The sky was still gray when I left Kiani sleeping in the hollow tree, bundled in the hoodie and blanket, clutching a crust of bread in her tiny fingers. I didn't want to leave her. But I had no choice.
I had to go back for Aira.
I had to look her in the eyes and beg her to come with us.
The path back to the farmhouse seemed longer than before. Every step dragged like I was wading through water. My thoughts twisted, looped, tangled. What if she said no? What if she still didn't remember me? What if—despite everything—she chose to stay?
I reached the edge of the clearing just as dawn bled into the sky.
The windows of the house were dark.
John hadn't noticed Kiani was gone—yet.
I crept up to the side of the house, heart pounding, and tapped gently on the glass of the laundry room window. A soft rustling inside. Then footsteps. Slow, quiet, hesitant.
Aira's face appeared.
Our eyes met through the pane.
And for the first time… I saw something flicker in her.
Recognition.
