Raf is cleaning his gun when his mother knocks on the door. Again.

“Rafael. Come out. Guests are here.”

He mutters something about background checks and reluctantly puts the weapon away.

Downstairs, he freezes when he sees her. Same girl. Same stupid twinkle in her eyes. She’s wearing yellow. Again. Like a walking hazard sign.

She waves.

“Hey, stranger. Still refusing to use WhatsApp?”

“It’s insecure,” he grunts.

She rolls her eyes, flops down onto his mom’s couch like she owns it, and immediately opens a cupcake box.

“Auntie said you like lemon. I personally think that’s criminal, but hey — whatever makes the tin man feel things.”

He watches her. Like always.

His mother brings chai, sits beside her, strokes her hair and sighs dramatically.

“You know, beta, I always prayed you’d marry into this family. Why not just marry this one?”

She chokes on her cupcake. Raf stiffens like he’s been shot.

His mother continues cheerfully.

“You already come here more than he does. I told your mother — these two would balance each other. She keeps things warm, and he keeps the burglars out.”

“Ammi,” Raf says, voice dangerously low.

But she only waves a hand.

“Don’t give me that look. I’ve known her since she was in pigtails. She already calls me Auntie-Ammi. Just drop the ‘Auntie’ and make it official.”

There’s silence. She’s still trying to swallow her laugh.

“Okay, but imagine the trauma of being married to someone who puts cameras in their fridge.”

“It was one time,” Raf mutters. “The delivery guy was suspicious.”

She snorts.

⸻

🌙 LATER THAT NIGHT

He walks her to her car. Automatically. No questions asked.

She leans against the door, arms crossed.

“So. Your mom wants to marry us off.”

He doesn’t look at her.

“She’s old-fashioned.”

“And you? What do you think?”

He’s quiet for a beat too long.

“You’re reckless. Loud. You sing in elevators. You leave your front door open.”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“You’d hate it,” he says, voice rough. “Being with someone like me.”