One More Sunday

The visits changed when Malik moved across the city. Some Sundays became video calls. Some became walks halfway between their homes. The ritual mattered less than the time they made for it.

On her birthday, he brought no elaborate surprise. He asked her to choose a place she had wanted to visit for herself. She chose a quiet garden and packed more food than either could eat.

At the gate, she stopped to photograph a flower. Malik waited without checking his phone. It was a small thing to do, and he had once been very bad at it.

That evening she sent him the photograph. Under it she wrote: Next Sunday? He replied before finding an excuse. Yes. No special occasion required.