Chapter 61
1118 Words
✨Morning Light and Messy Pancakes.✨
Flora Pov
Flora woke before Nasir, as she often did, and paused in the doorway of the bedroom. He slept like he belonged to the quiet of the morning, chest rising and falling with that steady rhythm that always seemed to anchor her. Something had happened last night. She knew it. She could feel it in the way his jaw had tensed, in the way his hands had lingered on hers—but he would never tell her. He didn’t show burdens. He carried them so she wouldn’t have to. That was who he was, and that was why she trusted him.
She slid out of bed carefully, pulling on a loose shirt and slipping into her slippers. If he wouldn’t tell her, it meant he was protecting her—just like always. And she could trust that.
By the time she reached the kitchen, the early sunlight had begun to spill through the window. She had decided she would make breakfast for him. Something special. Something she had seen on TV: golden pancakes with chocolate swirls, strawberries, maybe even a touch of whipped cream.
Flora was ambitious. She was not skilled.
The first egg cracked onto the counter instead of the bowl. The flour puffed into the air and landed on her hair. She whisked the batter, trying to fold chocolate in, but it spilled over the sides of the bowl. Pan on, pan off, spatula dropped, a pancake collapsed completely. Flour was on the floor, on the counter, and somehow even in her hair. She groaned, wiping a streak of white across her cheek.
She whisked wildly, trying to fold batter and chocolate without making a crater in the middle of the pan. She had forgotten that the frying pan wasn’t non-stick, and the first pancake stuck. The second one collapsed into a mushy puddle.
She tried not to panic, but when the third pancake rolled off the spatula entirely and hit the floor, she groaned.
“Why do they make this look so easy on TV?” she muttered.
A low chuckle came from behind her. She jumped and turned. Nasir was in the doorway, one eyebrow raised, the corner of his lips twitching.
“You’ve turned the kitchen into a war zone,” he said lightly.
Flora waved her hands, puffing more flour into the air. “I… I was trying! I just wanted to make something special…”
Nasir shook his head, laughing softly. “Special? You’ve created… this.” He gestured at the counter, the floor, the lumpy, burned pancakes.
She bit her lip, cheeks warm. “I can fix it. I’ll make it better. Just… let me try again.”
Nasir chuckled and walked toward her. “No, you’ve earned your masterpiece. I think breakfast can wait. Sit down. Let me help.”
Reluctantly, she let him take over. She hovered nearby, arms crossed, cheeks still warm, watching him move with calm precision. In minutes, the chaos became something edible. Something Nasir could eat without complaint.
“You see? It wasn’t that hard,” he teased.
“I had to make a mess first,” she said with a shrug. “Apparently, that’s how you learn.”
Nasir laughed, shaking his head. “You’ve got a lot to learn about more than just pancakes.”
Her stomach fluttered at the soft teasing. She watched him as he moved, noticing small details she hadn’t before: the way his hands never wasted a motion, the curve of his smile, the warmth in his eyes when he looked at her.
Finally, breakfast was ready. She poured syrup carefully, still blushing from the earlier flour incident, and watched the golden pancakes pool with chocolate and fruit. She couldn’t stop glancing at him, feeling the quiet electricity between them.
“You know,” Nasir said, leaning back slightly in his chair, “I think this is perfect. Not because of the pancakes.”
Flora looked up. “Oh?”
“Because you tried,” he said simply. “You made a mess, yes. But you also made me this—attention, care, laughter. That’s more than enough.”
She reached across the table, brushing a stray fleck of flour from his hand. There was a quiet intimacy in the gesture.
Later, when the dishes were cleared, Nasir suggested they go for a walk in the park. Flora’s heart lifted at the idea of being outdoors with him, away from the quiet tension of the house.
The park was alive with the golden morning light, dew glinting on the grass. Children ran past, dogs barked, and birds sang from the trees. Flora clung slightly to Nasir’s arm, a little shy in the public setting, but feeling safe in his presence.
It was then that a small group of young boys noticed her. They were no older than teenagers, but they whispered to each other and nudged one another, stealing glances at Flora as she walked with Nasir.
“She’s… she’s so beautiful,” one said.
Flora’s face turned crimson. She looked down at her feet, trying to hide behind Nasir’s arm.
Nasir noticed immediately, his lips twitching in amusement. “They’re just kids,” he said casually. “Not dangerous. Just… honest.”
Flora peeked out from behind his arm. “I… I didn’t know they were looking!”
“They’re lucky they didn’t get distracted by the pancakes,” he teased softly, making her laugh.
The rest of the walk was gentle. Flora began to relax, talking about the small things—the way the sunlight made the dew sparkle, the sound of the ducks on the pond, how silly it felt to be admired by a bunch of boys. Nasir smiled at everything she said, letting her lead, letting her laugh, letting her forget the heaviness of yesterday and the shadows of her past.
She realized something: she didn’t have to be perfect to be seen, to be valued. Just being herself—messy, nervous, silly, human—was enough for him.
By the time they returned home, Flora’s cheeks were still pink from laughter and the sun, and her heart felt lighter than it had in months. Nasir opened the door for her, and she gave him a small, shy smile. He returned it fully, warmly, without a word—letting the quiet speak for itself.
That morning, messy pancakes and all, Flora understood what it meant to be protected and cherished, not as property or possession, but as someone worth caring for fiercely.
And in that, she began to believe—maybe just a little—that happiness could exist. Even in small, flour-dusted, chaotic moments.
- Writer
