Springwell Creeks #7
How could Mama always tell? Safi wasn’t that obvious, was she? It was like her mother had a built-in lie detector, or maybe Safi just had a giant neon sign flashing ‘guilty’ every time she opened her mouth.
“There’s no soul in that powder, only additives.”
“It’s not your sticky fried rice, that’s for sure,” Safi said softly. It was as close to admitting she missed her mother she could get without cracking herself open. “No one else makes it like you.”
Mama’s laughter pealed out, clear as a ringing bell. “Ah, Mama’s sticky fried rice!”
Safi frowned. What was so funny about it?
“No one makes it like me because mine was a mistake. That was just what happened when I let the rice sit too long or didn’t start it on time. It’s not a recipe, sayang, it was always an accident. But I said it was Mama’s sticky rice so you’d eat it.”
Safi stared at the screen. “You’re lying.”
Mama laughed again. “I am not. It was just fried rice that went wrong.”
Safi gave a hoarse little laugh. “All this time, I thought it was your secret.”
Mama grinned, shaking her head. “No secret. Just my forgetfulness.”
Something in Safi’s chest gave. It was a small loosening, as if the scaffolding she’d built around old memories was shifting. As if the story—her story—was missing pieces she’d never even known to look for.
She gave a crooked smile. “Makes me wonder what else I got wrong.”
“Sometimes, sayang, it’s not about right or wrong. Some stories just take time to show us what they really are.”
“You make it sound so simple.”
“Nothing’s ever simple, sayang. But sometimes, the things we’ve lost have a way of finding us again.” That was Mama. Stubbornly kind, quietly wise, always believing some things would work themselves out. Her mother’s expression filled with warmth. “I love you, Safiya.”
The words landed, settling comfortably in her chest. “I love you too, Mama.”
“You know, I used to think saying it wasn’t needed.
But when we lost your father and sister, I realized…
sometimes we think love is obvious. We take it for granted.
But people need to hear it. I grew up knowing my parents loved me, but sometimes I wished they’d said it, too. I never want you to wonder.”
Safi’s heart ached, full to bursting. She leaned her head against the back of the couch. “Never, Mama. I know.”
Voices—arguments and jokes in Bahasa—drifted from the living room, chasing the last remnants of her loneliness away. She smiled as her mama told her about the new bakery in town, the aunties latest schemes, and how Mrs. Patel’s twins were already offering to shovel snow for extra pocket money.
Safi listened, only interjecting a few words here and there. She missed evenings in her mama’s kitchen. Where they ate opor ayam and talked about their days. This calm was a part of Mama, and Safi let herself cling to it, let herself be part of it.
And then, like a pebble tossed into still water, Cami walked into the room and onto the screen in a blur of black hair and big, round eyes. Her voice tumbled into the quiet with all its usual, unstoppable energy.
“There she is!” Cami grinned, already halfway into a joke. “Wayan’s got the kue lapis under siege, Auntie, we’re seriously outnumbered without you.” Her eyes landed on Safi and a squeal burst from her lips. “Oh my God, Saf! Apa kabar?”
“Hey cuz.” Safi smiled. “I’m good, you?”
“Well I just won a bet, so now”—she turned her head from the camera—“Made and Fajar, you owe me money! I told you she’d call during dinner!”
Safi laughed. “You realize you’ll get that paid in coffee candies, right?”
“As if I’d take money over Telengan tradition? What’s next, my parents saying ‘I love you?’” Cami made a sound that was something between snort and blowing a raspberry.
“Wulan feeds you well,” Safi’s mom said as if she hadn’t told Safi those very words only moments before.
“Can’t argue with good food, Ibu.” Cami kissed her cheek then turned to Safi. “Everyone’s asking about you. You planning to grace us with your presence anytime soon?”
Safi hesitated, the thought of actually returning to Crickalade Bay gathered in her chest, heavy and complicated.
Before she could answer, her mother stepped in, voice kind but firm.
“Don’t pester her, Nak. She knows she’s always welcome.
But I think I’ll come see Safi for New Year’s.
I haven’t seen her place yet,” Mama announced, glancing at the screen as if daring her daughter to protest.
Cami perked up. “That works! Jeremiah and I are driving up north to check out a wedding venue anyway. We could drop you off. I can even bring some good wine.” Cami wiggled her eyebrows at Safi.
Safi managed a real smile this time, letting their casual plotting wash over her. “You know,” she said softly. “I’d really like that.”
Cami, always such a ray of sunlight, whooped. Mama laughed, the familiar racket tumbling through the speaker until Safi almost felt as if she were there, just another body in the noise and warmth.
They talked for a few minutes more then with plans made and a final ‘Love you, see you soon,’ they hung up, leaving Safi’s apartment quiet once more.
She sighed, hand stroking the cat, running her fingers through the long fur. It purred at the attention and stood up, stretching until it bowed, then sat down and looked at her again. Its brown eyes felt both strange and familiar.
“I told you. This can’t be permanent. Tomorrow I’m asking if you belong to someone.”
The cat meowed and bumped her stomach.
She shook her head. “You’d be better off with someone else.”
The cat stood up, spun once on her lap and sat down again.
She sighed. What a persistent fucking cat. “I don’t do well with expectations. If you start to expect things from me, it’s as if I can’t stop myself from running.”
The cat sniffed the air, ears twitching.
“I really don’t want to be run out of town by a cat.” She scratched it gently behind the ear. Wouldn’t be the first time pussy complicated her life though. “I can’t promise you stability. I’m broken that way.”
It finally hopped off her lap, and for a split second her heart stuttered in disappointment that the cat might leave. Instead it leapt onto her fireplace and continued onto the bookshelf opposite the couch.
“Hey you rascal, you’ll knock something—”
An old shoe box toppled from the shelf and landed with a loud crash. Its contents rattled out onto the floor.
“Over,” Safi huffed and walked to the box. She frowned and kneeled. She didn’t remember this box. A pile of old Polaroids, a copper ring, and an undeveloped roll of film. And so many dice.
She let out a chuckle of disbelief. Her old Sigils & Swords dice.
The ones her ayah had bought her before he and Nadia died.
She’d forgotten about those. Her fingertips brushed the copper ring.
Twined copper strands looped around each other in a gentle, endless braid, the metal warm with the subtle glow of old pennies.
The surface bore tiny imperfections, scuffs, soft-edged nicks as if someone had plucked it from a riverbed.
She slipped the ring onto her finger, half-expecting the cool copper to feel foreign or weighty, but it settled easily, as if it had always known the shape of her finger.
For a moment, she sat utterly still, pulse fluttering in her wrist. The braided band caught the light, weaving together earth and flame in every twist, the metal warming instantly against her skin. Was this from ayah as well?
She grabbed the Polaroids, turned them over, and fanned them out across the floor. Her breath caught. Mom, Dad, and Nadia before the accident. Before life changed.
“Ayah, Nadia…” she whispered, pressing the photo to her chest as if she could hug them just one more time. The next was of April and Harper, followed a few photos from the lake they spent the summer swimming in. And then at the end, a faded old photo of Nai.
Nai’s red and black hair framed her youthful face where she sat behind Safi in the grass.
Both of them looked straight into the camera, cheeks close, shoulders pressed, matching grins stretched so wide they threatened to tip into laughter.
Nai’s knees framed Safi’s hips, arms draped with careless affection.
But it was Safi who filled the frame with mischief.
She had her hand lifted, two fingers skewed in a lopsided V across her eyes, lips puckered in exaggerated mock-seriousness.
Nai’s arms encircled her, one hand resting low on Safi’s belly, the other caught in motion, as if she’d just tickled her. Safi’s other hand reached down, fingers laced tight with Nai’s. The contact was natural in a way Safi had never found agin.
She stared at their faces, the tilt of their heads, the way the sunlight caught in their hair.
Safi remembered how hard she’d tried to hide from attention back then—the way she’d angled her body, pulling shirts loose, tucking herself behind other people in every group shot, hoping to shrink herself into the background.
She’d spent years wishing to be invisible, convinced that if she took up less space, she might finally fit.
But Nai hadn’t let her disappear. Nai had seen right through every self-conscious pose, every ducked chin and folded arm, and coaxed her out, cracking her open with easy jokes and wicked grins, pulling her front and center until laughter drowned out the doubt.
With Nai, silliness had come easy, joy unspooled itself right there in the open, long before Safi learned to love her fat, beautiful body on her own.
Before Safi knew how to love her body, Nai had adored it as unconditionally and recklessly as Safi had hers.
Now, looking at the photo, Safi almost ached for that joyful girl. The one who, for a moment in time, forgot to be afraid.
Her gaze slid over to Nai again, young, full of hope, smiling into a future neither of them could see. They’d both been kids, hearts wide open, never imagining how quickly things could break or drift apart.
Looking at that girl now, Safi realized how little she knew—then or now—about what Nai needed, or who she became after everything ended. Maybe it wasn’t fair to hold so tightly to old blame, to expect answers from a stranger frozen in a sunlit afternoon.
She stroked the edge of the photo, voice soft and uncertain. “I hope you found what you needed, Nai. Even if it was never me.”
She let her thumb linger on the edge of the photo, the paper soft with age.
For a long moment, Safi sat there, letting the weight of old wounds and unanswered questions settle deep in her chest. The room was quiet but for the slow, steady purr at her side.
The cat settled against her hip, eyes half-closed, perfectly content beside her.
Safi curled her fingers around the Polaroid, as if holding it a little tighter might help her finally loosen her grip on the past.
For so long, she’d let it have all the power—let a single summer, a single heartbreak, keep her anchored in place. Maybe it was time to let the story end differently. Maybe it was time to try to let someone else in.
She drew a shaky breath and let the words slip out, barely more than a whisper.
“Let me let go. Please.”