Hands (pt 7)

Mi looked out the window. They could see across the street. From ground level, they would not see the trees from here.

“Good,” Jahan said. “Because other than cutting yourself on your dinner knife, or scraping a knee, none of us should see any more blood for some time.”

The world didn’t work like that. Mi knew it well. Yet Jahan’s hands were no longer wrapped. He was freed from what his hands had to do.

Mi wasn’t the same as them. They had scouted. Now they sat in bed, wondering why everyone still treated them as if they were made of glass.

“Fo should ask the doctor if there is a litter to take me to the ceremony.”

Jahan relaxes. “We’ll both go and get it.”

Mi couldn’t care less about the ceremony.

Next time, he would

“Did you… you didn’t get what I asked for, did you?”

Vidvan had the grace to blush. “I’m sorry. It took me so long to get to the shop that it was already shut.”

Iqbal rubbed his forehead. “Really? Oh, fine. Next time, you do what I ask first. There is little point in me helping you out if you can’t do any shopping.”

Vidvan put down his bag, clapping his hands in front of himself and lowering his head. “I’m so sorry, Iqbal. I’ll do better next time. I’m getting much more familiar with the city.”

It wasn’t immediate, but Iqbal nodded. “Yes, yes. I understand. Just do better next time.”

Vidvan couldn’t believe the amount of slack he was being given. However, with the day he had had out with Tavesh, he couldn’t bring himself to worry about it.