Once the baby, finally sated and sleepy, was gently placed in the portable crib and began to doze, Yugh let out a long, weary breath. He looked at Anisa, a faint, apologetic smile touching his lips. "I desperately need a shower. I'll be quick," he said, gesturing to his rumpled, slightly stained shirt. "Make yourself at home." đŤ
He disappeared into the bathroom, and the sound of running water soon followed. Left alone in the living room, Anisa's eyes swept over the gentle chaos, the scattered blankets, the empty bottle, the little tub. Without a second thought, she rolled up her sleeves. She quietly tidied the cushions, folded the blankets into a neat stack, washed the bottle and put it to dry, and wiped down the surfaces. It was a small, instinctive act of care, bringing order to the beautiful, demanding disorder he had welcomed into his life.
When Yugh emerged, hair damp and looking more like himself in clean clothes, he stopped short. The room was tidy, a calm oasis restored. Anisa was pouring hot water into two mugs she'd found. âď¸
"You didn't have to..." he began, deeply touched.
"I know," she said softly, handing him a coffee. They sat together on the now-clear sofa, the only sound the baby's soft, rhythmic breathing from the crib. đ
They talked for a long time, not about the past, but about the practical, overwhelming, wonderful present. He told her about the sleepless nights, the panic of the first bath. She listened, asked questions, and offered gentle advice she'd picked up from Kirana. The conversation was easy, intimate, grounded in this new reality.
As she prepared to leave, she turned to him at the door. Her voice was firm, sincere. "You're not in this alone, Yugh. I want to help. However I can. With him," she said, nodding towards the sleeping baby. "However you need." đ
It wasn't just an offer of babysitting. It was a declaration of solidarity, a promise to stand beside him in the life he had chosen, a life that now included a tiny, vulnerable heart that needed them both. âŁď¸