[Formerly known as 'Trinkets']
Mahika and Amoli can't stand each other, but that's not the only thing they have in common.
Mahika treats Amoli like she's childish. Amoli thinks Mahika is a stuck-up prude. But Mahika's best friend and Amoli's brother...
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The door clicks softly behind them.
Amoli doesn't let go immediately. She's still clinging; maybe not desperately, but like someone who's just reached the shore after nearly drowning. And Mahika holds her like she knows. Like she's ready to carry the saltwater and silence both.
Her fingers thread through Amoli's hair, slow and grounding and so, so incredibly tender. "I've got you, baby," she whispers. "Thank you for coming over."
Amoli nods against her shoulder, trying not to sag her entire weight against the other girl. "Thank you for letting me." Her voice is a small, weak thing, but she gets the words out somehow. She can feel Mahika's heart, steady and warm against her cheek. Her own is still frayed at the edges, like it's limping behind after the sprint.
Inside, the apartment is quiet.
A table lamp spills amber light across the living room, catching on a mug, a half-read book, the lavender throw Amoli remembers curling into just a few weeks ago when they binged the X-Men movies in a marathon of cocoa and stolen glances.
Mahika pulls back just enough to look at her.
"Do you want water? Tea? Food? Or just to sit?"
Amoli shakes her head. "Just you."
The answer lands soft but weighted. Mahika exhales through her nose, brushes a stray strand of hair behind Amoli's ear and traces Amoli's brow with the pad of her thumb. "Then we sit."
She leads her gently to the couch. They sink into it together, knees touching, and Mahika tucks one leg under the other like she's settling in for a story she already knows she'll listen to for hours if it means Amoli will feel heard.
But before Amoli can speak, there's a voice from the hallway.
"Mahi?" her mother calls. The voice isn't harsh. Just curious. Close.
Mahika doesn't flinch. Doesn't pull away.
"Yeah, Ma?" she calls back, casual, but with just enough edge to say not now.
"Everything okay, baccha?"
"Yeah. Amoli's staying over."
A pause.
Then: "Should I make something?"
Mahika glances at Amoli. The look says do you want that? Amoli gives a small shake of her head, barely perceptible.
"No, Ma. She already ate," Mahika lies effortlessly. "We're just going to chill. Long day."
Another pause. Then, a quiet, "Okay, beta," and the soft click of her mother's bedroom door closing.
Mahika waits until the quiet returns fully before she turns back to Amoli. "See? Taken care of."
Something hot and fragile wells up in Amoli's throat. "You didn't even blink."
