Page 110 of Johan.

I sigh. “Until last week, they didn’t.”

“How was their reaction?” Astrid asks, and I think I detect genuine concern in her voice.

“I just told Mom. I assume she’ll share this info with Dad. But it went okay; I had to promise to keep doing therapy, but apart from that, it went well enough.”

Astrid nods, a smile of understanding softening her features. “I’m happy everything went well.”

The kitchen hums with quiet activity as we move about, the sound of rain beginning to pour outside providing a soothingbackdrop. The aroma of garlic and herbs fills the air, mingling with the scent of simmering tomatoes. I chop vegetables while Astrid stirs the sauce, our movements synchronized like a well-practiced dance. Then I hesitate, my hands pausing over the cutting board. The words I need to say weigh heavily on my tongue. I glance at Astrid, her shoulders slightly hunched, a faint shadow of distress flickering across her face despite the serene moment we’re sharing.

“Astrid,” I say softly, breaking the comfortable silence. My heart pounds as I prepare to broach the delicate subject. “I know you got expelled from your PhD program because of your behavior towards Johan. What are you going to do?”

Astrid’s smile fades instantly, replaced by a look of raw uncertainty and shame. Her hand hovers over the pot, her eyes downcast. The distress is clear in the way her jaw tightens and the way she grips the wooden spoon a little too tightly. “I don’t know,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper. “I intend to speak to my dad when he comes back and try to figure out a plan from there.”

“Do you know when he’ll be back?” I ask, probing if she knows that he was detained, and if she does, will she share such info with me?

She shakes her head. “Nope. He and Mum went on a last-minute trip to Morocco. Dad hasn’t called yet.” She lowers her gaze, ruminating for a moment. “The fact he left right before I needed him the most…” Her vulnerability tugs at my heart, and I feel a pang of sympathy. The air feels heavier, laden with unspoken fears and the weight of her past actions.

I nod, understanding the fear and uncertainty swirling inside her. “You’re strong, Astrid. You’ll find a way through this, no matter what.”

She looks up at me, her eyes reflecting a mix of gratitude and sadness, her distress palpable. “Thank you, Hannah. I hope you’re right.”

I take a deep breath, sensing this is a crucial moment. “You know, if you show remorse and offer a proper apology for your behavior towards Johan, maybe the council will accept you back.”

Astrid's eyes widen, and a flicker of hope mingles with the distress on her face. She stirs the sauce slowly, her mind clearly turning over my suggestion. “Do you really think that could work?” she asks, her voice trembling with the faintest hint of optimism.

“It might,” I say, offering a reassuring smile. “The council wants to see genuine remorse and a willingness to change. If you can show that, they might give you another chance.”

“I owe you an apology, too,” she finally says, her gaze meeting mine, “pretending like I knew nothing and playing with your feelings was wrong. I’m sorry.”

“Thank you,” I tell her sincerely. “I appreciate the honesty.”

We continue cooking in companionable silence, the kitchen filling with the rich scents of our meal. The rain beats a steady rhythm against the windows, the sound comforting and constant. Despite everything that has happened, this moment of normalcy feels like a small victory. The warmth of the kitchen and the act of preparing food together offer a brief respite from the turmoil of our lives.

As I finish chopping the vegetables, I can’t help but feel a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, we can find a way to move forward from the tangled mess of our past. “I had missed this,” she says softly as we finish our meal preparation.

“Me too,” I respond, and I mean it.

After dinner, a thunderstorm begins to rage outside, the sound of rain pounding against the windows creating a rhythmic backdrop. Thunder rumbles in the distance, and occasional flashes of lightning illuminate the darkened sky. The storm's intensity is almost hypnotic, casting the house into a cocoon of sound. We clear the plates in comfortable silence, the echoes of our earlier laughter still lingering in the air. The kitchen feels warm and lived-in, a stark contrast to the chill that had greeted me at the door.

Astrid looks a little lighter, her face not as strained. “Do you want to watch something?” she asks, glancing toward the stairs.

“Yeah, that sounds good,” I reply, trying to keep my tone light and steady. Despite the ease of our conversation, there's still a tension beneath the surface.

We head to her bedroom, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting gentle shadows across the room. The familiarity of the space, with its plush carpet and neatly arranged bookshelves, brings a sense of comfort. We settle onto the mattress, the TV flickering to life in front of us. Astrid scrolls through the options, finally settling on a series we both enjoy.

As the first episode begins, I steal glances at her from the corner of my eye. She's leaning back against the headboard, her eyes focused on the screen, but there's a softness in her expression that wasn't there before. I can't help but feel a swell of hope that maybe, just maybe, this night can be a turning point for us.

Hours pass, and we lose ourselves in the fictional world, momentarily forgetting the troubles of reality. The rain outside slows to a gentle drizzle, and the rhythmic tapping against the windows provides a comforting backdrop to the scenes playing out on the TV.

Eventually, we both start to drift off. The events of the day have taken their toll, and the exhaustion is undeniable. I glanceat the clock – it's past midnight. I reach for the remote to turn off the TV, the screen going dark and plunging the room into a peaceful quiet.

As I sink back into the mattress, a sudden noise catches my attention. Footsteps on the gravel outside. My heart skips a beat, and I feel a cold shiver run down my spine. I hold my breath, straining to listen.

“Astrid,” I whisper, shaking her awake.

She stirs, her eyes fluttering open with groggy confusion. “What?” she murmurs, rubbing her eyes.

“Listen,” I urge, my voice barely above a whisper. “I heard someone outside.”

---