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The soft morning light streamed through the sheer curtains, casting a golden hue on the kitchen walls. Zayn stepped out of his bedroom, his eyes still slightly drowsy, his shirt loosely buttoned, and hair tousled from sleep. As he rubbed his eyes, he paused by the doorway, leaning silently against the wall. His gaze softened the moment it landed on the scene in front of him.

Ari, his son, was sitting cheerfully on the kitchen counter, swinging his legs and talking animatedly while Elior stood near the stove, focused on cooking. The smell of garlic and tomatoes filled the kitchen warm, comforting, like a home Zayn had always longed for but never truly had. He didn’t interrupt; he simply stood there, watching them with a hollow expression.

This this peaceful, ordinary moment of family was all he had ever wanted. Just the three of them. Ari, Elior, and him. A quiet, safe morning like this. But life hadn’t been that generous to him. Dreams didn’t always come true. Some dreams stayed locked in the heart, only surfacing in moments like this, bittersweet and painful.

Suddenly, Ari’s sweet voice broke the silence. “Mommy! Come here!” he called out, turning toward Zayn with bright eyes. “uncle is making me special pasta!”

Zayn blinked, the corner of his lips lifting slightly. Despite the ache in his chest, he walked over to them. Ari held out his little arms, and Zayn leaned in, placing a kiss on his forehead.

“Good morning,” Zayn whispered softly.

Ari wrapped his arms around Zayn’s neck and said with a hopeful tone, “Mommy, I don’t want to go to school today.”

Zayn raised an eyebrow. “Why, baby?”

“I want to stay with  uncle the whole day. Please? Uncle said after some days he'll go.” Ari’s voice was pleading, his big eyes shining.

Zayn glanced at Elior, who was now watching them silently. The tension between him and Elior hadn’t vanished, but Ari didn’t notice. Zayn exhaled softly, giving a small smile to his son. “Okay... but no chocolate, alright?”

Ari beamed. “Thanks, Mommy!”

Elior placed a plate on the counter and finally spoke, “Good morning.”

Zayn met his eyes briefly and gave a short nod, no words spoken. Without saying anything more, he turned and walked toward the bathroom to freshen up.

Elior stood still for a moment, his heart aching. That nod felt like a wall thick, cold, and impenetrable. But he knew Zayn had every right to build it. And he had no one to blame but himself.

Ari kept chattering, asking about the pasta, and Elior forced himself to smile and keep cooking. He was trying trying to be better, trying to make things right. Even if Zayn never forgave him, Elior had decided he would never stop trying.

After a while, Zayn reemerged, dressed for work in a black suit, looking sharp and composed. He walked over, adjusting the cuff of his sleeves, and looked at Elior.

“I’m leaving,” he said with a neutral tone. Then he turned to Ari. “If he troubles you,” Zayn added, glancing at Elior, “call me, alright?”

Ari giggled. “Okay, Mommy!”

Elior opened his mouth. “Breakfast is ready. You haven’t eaten yet.”

Zayn didn’t look at him. “No, it’s okay. I’m not hungry.” He bent down and kissed Ari’s forehead. “Be good.”

With that, he grabbed his coat and left without another word. The sound of the door closing echoed in the kitchen like a heavy sigh.

Ari blinked up at Elior. “uncle…”

Elior looked at him. “Hmm?”

Ari tilted his head innocently. “Do you who's my Dad?”

Elior’s heart squeezed. He crouched in front of Ari and gently brushed a curl from his forehead.

“Yes, baby,” he said, voice soft and truthful. “I know your Dad, and he loves you very much.”

Ari smiled brightly and hugged Elior. “I love my Dada too.”

---

The day passed slowly. Elior played with Ari, helped him build blocks, read him stories, and fed him lunch. But every few minutes, his eyes would glance at the clock, wondering where Zayn was, what he was doing, and if he was thinking about them too.

Elior sat on the sofa later that afternoon, Ari asleep against his chest after a long play session. He gently stroked the boy’s back and looked around the apartment—Zayn’s space, clean and organized, full of little pieces of their son, yet nothing of them as a couple. Not a single photo of Zayn and Elior together. Just Ari. As if erasing Elior from Zayn’s world was the only way Zayn could keep going.

He closed his eyes, resting his cheek against Ari’s head. "I messed up."

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