The Little Big Things in Life

I unlock the front door and enter my home. I'm immediately assailed by the loud, yet immensely pleasing strains of Pink Floyd's High Hopes. It's one of my favourite songs, and since I'm the only one in the house who likes listening to music at such over-the-top decibels, I'm kind of surprised.

It can't be the kid playing it. I know he's out. The husband? I could safely assume he'd prefer Bach, soft and mellow. Or, considering he's home alone, some smooth jazz numbers that I'm not exactly crazy about.

I walk in, kick off my shoes and carelessly toss aside the bag I've carried home from my parents' place, where I've been visiting with my grandmother. I've spent most of my time there these past few weeks, keeping her company when Mum and Dad have been at work.

I look around for my guy. I find him in the balcony, meticulously clipping his nails, when he senses my presence and turns. I raise my eyebrows. He laughs, because he understands why.

"It feels like you're home, when Pink Floyd's blaring," he discloses. '"I've missed you."

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And of course, a song. This one's for him.