“I’ve always had personality.”
“You’ve always had issues.”
Ishika lets out a quiet laugh beside me. And I swear every single one of them notices.
Shivani walks up next, smiling warmly at Ishika like she’s already accepted her into the chaos without question.
“I’m glad you’re here,” she says gently.
Ishika nods, a little more at ease now. “I’m…glad too.”
Ma appears a second later, like she has some internal radar for important moments.
The second she sees us—Sees our hands—Her face lights up in a way that makes me brace myself. “I knew it,” she says immediately, pointing at me like I’ve been hiding state secrets. “You thought you could keep this from me?”
“I wasn’t hiding—”
She ignores me completely. Her attention shifts entirely to Ishika.
“My child,” she says, already pulling her into a hug before Ishika can react.
Ishika stiffens again. Just for a second. Then slowly, carefully, her arms come up. Not fully wrapping. But not pulling away either.
Progress.
I lean against the wall slightly, watching it happen, something quiet and steady settling in my chest.
“I’ve been waiting for this,” Ma continues, pulling back to look at her properly. “Now it makes sense. His face these days—completely gone.”
“Ma—”
“You don’t talk,” she cuts me off, waving her hand dismissively.
“Come, sit,” she insists, already pulling her toward the couch.
Ishika glances at me over her shoulder. There’s a question there. A silent—
Is this normal?
I grin. My heart hurts that she's not had this but I am also happy she finally does.
Absolutely. I mouth to her shrugging. She sighs like she’s accepted her fate and lets herself be dragged into the center of it all.
I am glad no one asks her questions that may want her to bolt, including Ma, because I fully believed once I introduced her as my girlfriend, my mother may ask when are we getting married but thankfully that didn't happen.
“Cake!” Radhika suddenly announces again, because apparently she has one track mind.
Ishika glances up at me briefly. There’s amusement in her eyes now. Less hesitation. More… comfort.
“You have to make a wish,” she says quietly as everyone starts gathering.
I tilt my head. “You believe in that?”
“No,” she replies simply. “But you still have to do it.”
There’s something in her tone that makes me not argue. When I close my eyes—It’s not a wish I think about.
It’s a moment. This exact one. Her in this room. My people around us. The way her presence has somehow settled into everything like it belongs.
