The morning after the conversation felt fragile, like the first thin ice on a pond — beautiful but something you stepped on carefully. Sunlight poured across the porch in soft, slanted beams, catching on the last of the lilacs that still clung to the bushes along the railing. Amina had slept late. Elias and I moved around the kitchen quietly, making coffee and a simple breakfast of toast, eggs, and fruit, giving her the space she might need when she woke up.
When she finally appeared around ten, her eyes were a little puffy but her expression was calmer than I expected. She accepted the mug of coffee Elias offered and sat down at the porch table without speaking right away. The three of us ate in gentle silence for a few minutes, the kind of silence that holds room for thoughts rather tha
