Just as the breeze picked up again, brushing past them gently, Kim Bum's eyes lit up with sudden energy.
"Let's race."
Y/N blinked. "What?"
He turned to her, an excited smile tugging at his lips. "Race me to that tree," he pointed ahead, eyes gleaming with childlike mischief. "Come on, Little Fox."
She laughed, almost not believing him. "You're joking, right?"
He tilted his head. "Nope. Come on."
She crossed her arms, smirking. "I'm a lazy person. And you're a boy. Boys run faster than girls."
He leaned slightly closer, eyes playful. "Just admit you're scared."
Her eyes widened. "Excuse me?! Scared?" She took a step forward, competitive fire suddenly awakening. "Let's do it then!"
He grinned. "Alright. You count."
She held up a finger. "One—"
He jumped in immediately. "Two—"
And just as she took in a breath to say "three"—
He took off running.
"Yah!! That's cheating!!"
Kim Bum only laughed as he ran ahead, sneakers thudding against the soft ground.
Y/N chased after him, holding up her abaya slightly as she ran, trying to avoid stepping on it. But just as she reached midway—
Her foot got caught.
"A betrayal… by my own abaya…" she groaned dramatically as she stopped, placing her hands on her knees. "Unbelievable."
He turned around at the finish point, clearly the winner, panting a little and flashing her a proud grin. "Victory!"
She walked up slowly, breath uneven. "I demand a rematch… after I switch to track pants."
He laughed again, walking toward her and gently nudging her shoulder. "You did good, Little Fox."
She huffed, still catching her breath, then smiled. "Fine. You win. And because I'm nice…" she reached into the paper bag she had carried from earlier, "...I'll treat the winner."
His eyes lit up again as she handed him a warm samosa wrapped in brown paper.
He stared at it curiously. "What's this?"
"Samosa," she said proudly, handing herself one too. "Here. Just break it from the edge and take a bite. Careful, it's hot."
He held it delicately, examining the shape. "I've seen these on dramas but never had one."
She watched him closely as he took a small bite.
His eyes widened.
"Whoa… it's crispy outside and… what's inside?"
"Potato, a little spice, sometimes peas," she replied, biting into her own. "And magic."
He chuckled. "This is so good. Like… dangerously good."
She nudged his arm again. "Careful. One more compliment and I'll make you eat ten."
He smiled, softer now — almost thoughtful.
It was only the second day.
Second day in her house, her life.
But somehow, sitting beside her on an empty field under a quiet sky, eating warm snacks and laughing like this… it already felt like something he didn't want to lose.
They walked back home side by side, still munching on the last bite of their samosas, a quiet comfort settling between them like a well-worn blanket.
As they reached the gate, Y/N pushed it open with her elbow and turned to him with a swift shift in energy.
"Alright. Go sit inside. Either with Eman or with Amma Appa. I need to start cooking."
Kim Bum blinked. "Wait—what? You're cooking again?"
"Yes," she said matter-of-factly, already slipping off her shoes. "Lunch doesn't make itself, Mr. Actor. And we don't have catering trucks."
He laughed under his breath. "Do you even rest?"
"Sleep is for the rich," she replied dramatically, disappearing into the hallway.
He stood there for a second, still in his sneakers, looking around the living room. The sound of pots being moved and cabinets opening had already begun from the kitchen. It hadn't even been thirty seconds.
"Unbelievable," he whispered to himself, a smile tugging at his lips.
Eman spotted him from the corner, curled up on the couch with a coloring book in hand. "Oppa! You're back!"
He waved at her, walking in and sitting beside her. "Yup. Your sister made me run. Then she fed me. Now she's disappeared into the kitchen again."
Eman giggled, resting her chin on her palm. "That's her every day."
"She does this… all the time?"
"All the time," Eman repeated proudly. "Morning, school, homework, cooking, helping Amma, helping Appa, cleaning, writing, editing, drama stuff—she's like a robot. But a nice robot."
He let out a soft hum, watching the hallway as the faint clatter of spice jars echoed.
Eman nudged him gently. "You like her, don't you?"
Kim Bum blinked.
She shrugged, turning the page in her coloring book. "It's okay. Everyone does."
His mouth curved into a soft smile. "Yeah… I can see why."
Five days had passed.
Five days of shared breakfasts, awkward translations, running errands, quiet smiles across the room, and moments that weren't loud, but still managed to echo in Kim Bum's heart.
By now, he was more comfortable — less lost in the hallways, more used to the constant energy in the home. He no longer flinched at the sound of pressure cookers or the clanging of steel plates. He even knew where the water bottles were kept without asking.
It was evening now.
The house was quiet. Eman had gone to her friend's house, and Appa was still at work. The sun was sliding toward the horizon, painting soft light on the curtains.
He was sitting cross-legged on the floor beside Amma, a notebook open in front of him. His writing was messy, but improving — small Urdu words written in large blocky letters.
"Acha… chai?" he repeated softly.
Amma smiled and nodded, her hands working on peeling vegetables as she repeated, "Chaa-ee."
He tried again. "Chaa… ee."
She gave him a big grin and a thumbs-up, proud like only a mother could be.
Just then, the bedroom door creaked open.
He turned his head—
And his breath paused.
Y/N walked out, freshened up, hair brushed down soft and shining. But it wasn't just that. She was wearing something he hadn't seen before — a traditional black shalwar kameez with gold detailing, sleeves sheer, the dupatta loosely draped, and a small pair of deep red khussay on her feet. The kind of dress he'd only seen in cultural dramas or photos online. On her, it looked…
Different.
Beautiful.
She looked like a painting come alive — soft, elegant, and a little unreal.
He stared without even realizing it — until she noticed.
"Yah!" she waved a hand in front of his face. "Why are you looking like that?"
He blinked fast, sitting straighter. "Ah—nothing, I was just… surprised."
She rolled her eyes and walked over, dropping into the chair next to Amma. "Amma, here I am. Ab agar kuch puchna ho ya baat karni ho, main translate kar dungi."
(Mom I am here,if you want to ask something from him tell me I will translate)
She reached over to the snack plate nearby, grabbing some nimko and popping a few into her mouth — her favorite, he had learned. Her legs curled up into the chair, comfortable, natural, like she'd done this a thousand times before.
Amma said something with a soft laugh and Y/N translated, mouth still full: "She says… you're learning fast. Not bad."
He smiled. "Shukriya… Amma." he said carefully.
Amma laughed with joy, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.
Y/N smiled to herself, translating again. "She says you're officially part of the family now."
He looked between them — Amma smiling with a mother's warmth, Y/N casually munching on snacks, legs curled up in her chair, eyes soft and shining.
He didn't say anything.
But something inside him shifted.
And for the first time in a long, long while…
He didn't feel like a guest in someone else's house.
He felt like he was home.