Page 217 of Sexting the Pakhan

I open my eyes.

The first thing I see is Zoya.

She’s sitting in the chair closest to my bed, still in the same sweater from the quarry, though someone has given her a hospital blanket to wrap around her shoulders. Her hair is damp and tangled at the ends. Her eyes are red. There’s dried mud near her wrist that no one has thought to clean off yet.

She looks terrible.

Her mouth trembles before she controls it. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m still furious with you.”

My throat is dry. “Reasonable.”

“You fell off a quarry.”

“I was pushed.”

“You also pushed.”

“I was busy.”

Mila gasps softly. “Mama, he’s talking.”

Zoya looks like she might laugh or cry or hit me, and I don’t blame her for any of those options.

Mila climbs carefully onto the chair beside the bed, not on me, because Nadia must have lectured her already. She grips the mattress with both hands and leans close enough that I can see the tiny red mark on her cheek where someone’s sleeve or glove must have scraped her skin.

My vision darkens for a moment.

Not from pain. From anger.

“Who did that?” I ask.

Zoya follows my gaze and answers before Mila can. “She’s okay. The doctor checked her. It’s a scrape.”

“That isn’t what I asked.”

“You are not in a position to murder anyone from this bed.”

“Debatable.”

Nadia appears beside Mila with her arms folded, wearing an expression I recognize immediately because it is Zoya’s when she’s preparing to win. “The doctor said you are not allowed to debate. You are allowed to rest.”

Mila nods. “Also we brought you pudding but Mama said you can’t have it until the nurse says yes.”

“I see.”

“It’s vanilla,” Nadia says. “The bad kind.”

“All hospital pudding is the bad kind,” Zoya mutters.

Mila touches my hand with one small finger, as if she’s checking whether I’m real. “You came back.”

I move my hand as much as the IV allows and turn my palm upward. Mila places her little hand in mine. A second later, Nadia steps closer and does the same, though she does it like an agreement she has reviewed carefully before signing.

“I told you to run,” I say to Mila.

“I did run.”

“You did good.”