BIKE
I poured another bucket of water over my bike, scrubbing it properly as the dust and months of neglect finally started giving in.
It had been way too long since I actually cleaned it.
And honestly… it felt better than sitting inside dealing with her chaos.
Since I had a day off, I chose peace. Or at least something useful.
Behind me, she was still sitting at the doorway, casually cracking a bowl of nuts I had practically forced her to eat.
“Can I help?” she asked suddenly.
I didn’t even turn back.
“I can hold the bucket,” she offered again.
“No.”
“I can wipe.”
“No.”
“I can supervise.”
“That’s the same as doing nothing.”
I shook my head, turning back to the bike.
“Just sit there and eat quietly.”
"I can’t keep my mouth quiet,” she said from the doorway.
“I see,” I muttered, rolling up my sleeves properly and grabbing a waste cloth.
I bent down and started wiping the bike more carefully now, dragging the cloth along the metal, clearing off the last bits of dirt.
“If we give birth to our kids… will they talk too much like me or will they be quiet like you?” she asked casually from the doorway.
My eyes widened.
I slowly turned my head toward her, cloth still in my hand.
“…When will you stop asking ridiculous questions?” I asked, clearly amused.
She tilted her head like she genuinely needed the answer.
“I’m just planning genetics.”
“That’s not planning genetics. That’s daydreaming with confidence.”
She frowned slightly. “It’s a valid concern.”
“How is that a concern?”
“If they talk too much, you’ll suffer,” she said simply.
I stared at her.
Then let out a short laugh, turning back to the bike.
“I already suffer,” I muttered.
“Excuse me?” she said instantly.
I didn’t look back. “Nothing.”
“Just imagine how it looks when there are two more Sinclairs talking to you just like me,” she chuckled softly after saying it.
The image settled in the air between us—light, careless, almost playful.
But something in my chest didn’t take it lightly at all.
The thought of it… of a house filled with voices like hers, laughter spilling into corners I didn’t even know existed—did something strange to me.
Something I couldn’t name.
Heat crept up my neck before I could stop it.
I quickly looked away, tightening my grip on the cloth as I focused too hard on the bike, like the metal could save me from my own thoughts.
“It would look terrible,” I said, trying to sound steady.
But it didn’t come out as firm as I intended.
I shouldn’t get habituated to her.
Because in a few days, she would leave this house after her purpose was fulfilled.
And I would be left here again.
With silence in the corners.
With rooms that would stop feeling loud.
With mornings that wouldn’t have her voice arguing with mine over something pointless.
Just… the faint loneliness whispering where her presence used to be.
I tightened my grip on the cloth, dragging it slowly across the bike, as if I could wipe that thought away too.
Behind me, she was still there.
Still talking.
Still existing like noise that somehow felt like warmth.
And that was the problem.
Because I was starting to notice when she was there.
And I already knew I would notice even more when she wasn’t.
I sensed her footsteps before I saw her.
She stopped right in front of me, beside the bike.
“Did you eat it?” I asked without looking up.
She nodded.
“Show me the bowl,” I said immediately, not trusting her even for a second.
She glared at me like I had personally insulted her existence, but still turned and brought it from the doorway.
Empty.
I nodded once, satisfied, and went back to wiping the bike.
A second later, she came back again and just stood there.
Watching.
Just observing like I was some kind of slow documentary she had paid to see.
I ignored her for as long as I could.
“I want to ride this bike,” she said suddenly.
I stopped wiping.
Slowly turned my head.
“…You want to what?”
She pointed at the bike like it had personally agreed to this idea.
“Ride.”
I stared at her for a second.
Then looked back at the bike.
Then at her again.
“You don’t even know how to sit on the bike without my support,” I said, tightening the last bit of the cloth around the handle.
She immediately glared at me.
“Teach me,” she whined.
I straightened up slowly, finally turning to face her properly.
“This is my bike,” I said, patting the seat like it had feelings. “I bought it with my own money in my twenties. I don’t want to put it at stake.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“I will not fall,” she said, stepping closer with full confidence like gravity had personally promised her safety.
I exhaled slowly, tossing the cloth somewhere behind me.
Her hands landed on my hips to steady herself as she leaned in.
“Please,” she asked again, softer this time.
I turned my face away, biting the inside of my cheek to hide the smile threatening to show itself.
“…You are going to make me regret this,” I muttered.
I steadied the bike, taking a firm grip on the handlebar and kicking out the stand.
The metal clicked into place.
“Okay,” I said finally, barely audible.
Her face lit up instantly.
“Really?”
“No,” I added immediately. “Not really. I’m just choosing suffering voluntarily.”
She ignored that completely and stepped closer to the bike like it had already accepted her.
I pushed the bike slowly out to the road, the tyres crunching lightly against the ground.
She followed right behind me like she had been waiting her entire life for this moment.
“Careful,” I muttered, more out of habit than hope.
I held the handlebar firmly with one hand and caught her hand with the other as she climbed on.
She adjusted herself on the seat, slightly wobbling.
“Wait… no helmet?” she asked, suddenly serious.
“First learn to sit without causing an earthquake,” I said, still not letting go of the bike.
She huffed, gripping the seat.
I still hadn’t let go.
Mostly because her feet barely reached the ground and I didn’t trust physics with her involved.
“You’re so short,” I said, unable to hold back a small chuckle.
She immediately glared at me. “I am not short. You are just unnecessarily tall.”
“That’s not how height works.”
“It is in my world.”
I shook my head, still holding the bike steady as she tried to balance herself properly.
“Don’t move too much,” I warned.
“I’m not moving.”
She tilted her head. “If I fall, I’ll blame you anyway.”
I let out a quiet laugh.
“Of course you will.”
And even then, I didn’t let go of the bike.
“Start the bike,” she ordered, her impatience showing in the way she leaned forward slightly, like she was ready to conquer the world in the next five seconds.
“Hold the bike properly first,” I said, not even looking at her as I made sure her grip was firm enough to not collapse the next moment.
She huffed but obeyed, placing both her hands on the handles, her fingers tightening around them like she was trying to prove something.
Slowly—very slowly—
I loosened my grip on the bike.
Not completely.
Just enough to see if she could hold it on her own.
The bike wavered for a second.
Then steadied.
I watched her carefully, ready to grab it the second she lost balance.
But she didn’t.
“…Okay,” I muttered under my breath.
Carefully, I pulled the key out of my pocket and held it out to her.
Her eyes lit up instantly.
“I start the bike?” she asked, like she needed confirmation for the hundredth time.
“You insert the key,” I corrected calmly. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”
She rolled her eyes but took the key from my hand anyway, her fingers brushing against mine for a brief second before she focused back on the bike.
“Here,” I said, stepping closer, my hand guiding hers toward the slot.
She inserted the key carefully, her movements slower now, more focused than before.
She twisted the key slightly.
The bike came alive with a soft sound.
Her eyes widened.
“Adithya!” she gasped, like she had just done something extraordinary.
“It’s just the ignition,” I said, though a small smile still slipped through.
She looked way too proud for something this simple.
“I started it,” she said, grinning.
“Can I move it?” she asked, excitement already building again.
“…Fine,” I said finally, my voice carrying more warning than agreement.
I stepped closer, moving to stand right beside her, one hand going to the handlebar and the other hovering near her shoulder, ready to catch her the moment she decided to defy gravity again.
“Listen carefully,” I said. “Don’t panic. Don’t rush. And don’t do anything without me telling you.”
“I am a very calm person,” she said.
I looked at her.
She looked back at me.
We both knew that was a lie.
I adjusted her hands properly on the handle, my fingers briefly wrapping over hers to position them right.
“Clutch,” I said, pressing her fingers gently. “Hold this fully.”
She nodded, her focus sharp now, like she was actually taking this seriously.
“Good. Now slowly give a little accelerator.”
“How slowly?”
“Like you are scared.”
“I am not scared.”
The bike jerked slightly.
I immediately grabbed the handle tighter as i glared at her.
She let out a small nervous laugh, easing her grip this time, doing it more carefully.
The engine responded smoother now.
“Okay…” I said, watching closely. “Now slowly release the clutch. Slowly.”
Her fingers trembled a little.
The bike moved forward.
Just a little.
Her body stiffened instantly.
“Adithya—!”
“I’m here,” I said quickly, walking along with the bike, my hand firm on the handle and the back of the seat, making sure she didn’t lose control.
“Don’t panic. Just hold steady.”
“Eyes on the road,” I said.
She straightened again, breathing slightly faster now.
The bike moved forward another few inches.
Then a few more.
This time—
She didn’t wobble.
“…Good,” I said, softer now.
She blinked.
“I am doing it?” she asked, her voice quieter, almost unsure.
“You are,” I nodded.
A small smile spread across her face.
I walked along with her, not letting go, matching her slow pace, my steps steady beside her uncertain ones.
“Don’t look at me,” I said when I noticed her turning her head slightly. “Look ahead.”
She immediately turned her face away from mine, like she didn’t want me to notice anything, but I still felt the sudden warmth creeping up my cheeks for no reason at all.
I stepped back slowly, carefully loosening my hold from her hands, even though a part of me didn’t want to let go just yet.
“Accelerate a little,” I said, keeping my voice steady.
She nodded and did exactly as I said.
The bike moved forward a little faster this time.
Her face lit up instantly.
That wide, unfiltered grin—
Like she had just discovered something magical.
“Go till that tree,” I said, pointing toward the tree standing quietly at the corner of the road.
She followed my gaze, then looked back at me.
“What if I fall?” she asked, her voice softer now.
“I’ll hold you. Go ahead,” I said.
She smiled at that—
Not teasing.
Not playful.
Just… soft.
Then she turned back and gave a little more accelerator.
The bike moved forward.
And I ran behind her.
Keeping pace.
“Slowly!” I called out.
“I am going slowly!” she shouted back, her voice filled with a mix of excitement and panic.
The bike wobbled slightly.
My heart jumped.
“Straight! Keep it straight!”
“I’m trying!”
I was right behind her now, one hand stretched forward, ready to grab the seat any second if she lost balance.
But she didn’t.
She adjusted.
Corrected.
And kept going.
Step by step—
She reached the tree.
I slowed down, stopping just a few feet behind her as she finally stopped the bike, her hands still gripping the handle tightly like she didn’t trust it to stay still.
Then she turned back.
Eyes wide.
Breathing uneven.
Smile unstoppable.
“I did it,” she said.
“…You did,” I replied.
And for some reason, I felt proud.
She got down from the bike slowly, still holding onto the handle for a second longer like she didn’t fully trust the ground yet.
I took the bike back, pushing it carefully toward the house before parking it in its place, the engine going silent as I turned it off.
Behind me, her voice came again—light, excited, already running ahead of reality.
“One day I’m going to ride your bike so fast,” she said, like it was already decided.
I chuckled under my breath as I walked to the doorway and sat down on the single stair, letting out a quiet breath.
She came right after me and dropped down beside me without any hesitation, like that space next to me belonged to her.
“You’ll sit behind me,” she continued, turning toward me with that same ridiculous confidence. “And I’ll ride the bike.”
I glanced at her, raising an eyebrow.
“So I need to wear a helmet,” I said calmly.
She grinned at that and turned away, clearly pleased with herself.
I shook my head slightly, a faint smile lingering on my lips before my gaze drifted ahead.
I just couldn’t understand how things had changed this much.
In the beginning—
I couldn’t even stand her.
Her voice irritated me.
Her presence felt like a disturbance.
And now…
Now I was sitting beside her like this.
Talking to her without thinking.
Replying without irritation.
Comfortable.
Too comfortable.
Somewhere along the way, the irritation had faded.
The distance had disappeared.
And without even realizing it—
She had become a part of my everyday life.
Like noise that didn’t feel like noise anymore.
Like chaos that somehow felt like calm.
I leaned back slightly, resting my hands behind me as I stared ahead, my thoughts quieter than usual.
Beside me, she was still talking about how she would ride the bike, how I would sit behind her, how she would “not fall” this time.
I didn’t interrupt her.
I didn’t even try.
I just sat there… watching her.
Watching the way her hands moved as she spoke, the way her eyes lit up over something as simple as riding a bike for the first time, the way her voice never seemed to run out of words—as if silence was something she refused to let exist.
She was talking about how she had never travelled on a bike before.
How this was her first time.
How she would ride it better next time.
And I just listened.
Quietly.
Someday…
One day…
She was going to leave this house.
Not just this house.
My life.
Right now—
She was here.
Sitting beside me.
Talking endlessly.
Existing in my space like she belonged there.
But in the future—
She would become something else.
A memory.
Just… a chapter.
A chapter that I once hated.
A chapter that irritated me, annoyed me, made me question my patience.
And now—
That same chapter felt like something I wasn’t ready to close.
My gaze drifted away from her for a moment, landing on the small rose plant near my bike.
The one I was so sure would die.
The one I told her not to cry over when it dried up.
But now—
There it was.
Faint.
Fragile.
But alive.
A small hint of green pushing through where I thought nothing would grow again.
I stared at it for a second longer than necessary.
Then looked back at her.
She was still talking.
About nothing important.
About everything at once.
Such a chatterbox.
I let out a quiet breath, my eyes resting on her for a moment.
Because I didn’t know—
The next time I sit here.
The next time I wash my bike.
She might not be there beside me.
And the thought—
Didn’t sit well with me at all.