The walk was Bael's idea, except it wasn't supposed to be a walk.
He'd said run… casual, like he was reading off a list — weather's clear, it's been a while, we should run. I'd said okay because it has genuinely been a while and my body has been restless. But then Mrs. Wen overheard from the kitchen doorway and looked at me specifically, not Bael, and said running might not be ideal right now, that a walk in the garden would be nicer. Pleasant voice. Complete full stop.
Bael had said "a walk then" like that had always been the plan.
So here we are.
It's cold, the path still damp, the sky doing nothing interesting. Normal Sunday. I was outside two days ago for the exam so I'm not surprised by any of it, the cold, the gray, the specific quiet of the estate grounds on a weekend morning. I know all of this.
I walk this path sometimes.
What I am less accustomed to, apparently, is Bael taking my hand.
