Leo woke to gray morning light filtering through his curtains.
For a moment, he just lay there, staring at the ceiling, the weight of last night pressing down on his chest.
His mother's voice echoed in his mind: You think the world will let you be together?
He closed his eyes, exhaling slowly.
Then he got up.
The kitchen smelled like rice and grilled fish.
His mother stood at the stove, her back to him, movements slow and deliberate.
Leo hesitated in the doorway, watching her.
She didn't turn around.
Finally, he stepped inside. "Morning."
She didn't turn. "Morning "Just kept stirring the pot in front of her.
Leo moved to the counter, pulling out plates without being asked.
He set them on the table three of them, evenly spaced then returned to grab chopsticks.
He stood beside her, close enough to see the tightness in her jaw, the slight tremor in her hands as she ladled soup into bowls.
"Ma," he said quietly. "Let me help."
