---
The words weren’t ant as an attack.
Just an observation.
I looked around the small room.
Two futons. A low table. A simple shelf.
---
"What do you think a ho should be like?" I asked.
She didn’t answer right away.
"Eating together," she finally said.
"We are eating together."
"Sitting neatly."
"We are sitting."
"Not rushing."
I started to eat.
"I’m not rushing."
She watched for a mont.
Then started eating too.
Her first bite was slow.
---
The room felt different this morning compared to yesterday.
Not because of the food.
Because there was soone trying to make it feel like a permanent residence.
"Can I ask a question?" she said.
"You just did."
"Do you usually eat alone, Papa?"
"Yes."
"Is it lonely?"
I shrugged.
"Practical."
She gave a small nod.
Then said in a neutral tone,
"If there are two people, maybe it doesn’t need to be so practical."
I chewed slowly.
"Maybe."
She smiled faintly.
Not wide. Not dramatic.
Just enough to show that she had tallied a minor victory.
---
And for the first ti,
I didn’t eat straight from the pan.
After breakfast ended, I stood up and carried the plates to the kitchen.
Yuna had stood up before .
She washed her own plate.
Her movents were neat. asured.
I washed the pan.
Done.
---
I grabbed the small towel I usually used to dry my hands.
Wiped them.
Then hung it over the fridge handle.
Like always.
I turned around—
and saw Yuna staring at the towel.
Silent.
---
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