Will You Come Home With Me?"
971 Words
Elias's POV
I've been watching Aaira for ten minutes.
She doesn't notice.
She's sitting cross-legged on the floor, arranging her toys in perfect rows—robots on the left, animals on the right, and a broken toy car in the middle like it rules both kingdoms.
She hums quietly while she works. A song with no words. A tune only she understands.
The morning light catches in her hair, and I notice the small cowlick on the left side that refuses to stay down.
I look away immediately.
Why am I noticing things like that?
I clear my throat.
“Aaira.”
She looks up instantly, eyes wide.
“Hmm?”
She always does that—drops everything the moment I say her name, like my voice matters.
It does something to my chest.
Something warm.
Something I don’t understand.
“I need to ask you something,” I say carefully. “Something important.”
She places the toy car down gently, as if it has feelings, and turns toward me completely.
“Okay,” she says seriously. “I’m listening with my good ears.”
I almost smile.
Almost.
“This house…” I gesture around us. “It has a lot of memories. Good ones. But also sad ones now.”
Her face falls slightly.
“Mama and Papa aren’t coming back,” she says quietly.
Not a question.
A fact she has memorized without fully understanding.
“No,” I say gently. “They aren’t.”
Silence settles between us.
She picks at her fingers.
I’ve noticed she does that when she’s nervous.
“Those people,” she says suddenly. “Nop and Heidi. They keep coming. They’re loud. They touch without asking.”
Her shoulders curl inward.
“I don’t like them.”
My jaw tightens.
“I know.”
The words come out sharper than I mean.
She flinches.
I soften immediately.
“That’s why I want to ask you something.”
She tilts her head.
“Would you like to come live with me?”
She blinks.
“Live? Like… sleep there every night?”
“Yes.”
“Milli and Irin too?”
“If they want to come.”
Her eyes grow wide.
She thinks carefully.
“But… what about Mama’s kitchen?” she asks, her voice breaking. “What about Papa’s chair?”
Something painful twists inside me.
“We can bring things that matter to you,” I tell her gently. “Photos, your art, your toys. Anything that helps you feel safe.”
She looks around the room at her paintings, her books, her small world.
“Will your house have enough space?” she asks. “My things are… a lot.”
I finally smile.
“I have more than enough space.”
She nods slowly.
Then she asks the question I’m not ready for.
“Why do you want me there?”
Her voice is quiet.
“I ask too many questions,” she whispers. “I cry loud. I don’t understand things fast.”
My throat tightens.
So I kneel down to her level.
“Because you’re kind,” I say. “And because you deserve a home where you feel safe.”
Her eyes search mine.
“Friend-safe?”
“Yes,” I say. “Friend-safe.”
She thinks for a long moment.
“Will you get tired of me?”
The question hurts more than it should.
“No.”
I say it firmly.
“I won’t.”
“Even when I’m annoying?”
“Even then.”
A small smile appears on her face.
“Okay,” she whispers.
“Okay?”
She nods.
“I’ll come.”
Then she raises one finger.
“But you have to promise.”
“What?”
“That you won’t leave without telling me.”
I take her hand gently.
“I promise.”
She squeezes back.
“Okay, My Bunny,” she says softly. “I’ll come home with you.”
Aaira’s POV
Elias’s hand is warm.
Cold on the outside, warm on the inside, like holding a cup of tea in winter.
People think I don’t notice things.
But I do.
I notice when his shoulders get tight when he’s worried.
I notice when his voice sounds sharp with other people but soft with me.
“You promise?” I ask again.
“Because promises are important.”
He nods.
“I promise.”
I believe him.
I don’t know why.
“Will your house have windows?” I ask.
He blinks.
“Yes.”
“Big windows?”
“Very big.”
“Good,” I say. “I like watching clouds. They have faces.”
He almost smiles.
“Maybe you can teach me.”
My heart feels lighter.
“Okay! I’ll teach you clouds and watches and Mr. Robo and—”
“One thing at a time,” he says, but his voice sounds softer than before.
I like that voice.
“Why do people call you the Ice King?” I ask. “I saw your picture in Papa’s magazine.”
He freezes.
“Are you cold?” I ask. “Your hand is warm.”
He looks at our joined hands.
“I used to be distant,” he says quietly.
“But not with me?”
He looks at me for a long time.
“Not with you.”
I don’t understand exactly what that means.
But I know it’s important.
So I squeeze his hand.
“Good,” I say. “Because ice is pretty, but lonely. And you’re not lonely now. You have me.”
Something changes in his expression.
I can’t tell if it’s sadness or gratitude.
Grown-up faces are hard.
But he squeezes my hand back.
And I think maybe everything will be okay.
- Writer
