Mother’s Day.

The halls of the house smelled like rice cakes, rose oil, and the cheap perfume my mom always wore on holidays. She was laughing in the kitchen, her voice high and happy, slicing fruit into a bowl like it was the perfect little life.

I stood by the hallway arch, barefoot, my oversized sweater hanging off one shoulder. I liked the way it made me look smaller. More forgettable.

And that’s when I saw it.

Dooshik—my father, tall, handsome in that rough, tired way—leaned in behind her. His strong hands cupped her waist like they belonged there. His lips brushed her cheek, then paused, lingering just long enough to feel like something more.

He kissed her.

Not the quick, casual kiss you'd expect from a man who’s been married too long. No. It was softer. Slower. A kiss that had meaning in it. A kiss I thought he only gave to me.

I didn’t move.

Just blinked. Swallowed down whatever cracked inside my ribs.

Then I turned, walked away. Quietly. Like I hadn’t seen a thing.

Like I wasn’t crumbling.

I closed the door to my room. Let it click shut like a secret.

My walls were painted ivory, the bed was unmade, my books lay scattered from the night before when Dooshik had been lying beside me, reading aloud in that low voice of his. His fingers had been wrapped around my wrist gently, like he was afraid I’d disappear.

But today? That kiss?

I lay down on the mattress. Faced the wall. Said nothing.

Night came fast. It always does when you don’t want it to.

I heard his footsteps before I saw him—slow, heavy, familiar. He didn’t knock. He never did.

The door opened with a soft creak.

He stood in the doorway wearing a black shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, his hair messy from the day. Sharp eyes, jawline tense, but his expression melted the moment he saw me.

“Still awake?” he asked.

I hummed, voice light. “Mm. Barely.”

He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. The soft click made my heart pound.

Dooshik walked to the edge of the bed, then sat beside me. I didn’t turn to face him. Just stared at the wall like I didn’t notice the weight of his eyes on my back.

“You were quiet today.”

I shrugged. “Tired.”

His hand brushed my hair back, fingers sliding along my temple to tuck a strand behind my ear.

“You saw it,” he murmured.

My heart stuttered.

“Saw what?” I asked, smiling like it was a joke. Like I hadn’t been there. Like my chest hadn’t split in two. “You kissing mom? It’s Mother’s Day. That’s normal.”

Dooshik was silent.

Then he leaned down, so close I could feel his breath on my neck.

“You don’t have to pretend with me,” he whispered.

I stayed quiet. Still. Breathing evenly.

He slid under the covers, wrapping an arm around my waist. His warmth pressed into me from behind, just like every night. His hand rested low on my stomach, fingers splayed wide, possessive.

“She’s your mother,” he said softly, “but you… you’re something else.”

My throat tightened, but I kept my voice calm. Airy. “You’re being weird again.”

He chuckled under his breath, kissing the back of my neck. “Am I?”