The morning after their conversation about the future felt softer than expected. Sunlight filtered through the kitchen curtains in warm stripes, and the smell of coffee drifted through the house. Amina came downstairs later than usual, her hair messy and her eyes still heavy with sleep. She paused in the doorway when she saw Elias at the stove and me setting the table.
“Morning,” she said quietly.
Elias turned and gave her a small smile. “Morning. Pancakes okay?”
She nodded and slid into her usual chair. For a few minutes, no one pushed the conversation from the night before. We ate in comfortable silence, the kind that had become more common lately. Amina pushed a piece of pancake around her plate before finally speaking.
“I’ve been thinking about what we talked about last night,” she
