The house had finally settled into a silence that felt heavy, the kind of quiet that only exists after a day of emotional hurricanes.
In the guest room—or rather, Lily's room, which had been conscripted into service—the air was thick with the scent of lavender dryer sheets and the soft, oppressive pink glow of a princess nightlight plugged into the wall. It cast long, strange shadows across the explosion of floral wallpaper.
Aman lay on the temporary air mattress, his arms crossed behind his head. The rubber squeaked with every micro-adjustment of his posture. He felt ridiculous. Here he was, a grown man mentally, a fifteen-year-old physically, camped out on the floor of a toddler's fairy-tale kingdom like a refugee from a darker, grittier timeline.
Across the room, the duvet on the twin bed rustled.
Aman didn't move, but his eyes shifted. Lily was awake. She was propped up on her elbows, staring at him with the unblinking, terrifying intensity that only a four-year-old could muster.
"So," she said, her voice cutting through the silence without a hint of drowsiness. "You are my new brother."
Aman turned his head, meeting her gaze.
"For now," Aman replied evenly. "Is that okay with you?"
Lily narrowed her eyes, clutching a stuffed unicorn with a rainbow mane a little tighter to her chest. She seemed to be weighing his utility against the inconvenience of sharing her space.
"Do you play tea party?" she asked.
Aman didn't miss a beat. "I might not know about tea but I know, how to follow the regulations. Pinkies up at a forty-five-degree angle. Napkins strictly on the lap. Absolutely no slurping, or you're asked to leave the estate." Aman picking a page on which tea party rule were written .
Lily's expression softened into a nod of approval. .
"Okay," she decided, flopping back onto her pillow. "You can stay. But don't touch Mr. Fluffles." She pointed a small finger at a raggedy, one-eyed bear sitting on the dresser. "He bites."
A genuine smile tugged at the corner of Aman's mouth—the first real one he'd felt all day. "Understood. I'll keep my distance from Mr. Fluffles."
Lily yawned, a massive, jaw-cracking sound. She snuggled deeper into her blankets, her voice becoming small and muffled.
"My daddies are sad," she murmured. "Because the other baby didn't come."
"But you came," she said simply. "So maybe they won't cry now. Cam cries loud. "
Aman let out a soft chuckle. "Yeah. He does. I'll try to keep the crying to a minimum, Lily. Go to sleep."
"Okay," she whispered.
Within seconds, her breathing evened out into the soft, rhythmic puff of deep sleep.
Aman turned his gaze back to the ceiling, where glow-in-the-dark stars were stuck in constellations that didn't exist in the real sky. The silence returned, but this time, it brought his own demons with it.
Memories. They were there, swimming in the back of his brain—images of boys named Kevin and Rahul, a girl named Sarah. He knew their faces. He knew Rahul was allergic to peanuts and that Sarah had a crush on the chemistry teacher. But they felt like scenes from a movie he had watched years ago. They were like dream, not people. If he walked into school on Monday, he would be greeting ghosts—strangers who thought they were his best friends. The dissociation made his stomach turn.
He shifted, pulling the floral duvet up to his chin.
what should he do in future ? his option
He could leave. He could petition for emancipation. He had the brain to manage the money, the house, the assets. He could live a life of solitary luxury if he use his future knowledge to gain fortune.
But then what?
The cold logic of his adult mind kicked in. He wasn't American. Not really. He had watched the movies, played the games, consumed the media, but he didn't know the street rules. He didn't know the cultural nuance of navigating the DMV or the IRS or the social hierarchy of a Los Angeles suburb. Original Aman had been a sheltered, well off kid—a soft target.
If he went out there alone—a fifteen-year-old boy with a seven-figure net worth and no guardians? He was prey. He'd be scammed, targeted, or worse within a year. He needed camouflage.
He looked over at Lily, sleeping peacefully in her fortress of stuffed animals.
Modern Family.
That was the variable that changed everything. Why would he run away from the one thing every lonely soul in the universe wanted?
He frowned, a shadow of guilt crossing his face.
To stay meant he had to be adopted. And to be adopted, he had to sell himself.
I need them to want me, he thought, the calculation tasting bitter. They're heartbroken. Vulnerable. They wanted a baby to mold, and they got a teenager with baggage. Am I taking advantage of their grief? Am I manipulating two kind men just to secure my own safety?
He sighed, the weight of the day pressing him into the mattress.
Maybe, he admitted to the darkness. But I can't slip up now. I need them. And frankly... maybe they need a win right now, too. A kid who doesn't need diapers, who doesn't scream, who just needs a home.
He made his decision. He would be the son they didn't know they needed until he was already there. He would ride this out until University.
University... his thoughts began to bleed together as exhaustion finally breached his defenses. What do I even major in? Computer Science is the obvious play for the money... but maybe Law? Mitchell would like that. We could bond over tort reform...or art .
"Put a brake on it, Aman," he whispered to himself. "Spiral tomorrow."
His eyes fluttered shut. The pink nightlight kept watch, casting a long, protective shadow over the boy .
==
The morning sun was too bright for the amount of sleep Aman had gotten. He walked into the kitchen, wearing a simple blue button-down shirt and jeans, trying to look less like a guest and more like someone who lived there.
He was immediately hit by a smell that confused his nose—sweet maple syrup fighting a losing battle against strong, earthy cumin.
"Good morning!" Cam announced, turning from the stove with a flourish. He was wearing an apron that said Kiss the Cook in sequins. "I hope you're hungry because I've whipped up a little cross-cultural delight. I call them 'New Delhi Flapjacks.'"
Mitchell was standing by the counter, holding a travel mug and looking a little stressed. He offered Aman a sympathetic smile.
"Morning, Aman," Mitch said, pushing a plate toward him. "You don't have to eat it if you don't want to. I can make toast."
"Nonsense," Cam waved the spatula. "It's fusion! It's hip!"
Aman sat down next to Lily. He took a bite. It wasn't... terrible. It was just weird. Like a taco trying to be a dessert.
"It's interesting, Cam," Aman said, chewing thoughtfully. "Really bold flavors. But, you know... I'm a simple guy. Maybe tomorrow we could just do regular scrambled eggs? I don't want you working this hard every morning."
Cam's face fell for a second, then brightened. "Oh, you're so considerate! Did you hear that, Mitchell? He wants to save me labor. Scrambled eggs it is."
Mitchell leaned in, lowering his voice, putting a hand on Aman's shoulder. "Hey, are you doing okay about the meeting? Do you have everything? I put a notepad in your bag if you want to write things down. And don't worry if the lawyer uses big words. I'm right there with you."
"I'm good, Mitch," Aman said, appreciating the effort. "Thanks for the backup. It helps knowing a lawyer would in the room."
Lily poked Aman's arm with her fork.
Aman looked down at her serious face. "what?"
"would you get me a gift," she stated. "You said you'd see what you could do."
"Lily, let him breathe," Mitch sighed. "We're going to a legal meeting, not a toy store."
Aman just winked at her. "I haven't forgotten."
The drive to the lawyer's office was quiet. Mitchell drove with both hands on the wheel, glancing over at Aman every few minutes.
"So," Mitchell started, using his 'explaining things to clients' voice. "Mr. Henderson is the trustee. Basically, probate law is just the system's way of making sure everything goes where it's supposed to. It can get sticky with the state involved, but since I'm a lawyer—even though I do environmental law now—I know the lingo."
Aman nodded, looking out the window. He knew Mitchell there being is only extra help for him .
"That's good," Aman said. "I know the basics, like... there's a will and stuff. But I'm glad you're coming. I wouldn't know if he was trying to pull a fast one on me."
Mitchell smiled, visibly relaxing. "Exactly. That's what I'm here for. To be the shark so you don't have to be."
Mr. Henderson's office was nice—lots of mahogany and leather books that looked like they'd never been opened. Mr. Henderson himself was a middle-aged man with kind eyes and a soft handshake.
"Aman," he said warmly. "I'm so sorry for your loss. Your father spoke about you often."
He turned to Mitchell. "Mr. Pritchett, thank you for bringing him. However... I need to discuss the specifics of the will and the financial disclosures directly with Aman. Since you aren't the legal guardian yet, and this involves sensitive family matters, would you mind waiting in the reception area for a few minutes?"
Mitchell blinked, surprised. "Oh. I... well, usually I'd sit in to advise..."
"I understand," Henderson said gently. "But client confidentiality rules are strict with the estate details. It's just for this part."
Mitchell looked at Aman, hesitating.
"It's okay, Mitch," Aman said, giving him a reassuring nod. "I'll be fine. I'll holler if I get confused."
"Okay," Mitchell stood up, buttoning his jacket. "I'll be right outside. Just... take your time."
Mitchell left, closing the door. The room got quieter.
Henderson sat down and opened a thick file. "Okay, Aman. Let's get to it."
He pushed a document across the desk.
"Your parents had a life insurance policy around ~800k it would take some for its processing but it would be processed within this month, along with their savings. "
Aman looked at the number on the page. It was substantial. In the hands of a smart investor, it was freedom.
"Now," Henderson continued, "Because you are a minor, you can't touch the principal amount. It goes into a trust. You have a few options on how we handle this."
He held up three fingers.
"One: We keep it fully locked in low-risk government bonds until you're eighteen. Safe, but low growth."
"Two: We allow for a 'maintenance allowance.' The court approves a monthly amount for your living expenses—clothes, school, food—which goes to your foster parents or directly to you if the court agrees."
Aman said calmly. "For now... let's set up the maintenance allowance. I don't want to ask Mitch and Cam for money every time I need a textbook or a pair of shoes."
"Smart," Henderson nodded, making a note. "I'll draw up the paperwork for the stipend. You take a few days to think about the rest."
"I will," Aman said. "I'll call you."
"So?" Mitchell asked as they sat down at a coffee shop twenty minutes later. He had ordered an iced coffee; Aman had a water. "Did he explain everything? Was it overwhelming?"
Aman took a sip of his water. "It was okay. It's... a good amount of money, Mitch. It's safe."
Mitchell let out a long breath. "Good. That's a relief. I was worried he'd complicate things. You know, you handled that really well, Aman. Most kids would be... well, freaking out."
"I just read a lot of my dad's papers," Aman shrugged, keeping it casual. "He liked to be prepared. I guess it rubbed off."
Mitchell looked at him, a mixture of pride and a slight melancholy in his eyes. He stirred his coffee with his straw. "You're very self-sufficient, aren't you?"
"I had to be," Aman said simply. "But... it's nice having backup."
Mitchell smiled, a real one this time. "Anytime."
When they walked through the front door, Cam was waiting in the living room, holding a throw pillow like a shield.
"Well?" Cam asked, his voice high-pitched. "How did it go? Did we sue anyone?"
"It went fine, Cam," Mitchell said, putting his keys in the bowl. "Aman was a rock star."
Lily ran into the room, sliding on the hardwood floor in her socks. She stopped right in front of Aman and held out her hand.
"Well?" she demanded.
Aman chuckled. He reached into the shopping bag he'd been carrying since they stopped at the mall on the way back. He pulled out a small, colorful box.
"tea set," Aman said, handing it to her. "It has the saucers and everything."
Lily's eyes went wide. She gasped, hugging the box. "Real cups!"
She grabbed Aman's hand with her free hand, pulling him with surprising strength. "Come on. We have to wash them and set up. Mr. Fluffles is thirsty."
"I just got home, Lily," Aman laughed, stumbling a bit as he was dragged toward the hallway.
"Tea waits for no one!" she shouted.
Aman looked back at Mitch and Cam. "I guess I'm booked for the afternoon."
He let himself be dragged away.
Mitchell and Cam stood in the living room, watching them go. Cam rested his head on Mitchell's shoulder.
"He bought her a tea set," Cam sniffled. "He's already learning the way to her heart is through accessories."
"He's a good kid, Cam," Mitchell said softly, wrapping an arm around him. "I think... I think this might actually work."