Kiaan was the first to wake. The village was still quiet, save for the chirping of birds and the occasional bark of a distant dog. He stepped out of the courtyard where they'd slept and splashed cool water on his face from the outdoor basin.
Soon, Kavi stirred awake, the pink sari rustling as he stretched under the morning sun.
They didn't bother changing their clothes just freshened up, brushed with neem twigs Nahala had handed them, and folded the shawl they'd used through the night. Kiaan threw on a plain white top over his lungi while Kavi adjusted the pleats of his sari.
The clothes they'd worn while helping on the farm had been laundered and neatly folded by Nahala.
As the three walked through the narrow path leading to the village's edge, Nahala handed the bundle to Kiaan with a proud grin. Then, turning to Kavi, they reached into a cloth bag and pulled out another sari, this one light blue with delicate silver embroidery.
"Keep it," Nahala said. "A souvenir. Maybe you'll wear it next time you visit."
Kavi blushed, unsure how to react, but he accepted it with a soft smile. "Thank you," he whispered, brushing the fabric with his fingers.
As they reached the outskirts, Kiaan noticed Nahala holding a small, worn button phone the kind with a flashlight and no touchscreen. He took it from them gently, typed in his number, and handed it back.
"That's my number," he said. "Save it. If you're ever in the city, call me. No matter what time."
Nahala grinned, the kind of grin that held pride and gratitude all at once. "Big people with big hearts. Don't forget us here."
Kiaan touched thier arm. "I won't."
Kavi looked back once as they stepped away, sari billowing gently in the breeze. Nahala waved, their figure shrinking behind the haze of morning mist and the low hum of village life returning to rhythm.
The air inside the farmhouse was still cool when they returned. Kavi kicked off his slippers at the door and collapsed onto the couch with a long, weary sigh, the folded blue sari Nahala had gifted him tucked protectively against his side.
Kiaan followed a bit later, tossing his rolled-up lungi onto a nearby chair. Without a word, he disappeared into the kitchen. The clinking of mug and the soft clatter of a spoon followed, accompanied by the familiar aroma of instant coffee rising in the air.
When he returned, he handed Kavi a steaming mug and sank down beside him, stretching out his legs with a tired grunt.
For a while, they didn't speak. The silence wasn't awkward, Kiaan turned his head slightly, his eyes dropping to Kavi's wrist resting on the mug slender, delicate, too slender.
"Kavi," he said gently, the name barely more than a breath. "I hope you don't take this the wrong way, but… I've noticed you haven't really been eating. Not since yesterday afternoon."
Kavi raised his cup mid-sip, blinking as though startled out of thought. His smile came too quick.
"What?" he said, brushing it off with a soft laugh. "No. Come on. I'm fine. Everything's fine. Just tired, that's all."
But Kiaan didn't smile back.
He didn't argue either.
He just gave a single, slow nod and looked down into his cup, watching the steam twist and vanish.
Beside him, Kavi kept sipping quietly, as though the warmth of the coffee might fill more than just the hollowness in his belly.
After their morning coffee, the exhaustion from the last two days finally caught up to them. Without intending to, both Kavi and Kiaan slept off on the couch. They lay side by side.
By the time they woke, it was already afternoon. Sunlight had shifted across the room, glowing faintly through the curtains. They blinked against the light, still groggy, and without saying much, wandered into the bathroom to clean up.
They showered together, the way couples do when they're comfortable around each other. They moved around each other quietly—washing off sweat, rinsing their hair, brushing their teeth but not once did Kavi say anything about being hungry. Kiaan noticed. He noticed how he didn't even glance at the kitchen or mention food.
It stayed in the back of Kiaan's mind as they dried off and changed. Kavi wore soft cotton pants and a light tee; Kiaan slipped into shorts and an old tank top. It was a slow, relaxing day.
He went into the kitchen and made a simple snack cereal and milk. Something easy. Not too heavy. Just enough.
He brought two bowls into the living room and handed one to Kavi, who had curled up on the couch again. Kavi took the bowl with a small, polite nod, but Kiaan saw how hesitant he was. His fingers trembled slightly as he gripped the ceramic.
Kiaan sat beside him and began eating from his own bowl, casually, like nothing was wrong. He didn't want to make Kavi uncomfortable. So he talked about nothing important muttered something about the milk being colder than expected and kept an eye on him without being obvious.
But Kavi didn't eat.
He stirred the cereal, over and over, like he was trying to convince himself he was doing something. His eyes didn't focus on the food. His shoulders were tense. He looked like someone trying to fake normal.
After several minutes of silence, he took a small bite. One spoonful. He chewed slowly, reluctantly, like the act itself required too much energy.
That was all Kiaan could take.
"Kavi…" he said gently, setting his own bowl on the coffee table. He reached for Kavi's hand and held it lightly. "Are you okay? Just… try to eat a little. Please."
Kavi looked down at their hands for a moment but didn't say anything. He didn't meet Kiaan's eyes.
So Kiaan reached for the spoon in Kavi's bowl, scooped up a bit of cereal, and tried to feed it to him himself.
But Kavi reacted instantly. He slapped the spoon away, hard. Milk splattered onto the table and floor, the spoon hitting the ground with a metallic clink.
"I told you I'm fine!" he snapped, voice tight and shaking. "I'm fine, Kiaan. There's nothing wrong with me!"
The room went still.
Kiaan didn't say anything. He didn't know what to say.
Kavi stood up so quickly that the couch cushion flipped. His legs brushed the coffee table as he backed away, jaw clenched, eyes shiny with frustration or maybe something else. Without another word, he turned and walked down the hallway.
Then the sound of the bedroom door slammed behind him.
BAM.
Kiaan sat there, stunned, looking at the mess on the floor the spoon, the small pool of milk, the cereal softening by the second.