Fate

Chapter 7

Kate's POV

I hummed a melody while cooking the broth that I was making for Fynn. My mother is all about home remedies. Her paranoia about hospitals comes from the fact that she doesn't trust modern medicine and the doctors who spend half their lives studying human anatomy. Her logic for her home remedies is quite biased, too. According to her, if they aren't showing results, they are not causing any harm either. Nonetheless, I am grateful for all the times she's catered to me when I am sick. My mom might not be the best with words and positive affirmations, but she's still great, even though half of the time she blames my careless attitude for the times I have fallen sick.
 
Seeing Fynn alone made me thoroughly sad, and even though his apartment is furnished with beautiful, rare things, it lacks that homely vibe. There's nothing that gives away who Fynn actually is. Even though my house is not the very best with the paint that's chipping away and some cracks in the tiles, it's still homely. With my book stack filled with old books, my mom's crockery collection, and my dad’s radio, the home is filled with memories and private moments. My room is another story. One look at my room will probably give away who I am, but Fynn's room was bare. No posters, nothing.
 
It made me oddly sad, although the thought is probably ridiculous since it's just an apartment he's using at the moment to complete his studies. There's a chance that back home, his room gives away who he actually is. I wonder what his room would look like. My hand stills as that thought registers in my mind. I absolutely have no business thinking about what Fynn is actually like.
 
Someone clears their throat, and I look around to find Fynn watching me intently.
 
“Oh. Hey. Good morningg," I stutter.
 
His eyes move towards the broth I am making and then to my face.
 
“You didn't have to do that,"  he says.
 
“It's alright. This is going to make you so strong. This is filled with the nutrition you so badly need. The consistency of the broth will definitely help with digestion. It's good for you.” I rant because obviously I don't know when to stop.
 
His eyes are filled with amusement and emotion that I can't decipher, or maybe because I don't want to decipher.
 
“Why don't you freshen up? It will take a while to cook,"  he nods and leaves for the bathroom.
 
When the broth is cooked, I place it on the dining table, waiting for him to come.
 
As we sit down to eat together, I slap his hand away when he reaches for the broth.
 
“We need to pray,"  I say sternly. I guess growing up in an Asian household makes you habitual about many things.
 
“Right. Sorry.”
 
I close my eyes, but I feel his eyes on me.
 
“What?” I ask.
 
“What should I pray about?” he asks while rubbing the back of his neck.
 
I realize it's new for him.
 
“Thank you to everyone who's involved in the process of making this food available to us. We thank you for your hard work and patience. May God reward youu," is the standard prayer we follow at our house.
 
He repeats the prayer and grins. He's different here; his boyish charm is actually pretty nice when it's genuine.
 
“You didn't like my apartment,"  he asks.
 
How did he notice?
 
“No. It's really fancy.” I try to dodge the question.
 
“That does not mean that you don't like it,"  he says thoughtfully.
 
“No, it's not that I don't like it. I am just curious because if I ever had an apartment of my own, I would go all the way out to decorate it. It will be a window to my soul, but I get your point: this is not your house, and you are probably moving back after your studies are complete. I am sure your house has a more homely feeling to itt," I conclude.
 
“Well, my house is as bare as this apartment,"  he snorts.
 
I don't know how to respond to that, so he continues.
 
“When you live with a family that is full of important people, you will soon realize that your mere achievements and hobbies aren't prestigious enough to be displayed in the house. When you live with people who are better than you, they make sure to express dissatisfaction with your hobbies because hobbies don't make you successful.”
 
“But you don't really live with important people right now. Maybe you should do whatever you want too," I whisper softly.
 
He smiles at me and then clears his throat. 
“I will drop you at your home.”
 
“Not at all. The last thing I want my family to think is that I have spent a night with a boyy," I laugh, and then, as I register my own words, I cringe because I basically hinted at spending the night together doing whatever stuff adults do too.
 
“I will take a cab,"  I add as an afterthought.
 
“When I was little, no one ever sat by my side and put me to sleep. Thank you for helping me, for cooking for me, and for being heree," he says.
 
“It's alright, Fynn. If it wasn't for you, I'd probably die of pneumonia at the bus stop. Consider it as paybackk," I mutter.
 
“Right payback.” The way he says it makes me regret saying it.
 
My cab honks down. 
 
“I guess I will go,"  I mutter.
 
“I guess you will,"  he replies.
 
As I open the door, I turn back and say,
“I hope next time you bring a person to this apartment, it's full of warmth and full of you.”
 
“I hope that person is you.” He mutters softly, as if not intending for me to hear it, but I do. I hear them all.
 
 Hey!
After this , 9th chapter is being shown. Don't read that. Read the 8th one first. It's a wattpad glitch.