Mr. Kho opened the door, eyes narrowing at her flushed, tear-wet face. “Riya? What’s wrong? Your eyes—”
“Kian,” she gasped, forcing the words through a tight throat. “He needs you. He’s really upset, and I—I don’t know what to say. I’m not good at this, but he needs someone right now.”
A flash of realization crossed Mr. Kho’s face, followed by a quick, resolute nod. “Take me to him.”
As they returned to the forest, the sun was sinking, casting a dying light over the ground. For a moment, Riya couldn’t see him, the weight of fear pressing in until—
Relief flooded her, hot and sharp. She spotted him, curled beneath a tree, a dark, fragile shape in the shadow. Oppy, the black-and-white cat, sat beside him, an odd sentinel in the fading light.
“Kian...!” Mr. Kho’s voice broke through the quiet as he dropped to his knees beside his son. “Are you okay?”
Kian’s red-rimmed eyes met his father’s. “Dad? You’re here.”
“Yes, I’m here,” Mr. Kho whispered, his voice breaking as he cupped Kian’s face. “What happened?”
The dam broke, and Kian let the tears fall, his body shaking with each sob. “Why did you leave me, too?”
Mr. Kho’s eyes widened. Suddenly, he pulled Kian into a fierce hug. “I’m so sorry. I know your mother leaving hurtyou, but I didn’t realize how much. I should have...” His voice cracked as he tightened his hold on Kian.
Riya could still hear the low murmur of their voices, but the words no longer felt meant for her. That was for family. For them.
Oppy brushed against her legs, sensing her unease. Riya bent to give the cat a gentle pat, then turned toward the path that led out of the forest.
There was nothing more for her here.
Whatever had been broken between Kian and his father, they needed the space to begin mending it on their own.
But her work wasn’t done.
Not yet.
Chapter 30
By the time Riya got home, Sirah khala was already there.
Their eyes met the moment Riya walked into the kitchen, and for a heartbeat, time seemed to pause. There was no need for words; her khala’s look was full of questions, and more pointedly,relief.
“Riya! Look who’s back from Finland!” Riya’s mom waved her over to the dinner table. “Oh, honey. You look tired. Are you okay?”
“Rough day,” Riya mumbled, her eyes meeting Sirah khala’s across the kitchen. She gave her a small, tired smile.
“Hi, kiddo,” said Sirah khala, a knowing twinkle in her eye.
“I just finished making dinner!” Nyra called from over the stove, scooping out giant clumps of something that looked vaguely like pasta. “Go wash up and take a seat.”
“Thank God! I’m starving!” Amara came bounding down the stairs, already in her sweats.
“Don’t say that,” their dad gently corrected, sitting beside their mom at the table. “There are people actually starving.”
“You’re right. Sorry.” Amara nodded seriously. “In that case, I’m so hungry I would even eat Nyra’s gross neon-green cupcakes.”
“No pasta for you!” Nyra yelled, brandishing a pair of tongs in Amara’s direction.
There was something so familiar, so comforting aboutthe scene that Riya’s vision blurred. The warmth of it pressed against the ache she carried from earlier—Kian’s rawness, his panic. The terrifying weight of what she was about to do.
And here was the opposite: mess and comfort and noise. Her mom clattering dishes. Nyra threatening Amara with tongs. Her dad’s voice softening the edges of the room. All of them existing together, unbroken. Unafraid.
She blinked fast, wiped her eyes, and turned toward the sink.
