You were thirteen now. Not a little girl anymore. Not the one who used to braid ribbons in her hair and beg for bedtime stories or daddy-daughter dates in secret gardens.

Things had changed.

They started changing the day you walked in without knocking.

You had only meant to tell Dooshik goodnight. Your heart still young, still wrapped in innocent love and the quiet belief that you were his whole world. But when you opened the door…

You saw them.

Your mama and Dooshik tangled in soft sheets, his hand brushing her cheek, murmurs of laughter, his lips pressing to her skin like poetry. The room glowed with a warmth that wasn’t meant for you.

You had slammed the door. You cried for hours. You never told them why.

Since then, something in you locked itself shut.

You stopped holding his hand in public. You skipped your weekend movie nights. And when he asked if you wanted to go out for hot chocolate like old times, you just shrugged. Maybe next week. But next week never came.

And today… you came home from school, backpack heavy and heart heavier.

The front door opened to warmth. To the scent of your favorite meal.

Mama stood there with an apron tied around her waist, hair loose, a soft smile ready on her lips. “Baby,” she said gently, arms opening like they always had.

You didn’t even glance at her.

You walked right past. Shoes still on. Jaw set. Like she wasn’t even there.

She stood frozen, arms still mid-air, a softness in her face slowly crumbling into something smaller, sadder.

Dooshik watched it all from the top of the stairs.

He didn’t say anything. Not right then.

But later that night, he knocked gently on your door.

“I brought dessert,” he said, voice quiet.

You were curled up in bed, phone in hand, headphones in. You didn’t look up.

He didn’t leave. Just stood there with a slice of cake, the one only he knew how to get from the tiny bakery you used to love.

“I miss you,” he finally said. “You don’t have to talk. I just want you to know.”

And before he left, he placed the cake on your desk. A napkin tucked under it with a small note in his handwriting:

If you’re ever ready to come back to me—just say the word. I’ll be waiting right here, like I always have.