When History Repeats Itself

Chapter Seven

Two weeks into October, I was fully moved into my dad's house.

My room was still a sea of boxes—college things, rehab journals I hadn't dared to open again, a pair of heels I once insisted I'd wear "just in case," and and the kind of chaos that clung to a version of myself I was still trying to outgrow.

Sumaya's "temporary stay" had taken over one of the guest rooms, which now doubled as her second wardrobe. Every time I passed by, I half-expected to find a moving crew inside, arranging her shoes like an exhibit.

My mum had tried to convince me to move back in with her. Her version of a bribe was softer: the late night experiments with Evolve's head chef, our gossip-filled girl dinners and the comfort of not being constantly cajoled into being my dad's passenger princess on his weekend errands.

Still, I wasn't trying to lose two hours of my life commuting to and from work every day. I promised weekends instead, and this Saturday, dressed in a simple pink maxi dress and sandals, I held up my end.

I parked in front of Evolve—my mum's restaurant-slash-lounge-bar—and left my overnight bag in the boot. A few familiar faces waved as I walked through the front, all low lighting and leftover Friday night energy.

"The prodigal daughter returns!" my mum announced the second I reached her office door.

She looked good. Always did. Blue jeans, a black-and-white striped shirt, gold hoops large enough to signal traffic.

Nii was lounging on the couch like it was his second home—which, I guess, it kind of was—wearing khaki shorts and a soft grey tee that made him look casually expensive.

"Hi Nii," I said.

"Hello Kerry. We're happy to have you this weekend," he replied, the kind of gentle that sneaks up on you.

Definitely not her usual "just popped in to check on inventory" look.

"You're going somewhere?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

"Actually, yes," she said, too casually. "Nii and I were thinking of grabbing breakfast. We were wondering if you'd like to join us?"

I raised an eyebrow. "You know Aunt Jamila doesn't let me leave the house without eating, right?"

"You could just have fruit salad," she said, all innocence. "Or a muffin. Something light."

Her eyes did that thing—pleading but playful, like I was five and she was trying to convince me to wear matching socks. I sighed internally. Breakfast with the lovebirds. Fantastic.

"Sure," I said. "Who could possibly say no to a muffin?"

She grinned and pulled me into a hug that lingered a second longer than usual. Soft but firm, like she was thanking me for something I hadn't agreed to out loud.

And so, off we went. A quaint café with a sunlit patio and overpriced croissants. Of course, it wasn't just breakfast. The place also had a mini golf park—because why simply eat when you could turn brunch into bonding?

"You do realize she's trying to get us to be besties, right?" Nii said in a high-pitched imitation of a girlish whisper as we stood at the edge of the golf course.

I burst out laughing despite myself, and my mum swatted his arm like a schoolgirl.

They were cute. Annoyingly so. And spending a few hours with them—just the three of us, no step-siblings or tension—helped me see Nii in a different light.

The way he gave her his full attention even when she was doing something as mundane as asking for extra napkins.

When she spoke, he listened. Not the nod-along type of listening men do to pass time, but the real kind—head tilted, face soft, present. He didn't try to interrupt or finish her sentences. He just let her be.