Amalia
stop thinking so much
She loves him for it. She loves him for it all.
Still leaning on the table, Amalia watches Deimos work, her dark eyes following his movements and preparations as he assembles pots and pans and grouse. Usually the first to jump into action, it is nice to take a moment and observe, watch as another acts and frets and begins to make something beautiful for her. Stepping forward at last, Amalia takes a kitchen knife and begins to slice her vegetables. There is something strangely peaceful and perfect in working alongside someone else; as she cubes potatoes she begins to hum, an old and lilting tune leaving her thoughtful lips.
His invitation for her to continue silences the song, turning it into an intonation as a frown plays at her brows. "I suppose it is my family's more than mine," the young baker replies unhelpfully, remembering with bittersweet nostalgia little home where she once lived. "I grew up there, with my mom and Nani - and nanu, for a time." Amalia's grandfather is a fond memory, lost too early to leave much of a scar, having succumbed to illness when the girl was scarcely more than eight.
Putting aside the potatoes, Amalia takes up a carrot to slice. "After my grandmother died, though... I dunno. My mom and I... We kind of just stopped going home." She does not mention the fighting, the harsh words and blame and guilt. The year after Anjali's death had been a hard one for the Chandrakants, with fractures that would never be filled growing between mother and daughter, each wrapped up in the distraction of their own worlds.
you're breaking your own heart
