“Okay.” I reply softly. She exhales slowly, like she’s been holding that breath for longer than necessary.
“Idiot,” she mutters under her breath.
I smile. There she is.
She disappears into the kitchen for a minute and comes back with a glass of water and my medicines, placing them in front of me like she’s managing a very uncooperative patient. “Take these.”
“Yes, ma’am.” She glares at me. I take the pills.
Win. She watches me like she doesn’t trust me to do it properly, arms crossed, weight shifted onto one leg in that familiar stance she slips into when she’s trying to stay in control.
“Happy?” I ask.
“No.”
“Of course not.”
She rolls her eyes, but there’s no real irritation behind it anymore. Just…habit. She moves around the room after that, straightening things that don’t need straightening, adjusting curtains that were perfectly fine two minutes ago, picking up a book and putting it back down in the exact same spot.
Restless. I watch her. Take it in. The way her movements are sharper than usual, like she has too much energy and nowhere to put it. The way she keeps glancing at me when she thinks I’m not looking. The way she exhales a little too slowly every time she does. “You’re hovering,” I point out.
“I am not.”
“You’ve circled this room at least five times.”
“I’m just…doing things.”
“There are no things left to do.”
She stops and turns to look at me. Opens her mouth to argue—Then closes it. Because she knows I’m right.
“I love you.” I say gently. It slips out easily. Like it belongs in the middle of this moment. She freezes. Just for a second. And then something shifts. It’s subtle. But I see it.
Her shoulders drop a fraction. The tension in her face softens, like those three words undo something inside her she didn’t realize was wound too tight. “I like you too,” She walks back toward me, slower this time, less frantic, and sits on the edge of the couch, her fingers brushing against mine like it’s accidental.
It’s not. I lace our fingers together anyway. She doesn’t pull away. There’s a knock on the door, she shifts away from me as the door opens softly. Ma walks in.
“I’ll get tea,” Ishika says quickly, already standing up like she needs a reason to move again. Ma watches her go. Then looks at me and smiles. Not the teasing one. Not the knowing one she usually gives when Ishika is around. Something quieter.
“Finally,” she says softly.
I huff out a breath. “Ma—”
“No,” she waves me off, sitting down beside me. “Let me say it.”
I lean back slightly, already knowing I’m not winning this. “I have waited a long time to see you like this,” she continues, her voice calm but weighted with something real. “With someone you don’t have to…perform for.”
I glance toward the kitchen. She’s there, moving around, probably pretending she can’t hear us. “She’s stubborn,” Ma adds.
I grin. “You have no idea.”
“She cares,” she says simply.
That—lands differently. I look back at her. Ma studies my face for a second, then continues, softer now. “You didn’t see her in the hospital.” Something in my chest tightens. I don’t interrupt.
“There was fear on her face,” Ma says quietly. “Not the kind people show easily. The kind that comes from thinking you’re about to lose something you didn’t even realize you needed this much.”
I swallow. My grip on the cushion beside me tightens slightly. “She was shaking,” Ma adds. “Apologizing to me like she had done something unforgivable.”
