Slurp

Outside, she will sit outside.
The front porch had a little step just below the entrance, and that’s where she’ll sit. In these early hours of the morning the sun was still a hazy promise for a new day, and only the birds had realised what it was promising, singing their frivolous songs with joy and excitement that Aisha hadn’t felt in 30 years.
Coffee, she will drink coffee. In a mug he was never able to smash because she hid it under her bed every single day, and was the only thing she had left from her grandmother. The one memory of a former life she was unwilling to give away.
The water boiled, the noise of the bubbling kettle, for once, not inciting any rage. She slammed the coffee can on the counter, rejoicing in the Noise filling her tiny kitchen. This kitchen that had only been hers for a week, but felt more like home than that big house she had spent the last thirty years in.
And sugar, real sugar, because if she got fat, nobody would comment on it, nobody would shame and blame and make her give up her lunch every day for weeks because of it. Aisha stirred in a spoonful, and after some thought, another one. The rich creamy liquid absorbed the crystal white granules without a trace, if anything, it became even richer, darker in contrast, and the smell spread in her tiny house, deepening the sweetness of the morning. 
She always loved this time of day, the night with its terrors and broken promises shifting into what could be a beautiful day, if she only did everything right, if she could only keep herself completely quiet and wholly invisible. Only after the sun would come out in force would she realise what a futile race she was running, day in, day out, doing the best she can to erase herself from her own life.
Aisha opened the front door with the mug held safely in her hands. It burned her fingers but she did not care, hanging on to the only legacy she had left of her grandmother, because it was on that day, 30 years ago, when Aisha was caped in white, blushing and laughing, and her grandmother leaned in as if to kiss her cheek her but instead, whispered in her juvenile ear, “RUN”. Aisha never did what her grandmother begged her to, not until it was much too late.
Lowering her aching bones onto the tiny step, sighing slightly with pain, Aisha inhaled the steaming aroma engulfing her face. It was bitter and harsh, but oh, so incredibly sweet.
Habit took over and she sipped, quietly, the brown liquid burning her lips. But then, remembering once again that she was alone, no longer needing to be quiet every second of every day, she slurped. Aisha slurped the drink so loudly that the birds had stopped singing, happily copying the sound, and the slurp become a new note in their ever-changing morning song.