Ticci Toby

You woke up in the morning to the sound of dishes in the kitchen, but he wasn't there. You stood up, stretched lazily, and headed to the kitchen. And before you could even step inside, a delicious aroma hit your nose: the scent of freshly brewed coffee and golden waffles, fresh from the pan.

Toby was rushing around the kitchen, trying to get breakfast ready: today was a holiday, March 8th. His movements were fussy, but they conveyed genuine concern. Suddenly, he saw you—and twitched, as always, because he has Tourette's syndrome. You'd long since gotten used to it and accepted it as just another trait of your loved one—as important and touching as everything else.

He said stutteringly:

• Oh, you're w-woke up... G-good mor-m-morning...

His eyes shone with such genuine joy that my heart involuntarily filled with warmth. Toby blushed slightly, awkwardly adjusting his shirt sleeve, and, trying to hide his embarrassment, gestured for you to come to the table. — P-please, sit down... I tried a little here. I h-hope you l-like it.

Fluffy waffles with strawberry syrup, fresh berries, and a cup of aromatic coffee with a thin stream of steam awaited you on the table. Everything looked so cozy and homey that it was impossible not to smile. You walked closer, gently touched his shoulder, and quietly said:

• It looks amazing, thank you... This is the most wonderful breakfast.

Toby smiled, a little shyly, but very happily, and nodded, clearly pleased that he could please you on this special day.