meeting twain

She bends over the sink and busily scrapes the brush across her teeth, lathering the bright blue gel into a cheery foam that drips down her chin. She notices a bright stripe of red that has gushed across the white froth just as she openes her mouth to spit out.
She coorlies and then opens her mouth and watches the water curl into the drain, making sure she keeps tapping her foot on the orange tiles hoping the vibrations keep the cockroaches at bay.
She gathers the trickles of water from the tap into her hands, and then splashes it onto her face. She puts a tiny amount of the pot of cream onto her cheeks, and then wiggles into her comfortable see-through cotton shawar kameez, adjusting the AC vents so that the blast isn’t directly on the bed. She goes out to get a last drink of mineral water from the fridge perched in their sitting room, and then puts her head into her parents room and says “shabbakhair”.
She makes sure there aren’t any stray mosquito’s to torture her in the middle of the night, and then shuts the light.
She says her ayat-ul-kursi (to ward off bad dreams and what not) as she snuggles into bed, and falls blissfully asleep.

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Shes talking on the cordless as she watches TV standing in her loft as as she brushes her teeth, and then neatly spits and gargles into the convenient kitchen sink just outside the bedroom partition. She fills a glass with tap water and takes a drink, and then walks over to her bedroom and strips down to a tank top, then hunts around the newly laundered basket and snuggles into fresh boxers.

She hangs up after making plans for next weekend. She slathers her face in night cream, puts eye pads on her eyes, and collapses amid the dirty clothes scattered on her bed, and falls blissfully asleep.