And chose to sit with them.
I hadn’t planned to speak. But when you’re sitting in a house filled with ghosts, and someone stays with you long enough… the words start to fall out.
“She used to leave me notes,” I murmured. “Little ones. In my lunchbox. On the mirror. Inside books, she knew I’d pretend not to read.”
Kiara didn’t speak. Just listened. Her hand still wrapped around mine like it belonged there.
“They weren’t big messages. Just… ‘Drink water,’ or ‘Don’t punch anyone at school today,’” I said with a soft laugh. “Sometimes, she’d draw a badly sketched cat because she knew I hated them.”
“She sounds like a badass,” Kiara whispered, her voice warm with something close to reverence.
“She was everything,” I said simply.
Another silence stretched—but it didn’t suffocate. Not with her next to me.
— — —
“This is not called helping, you know,” I said, throwing Kiara a pointed glance as she popped another slice of cucumber into her mouth like it was her life’s calling.
She looked at me with mock innocence, crunching audibly. “I’m tasting for quality. You wouldn’t want to poison us, would you?”
I sighed dramatically, wiping my hands on the kitchen towel. “You said you were going to help. Do not decimate the salad before it even reaches the table.”
“Iamhelping,” she said, waving the half-empty bowl like a trophy. “You won’t let me near the knives, so I have to do something, at least.”
She rolled her eyes, but her smile didn’t fade.
I felt lighter. I hadn’t realized how heavy everything had been until it started to lift.
The letters had done something I hadn’t expected—they let the grief out without tearing me open. Kiara had stayed through it, asking nothing, offering everything, and now here we were—making dinner like we’d done it a thousand times before.
“Why have you been staring at your phone nonstop?” I asked, glancing at Kiara, who sat cross-legged on the dining chair.
She didn’t even look up. Just frowned harder at the screen and scratched the tip of her nose absentmindedly.
“Is it a crime now?” she muttered.
“Nope… please, continue,” I muttered, shaking my head as I focused on tossing the contents of the pan.
“I had shortlisted a fake boyfriend,” she declared, setting her phone on the table with a dramatic sigh.
“Okay…” I paused mid-stir, raising an eyebrow as I glanced over at her. “Should I know…why?”
“To avoid Dadi’s parade of eligible bachelors trying to get me married as soon as I visit her for her birthday,” she replied, crossing her arms like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“And…?” I prompted, already biting back a grin.
“And he cancelled…”
“Who?”
“The fake boyfriend.”
“For how long was he supposed to be theboyfriend?” I leaned casually against the counter, intrigued now.
“Twelve days.”
“And after twelve days?” I pressed. “Do you think Dadi will just give up on your wedding plans after the birthday?”
