Heeriye

Twenty one.

Shehnaaz

Usually, I wake up to two little monkeys jumping on my bed. Today, however—silence. It's glorious. So glorious in fact that it feels too good to be true. Where are the girls? Are they okay? Or should I be more worried about the destruction they're no doubt wreaking on the house?

I end up ruining my peaceful sleep-in by worrying myself awake. I shower fast, dress faster, and sweep my way next door to the girls' room.

It's empty.

I follow my instincts into the kitchen. I hear them before I see them, their little voices raised in excitement.

"I want maple syrup on mine!" Chaya proclaims. "I want chocolate syrup on mine!" That's Ruhi, of course. The kid's a fiend when it comes to chocolate. I swear her veins are straight-up Hershey's at this point. "Don't worry; we have both."

I'm just about to enter the kitchen when I hear his voice and freeze. I was expecting Kanan, not Sidharth. I hang back and peek in tentatively. I spy Jahan just outside the French doors, sitting on one of the deck chairs with a book. He looks pretty tired, considering it's only 8:30 in the morning.

The girls, however, look like little Energizer bunnies. They're both propped up on the breakfast stools surrounding the marble countertops. Sidharth is standing in front of them at the stove, flipping pancakes on a griddle.

I groan inwardly. He's flipping pancakes now? It's bad enough that he's got muscles of steel and a face that could make angels weep. Does he have to be a pancake artist, too? One visual sweep of the kitchen makes it obvious that he whipped them up from scratch, too. My pancakes come from a box. No one's ever accused me of being an overachiever. I'm trying to figure out how I can gracefully slip away and leave them to it when Ruhi spots me.

"bua!" she cries. "We're making pancakes!" I plaster a fake smile onto my face and walk towards the girls. "They smell amazing."

I'm not even pretending. They actually smell mouthwatering. I spot whole vanilla beans on the counter next to long cinnamon sticks.

"How about a cup of tea?" I do a double take. Did Mr. High and Mighty just deign to speak to me?Based on the fact that he's looking right at me, I'm forced to conclude that he did.

"Oh, er, nah, don't worry about it." He lifts an eyebrow. "You need to get something in your system. And your stomach has been off lately. Tea will help settle it."

I just nod uncertainly while he proceeds to get me a cup of tea. He's treating me nicely right now but I don't trust it. This is only because the kids are here and he doesn't want them to see what a giant douche he is But even though I know he's faking it, I still find myself leaning into it. Just a little. Just a very, very little bit. It's nice to be looked after, that's all. To not have to get your own tea in the morning, to have someone ask what you want for a change.

The thing is, I know he's capable of it. He spent months taking care of me and the kids. Sometimes, it was subtle, like the time he insisted on fixing the coffee table before a game of Jenga because he "refused to have his victory compromised by faulty furniture." Other times, it was obvious, like when he bought the kids new shoes and refused to let me pay him back for them.

He's a good man. I've seen that firsthand. Which is why this part is so hard. Seeing the way his eyes harden when they find mine, the way he stiffens instantly as though he's forced to be constantly alert around me... The familiarity and the intimacy that took us months to build has been torn down so fast I still can't quite believe it's gone.

Sometimes, I hate him for refusing to believe me.
Other times, I can see it from his perspective. Most of the time, I just want him to hold me like he used to.