Page 8

Aoi

With perfect timing, the bathroom door opens, and Visha steps out wearing the clothes I lent him.

They’re massive on him, and I have to fight the urge to wheeze at the sight. Children are truly precious little gremlins.

He holds the sweatpants up as they keep sliding down.

“The pants are a bit big,” he mutters and looks away.

I chuckle and stride towards him, pulling off the elastic on my wrist to tie a knot on the waist band of the sweatpants. I make sure to avoid immediate skin contact. Freaking him out is the last thing I want.

He pulls his little hands away and lets me tie it. The sweater looks more like a dress on him than a sweater which is absolutely adorable.

I never wanted children of my own. As a matter of fact, I have never even thought about it ever since I realized, back in high school, that I liked men. There’s no inherent correlation to my sexuality, but I simply figured out at that same moment that I have no interest in having children. Being a parent is difficult and having children is a choice one must be 100% certain of and I know it’s not for me.

My relationship with Jason–if one can even call it that–is too tricky for me to ever think about potential kids. I mean, we’re not together but I don’t know how to describe what we have. Besides, I can barely take care of myself so taking care of a child is a no go. Well, now the situation has clearly changed but it isn’t definite.

“I hope you’re hungry.”

At those words his face lights up. That’s a clear answer. I gesture for him to follow me and take a seat around the oak table. He sits down on one of the dark grey chairs and like the polite little gentleman he is, he patiently waits for me to put down the plate of pasta in front of him. He looks at me eagerly and gratefully but doesn’t dare reach for the fork.

“Go on. It’s for you.”

He stabs the pasta as if he hasn’t eaten in days and shoves chunks of it in his tiny mouth. I even start worrying that he’ll choke on his food.

“Slow down or you’ll get indigestion. Don’t worry, no one’s gonna steal the plate from you.”

He nods shyly and continues eating slower this time, enjoying every bite. I can’t take my eyes off him. His hair is still wet from the shower and his cheeks are plump and rosy.

It’s so incredibly unusual to have someone, anyone , eat something I prepared. I could get used to this, but I know I shouldn’t. Getting attached will only burden me.

Visha pauses his vigorous devouring and speaks up, “Is it really fine for me to stay with you?”

“Nope, I’m definitely gonna kick you out,” I joke, massaging my nape. “Of course it’s fine. Where would you go if not here? It’s not as if you have a list of options to pick from.”

His face betrays an incomparable fear of rejection and abandonment, his knuckles turning white from the sheer force with which he squeezes the fork.

“Stay for as long as you need. I don’t mind some company.” I lean my chin on my hand. “You’ll tell me more about your situation later and then we’ll figure this out.”

Someone must be looking for him. Perhaps his parents or a guardian. I’m not sure what he meant by not having a home but there has to be a deeper story behind. I don’t know yet if I should alert the authorities about him running away from home, but I certainly will have to call someone to figure out this mess. Guess I’ll think about a solution after he tells me more.

He nods and finishes his plate in the blink of an eye. “Thank you for the food. It was really tasty,” he mumbles, unsure of how to proceed next.

I smile and pick up the plate before bringing it into the kitchen. His tiny smile makes me want to ruffle up his hair, but I think he’s going to bite me if I dare to do that.

As I open the dishwasher and put the plate inside, I feel a tiny hand pulling on the hem of my sweater, forcing me to look down. Visha rubs his eye and yawns.

“We need to dry your hair before bed, or you’ll catch a cold.” I reach for his hand but hesitate.

Instead, I rest it on his back and lead him to the bathroom where I turn on the blow dryer and start drying his dark brown hair. Visha’s very patient and cooperative during the entire process. I do my best to avoid any brusque movements in fear of startling him. It’s odd having to pay attention to each gesture I make.

Visha is visibly afraid of touch but not all types of touch. He didn’t mind taking my hand when we were outside, but the second I grabbed him, he freaked out.

I turn off the device and notice him dozing off in a standing position. I bite back a laugh and lower my voice, “It’s already late, isn’t it? Let’s go to sleep. Tomorrow we’ll talk.” As gently as possible I ask, “Can I pick you up?”

He nods and spreads his arms. I delicately pick him up and surprisingly he holds onto me, wrapping his little arms around my neck. Jeez, he’s so cute I could melt.

He obediently lets me carry him to my room and lay him down on the bed. I push the covers aside and shift him underneath before tucking him in. Visha thanks me again with such softness that my heart fissures as he drifts to sleep. How tired is he to fall asleep right after eating?

I pull a spare blanket and pillow out of my closet then quietly close the bedroom door on my way out. I’m going to sleep on the couch tonight until I figure out how to proceed with the whole situation. I throw the blanket and pillow on the couch then myself.

Blinking away the weight of exhaustion I glance at the letter still sitting on the table, waiting to be opened. It was supposed to be my goodbye letter, but it ended up being useless. I could throw it out but thinking about how much effort it took for me to finally write it, I realize I don’t want to waste time writing another one. It’ll come in handy when the time arrives.

It can wait. I’m not in a rush anyway.

I bury my face in my hands, groaning at my selfishness. What am I even doing with my life? One second, I try to kill myself the other I play hero and help some runaway orphan.

There has to be a better way to live because I can’t take it anymore.

I turn off the several dimly lit lamps in the living room and plug my phone in the charger. Thankfully tomorrow is Saturday. I make a mental list of chores I have to take care of the next day, as I always do each night to lull me to sleep.

I didn’t think caring for a kid would be on the list and yet here I am.