But I can’t focus.
Every sound in the house pulls my attention. Every shift of air carries her scent faintly through the corridors, and my body tracks it without permission.
I’ve been in far worse states than this. This isn’t weakness. It’s agitation.
I snap at Kai for leaving a door open.
I correct Koa twice on something inconsequential.
I reread the same page three times and retain none of it.
It isn’t until I step outside onto the terrace that I realise what I’m doing.
Listening.
Waiting.
Forher.
That shouldn’t be true. It wasn’t true a fortnight ago.
I close my eyes and breathe.
The air is cooler here. Cleaner.
It doesn’t help.
My chest feels tight. Not painful, just unsettled. Like something is slightly out of alignment.
I tell myself it’s guilt. It would be easier if it were.
The terrace door opens behind me.
I don’t turn immediately.
Her scent reaches me first – softer than the twins’, but sharper now than it was before. There’s a cold edge to it from the salted jasmine and coconut water. Clean. It hits my senses with a clarity that makes my spine straighten involuntarily.
Then she steps beside me.
Neither of us speak at first.
The agitation eases.
Not completely.
But enough.
I hate how immediate the shift is.
“You’re avoiding me,” she says.
It isn’t accusatory. Just factual.
“I’m giving you space.”
“I didn’t ask for space.”
I keep my gaze on the horizon. “You were angry.”