hearts of those close to him. It's hard work. Just like working your way into his family's hearts was hard work.
- Add a splash of Vanilla extract. The scent wafts into your nostrils. You close your eyes and muse over when you wolfed down a vanilla ice cream cone on your first date with him. He sipped black coffee without adding sugar. He said that's how he liked it. Bitter and dark. You offered vanilla ice cream, but he shook his head. Too sweet, he remarked. You couldn't understand his aversion to sweetness. Yet that's who you were—embracing sweetness and spreading kindness. Despite the hardships you endured-- a lonely childhood, being shunned by your mother's family, financial constraints, and a broken relationship. You craved love. You longed for respect and acceptance.
On the other hand, he had grown up with wealth, status, and loving parents. Yet there was this restlessness about him you couldn't comprehend—for instance, his criticism about your tendency to apologize. You wanted to avoid conflicts or disagreements. He constantly accused you of being too sweet and lacking personality. And strangely, your sweet nature drew him to you first. He said you were different from the other girls he dated.
- You look at the steaming cup of hot chocolate. Something needs to be added. You debate the choice of toppings you want to add - marshmallows, crushed candy canes, whipped cream. Add the marshmallows first. Watch the cubes of white float on top of this dark, swirling liquid in the cup—a ring of frothy bubbles forms at the brim. You lived in this bubble of hope for two years, hoping he'd go down on his knees and gift you the ring. That one day, you'd say those vows and walk down the road of life as husband and wife. The marshmallows are huddled together, eclipsing the chocolate drink beneath. You wonder if you did not give him enough space. Were you too clingy? You then add the whipped cream. You take a sip. A sweet taste lingers in your mouth—the whipped cream smeared on your lips, like his first kiss lingering on your mouth. The heady rush of sweetness makes you feel dizzy. Too sweet, even for your taste. You glance at the cup. It's too white, like the world outside you, covered in layers of snow. You shiver despite wearing a grey sweater. Too plain. Your eyes avert from the window, showcasing the bare trees and flakes of snow falling on the ground. The view gets mundane after a point. Maybe he, too, lost interest and found you too ordinary.
- You decide to sprinkle crushed candy canes. To add a little color. To spruce up things. That's what you should have done. Acted out of character. Turned the heat on with disagreements and conflict. Kept the spark simmering. You take another sip this time. It doesn't feel hot. Soon, the steam will evaporate and disappear in thin air—like he did one morning without a note or letter. His closet was bare, like the trees outside. Two months now. Not a word from him. His social media accounts are deactivated. His phone is untraceable. His parents give you clipped responses about his return. All you can do now is wait in hope. He will return like the trees grow back on leaves and flowers bloom. You gulp the hot chocolate in a jiffy. Scared it will turn cold. Afraid it will lose flavor. The chunks of crushed candy harden in your mouth. You feel a stab of pain as it traverses down your throat. It is hurting. You stare at the empty cup, hoping it will be worth waiting before you refill it—this time, you will add some orange zest. To spice it up a little.
