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Chapter 18 - Advice On Procretion

Nilay

I was elbow-deep in basil when I heard them.

Two voices. One hesitant. The other, deeper, slower—just as unsure.

"Nilay."

"Ma."

In unison.

I turned around slowly, and there they were.

And for a split second, I was transported back fifteen years. To a night where they stood at the foot of my bed at 11 PM—panicked and whispering about a school project due the next morning. Covered in glitter and glue. Terrified. Guilty. Adorable.

This was the same look.

Same posture. Same awkwardness. Same "we're-about-to-ask-you-something-we-really-shouldn't" energy.

I narrowed my eyes. "What did you do?"

"Nothing!" they both said—far too quickly to be believable.

Alekos shifted his weight like he did when he was fifteen and trying to lie to me about sneaking out for souvlaki. Selin tried to smile. Failed.

"We just need your advice," she added.

I sighed. Knew it. Knew they'd come to me.

"Give me one minute," I muttered, brushing off my hands.

I rinsed off at the outside tap and headed back inside, them trailing behind like ducklings.

Tea. Always start with tea. Two spoons of honey in Selin's. One for Alekos. No sugar. He was already sweet enough to get on my nerves.

I set the mugs down and sat across from them, raising an eyebrow.

They didn't speak at first.

I waited.

Finally, Selin said it: "We're trying to make some rules."

"Rules?" I echoed, blinking.

"For... trying naturally," she mumbled.

Alekos scratched the back of his head like it might produce answers. "Just, like, if we're going to go through with it... boundaries... expectations... that sort of thing."

I stared.

Then I set my mug down with a sharp little clink and looked them dead in the eyes.

"You need me to solve your sex life now?"

Dead silence.

And then they choked.

Selin's eyes went wide. "Nilay!"

"Ma!" Alekos barked at the same time, like I'd offended the entire Orthodox Church.

I raised both eyebrows. "Well? Am I wrong?"

They were mortified.

Alekos looked like he wanted to crawl into the floorboards. Selin, bless her, looked like she was reconsidering marriage entirely.

I took a long, smug sip of my tea.

"God help you both," I muttered, half under my breath. "If I weren't here, you'd have scheduled intimacy like it's a business meeting."

They didn't deny it.

Didn't even try.

I sighed.

Because underneath all of it—the fumbling, the nerves, the deflection—I knew what they were really asking.

They wanted someone to tell them it would be okay. That this wouldn't ruin what they had. That wanting something more didn't mean losing what was already there.

And that's when I softened—just a bit.

But not too soon.

Let them squirm a little first.

They looked like they'd both swallowed their tongues.

Selin was red all the way to her ears, gripping her tea like it was the only thing keeping her grounded. Alekos had both hands over his face, muttering something that sounded vaguely like a prayer to every saint he could think of.

I let the silence drag.

Because sometimes, the best way to get them to listen was to make them squirm first.

"So," I said, taking a very calm sip of tea, "you want to write a user manual for procreation."

"Ma!"

"Nilay!"

They were in perfect chorus again. It almost made me laugh. Almost.

"Alright, alright," I said, setting the cup down and folding my hands like I was about to issue a courtroom verdict. "You want advice? Here's advice."

They both straightened up.

"You're two people," I began slowly, "trying to do something intimate, raw, and vulnerable—not because you're in a romantic whirlwind, but because life cornered you into it. That alone makes this harder than it should be."

They nodded.

"So here's the truth: rules won't protect you from feeling things. They'll just make you think you're in control until you're not."

Selin's face fell.

"But that doesn't mean you shouldn't talk about what you want. Or what you're afraid of. Or how this will change you—because it will."

Alekos looked at her then, softer than before.

"It already is," he said quietly.

I smiled, then leaned forward.

"You want a rule? Here's one. Communicate. Not just once. Every day. Before, during, after. Speak your heart, even if it's messy. Especially when it's messy."

They were quiet again.

"And one more thing," I added.

They looked up.

"If this ever stops feeling right—if either of you feel lost, disrespected, or broken by it—you stop. No guilt. No pressure. Just stop. Understood?"

They both nodded slowly.

"And since you both are, let's face it, stubborn oddballs—" I paused for dramatic effect, "—you'll try on odd days. Third, fifth, seventh day of the cycle and so on. Odd days for odd souls."

Alekos groaned.

Selin giggled. "That's actually kind of smart."

"Of course it is. I raised both of you, didn't I?"

And then, because I couldn't help myself, I added: "Also—no need for protection, obviously. You're trying to make a baby, not win a prize for celibacy."

They both choked on air.

"Mámá!"

"Nilay!"

I grinned. "Hey. You wanted wisdom. I'm giving it to you in all forms. And I swear to God, if I hear you—"

"Má!"

"Please!"

Selin laughed, shoulders finally relaxing.

Alekos shook his head but smiled too, finally.

I sat back, content.

Because sometimes, good advice starts with an inappropriate joke and ends with the truth no one else has the guts to say.

And that's what mothers are for.

Selin

July 2nd.

I never thought a date would carry this much weight.

It wasn't a wedding anniversary or a birthday or a diagnosis day. It was just… tomorrow. The third day of the cycle. An odd day. The days Nilay circled on the calendar with her tea-stained fingers and said, with alarming confidence, "Those are the days you try."

So here we were. Preparing.

I spent the day folding laundry that didn't need folding. Reorganizing shelves. Counting vitamins. Recounting them. Avoiding Alekos's eyes.

And when night finally rolled in, I sat in the living room—blanket over my knees, mind racing. He was in the kitchen, making two mugs of chamomile tea like he always did when I couldn't sleep.

When he handed me mine, our fingers brushed.

"Thanks," I said quietly.

He nodded, sat beside me on the couch, and neither of us turned on the TV.

We just sat there. Two people caught between the past and the terrifying hope of tomorrow.

"I keep wondering if this will change how we look at each other," I said.

He didn't answer right away.

Instead, he sipped his tea.

Then finally: "It already has."

I looked at him, startled.

"In a good way," he added quickly. "You're… stronger than I thought. And I already thought you were the strongest person I knew."

That made my chest ache in a way I wasn't prepared for.

"And you?" he asked, softly.

I hesitated. "I'm afraid I'll mess it up. That I'll ask too much of you. That I'll lose you—not because you walk away, but because I'll stop recognizing who we are."

He nodded slowly.

Then, after a moment, he reached for my hand.

I let him hold it.

"I'm still here," he said. "We haven't done anything yet, and I'm still here. Tomorrow doesn't scare me half as much as the idea of you going through it alone."

That was when I rested my head against his shoulder. Just for a moment.

And he let me.

Not because we were lovers.

But because we were something else.

Something harder to define.

Alekos

It was almost midnight when I walked her to her room.

We didn't say much.

She paused at the door, turned to me, and said, "You can back out. If you want."

I shook my head. "I'm not backing out, Selin."

She nodded once, but her eyes searched mine like she was still waiting for the catch.

"Goodnight," she said.

"Night," I replied.

She closed the door softly behind her, and I stood in the hallway for a long minute before walking back to my room.

Tomorrow was going to change everything.

And I didn't know what scared me more—

The fact that I wanted it to…

Or the fact that I wanted her.

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