London, England – Late Afternoon

The car ride is quiet, but not the comfortable kind. Your fingers drum lightly against your knee, and I catch the movement out of the corner of my eye. Nerves. I get it. I reach over, resting my hand over yours, giving it a small squeeze.

“She’s gonna love you,” I say, glancing over with a reassuring smile.

You give me a look that’s half-skeptical, half-grateful, and I know exactly what you’re thinking. What if she doesn’t? What if she disapproves?

My mum’s house comes into view—modest, cozy, the same place that still smells like childhood and Sunday roasts. I park the car, turning to you before either of us step out.

“Just be yourself, alright? You don’t have to prove anything to anyone.”

The front door swings open before we even make it to the step. Mum’s already waiting, arms crossed, eyes scanning you like she’s reading a book she hasn’t decided if she likes yet. But then, a warm smile spreads across her face, softening the moment.

“You must be the girl I keep hearing about,” she says, stepping forward to pull you into a hug before you even have a chance to react.

I exhale, tension I didn’t even know I was holding melting away.

Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.