Page 72 of Unravelling: Aria & Crispin
The Al-Mutairis had just brought home their baby-a squalling, pink-cheeked boy with huge brown eyes and a determined little frown. The door opened to warmth and quiet mayhem.
The newborn cried softly in his mother's arms, while two older children-one in mismatched socks, the other in pyjamas with dinosaurs-peeked at Aria from behind her legs. A third, a toddler with a jam-smeared chin, toddled into view holding a wooden spoon.
Aria smiled and held out the quilt she'd stitched over long, silent nights-a colourful patchwork with tiny hand-stitched stars spiralling across it.
"For him," she said softly.
The mother blinked, touching the edge of the fabric reverently. "It's beautiful," she whispered as she accepted it with both hands and examined it with eager eyes. Her husband nodded, eyes tired but warm.
As the two older children jostled to get a better look, the baby let out a long, determined wail, and the toddler began to shriek in delight at the sound, clapping his spoon against the floor.
Amid the chaos, Aria caught a glimpse past the doorframe.
The flat was loved and lived in, but sparse.
A second-hand sofa with a blanket thrown over the frayed arm abutted a single bookshelf with more dust than books. A foldable table that had clearly seen better years held folded laundry. She knew what it meant to make things stretch.
She hesitated. "I've got some furniture and kitchenware, if you want to take a look..."
The father straightened, pride flickering in his expression. "We couldn't accept charity..."
"I'm not offering charity," Aria said quickly, her voice light. "Make me an offer. Better than letting it all go to the tip."
There was a pause before he nodded. "We'll come tomorrow. Thank you."
They didn't say more. They didn't need to.
As Aria turned to go, she glanced back once more at the children now piling onto the sofa like cats, at the new mother humming beneath her breath, and at the father gently rocking the baby.
Later that evening, after setting aside what they'd chosen, she folded a thick envelope, filled with more than they'd paid. She scrawled a quiet "for the children" across it, tucked it into her pocket, and planned to slip it through their letter chute the moment she locked her door for the last time.
Her phone buzzed with another message. Crispin.
You tempt me like no one else ever has. I want to wrap your hair around my hand, hold you steady, and kiss you until you forget why you want to leave me.
Lule and Rahul had come the day before and helped carry most of her things. Now, only what mattered most remained: a handbag and one small overnight bag.
She looked around one last time, then turned the key in the lock.
She slipped it through the letterbox, just as the landlord had asked.
Khalid was waiting by the curb, holding a foil-wrapped sandwich. His usual grin was soft today. His eyes, not so dry.
"It's vegetarian," he said. "Figured you'd want that."
She reached for it, noticed the quick glance he gave her-at the soft roundness of her middle, the new curve to her frame. His expression didn't change, but something in his eyes flickered. Understanding.
Their eyes met, and for a moment, everything unsaid sat between them.
He was a traditionalist. They didn't hug.
So, she nodded, turned, and walked away as the sky blurred into a watercolour painting.
The station platform was cold underfoot. The cold crept into Aria's sleeves and collar, no matter how tightly she wrapped herself.
Aria stood near the middle of the platform, a small airbag at her side and her backpack slung over one shoulder. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, watching the arrivals board flicker and blink. Her train was on time.
The world moved around her while it felt like she was static. People were hugging, rushing, sipping bad coffee from paper cups. But her eyes caught on a small moment that stilled everything else.
