" No,You have to flip it quickly or it'll stick," Nana said, laughing as Zayne stared at the pancake batter like it was a particularly complicated surgical procedure.
"Define 'quickly' in measurable terms,"
he said, spatula hovering uncertainly over the pan.
"Just—here." She moved behind him, her small hands covering his, guiding the spatula. "Feel the resistance? When it stops sticking, that's when you flip. Quick motion—there!"
The pancake flipped perfectly, and Zayne felt ridiculously proud of this minor accomplishment.
But he couldn't concentrate on the pancake—not when Nana was this close, her body pressed against his back, her hands warm over his, her breath tickling his shoulder blade.
" See, You did it!" She stepped back, and he immediately missed her warmth.
"You're a natural."
"I had an excellent teacher." He turned to smile at her, and she blushed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
"You two are so adorable I might vomit,"
one of the twins announced from across the kitchen.
"Jealousy is unbecoming," Meimei said primly, though she was grinning too.
"I'm not jealous! I'm just saying—they look like a drama. The handsome doctor learning to cook from his village girlfriend—"
"We should take a picture for the wedding album," the other twin suggested.
"There's no wedding—" Nana started, face flaming.
"Yet" both twins said in unison, dissolving into giggles.
Zayne found himself smiling. This—this chaotic, loving banter—was so different from the silent, formal meals of his childhood.
His parents never joked. Never teased. Meals were for discussing research papers or reviewing academic achievements, not for laughter.
"Ignore them," Nana's mother said, bringing over a platter of cut fruit. "They've been watching too many romance dramas. Lili, help your sisters set the table. Meimei, call Xiaohua down. Breakfast is almost ready."
The kitchen erupted into organized chaos. Everyone had a role, moving around each other with practiced ease. Zayne stood awkwardly with his spatula, unsure where he fit in this well-choreographed dance.
"Doctor Li, can you bring that platter to the table?" Nana's mother asked kindly. "You're part of the family now. Don't just stand there."
Part of the family.
The words settled in his chest, warm and unfamiliar and precious.
Breakfast was a beautiful disaster.
The small dining table barely fit everyone. Elbows bumped. Dishes were passed in all directions. Everyone talked at once, conversations overlapping, laughter erupting at random intervals.
Zayne sat squeezed between Nana and Lili, his plate piled with food he hadn't served himself—everyone kept adding things, insisting he try this or that.
"You're too thin," Nana's mother declared. "Nana, make sure he eats more."
"Mama, he's fine—
He needs meat. Growing boy."
"I'm twenty-five—"
"Still growing. Eat, eat."
Zayne caught Nana's eye across the table. She mouthed "sorry," but she was smiling.
He'd never shared food before. Not like this. His family meals had been separate plates, individual portions, no reaching or sharing or casual intimacy.
But here, Lili was stealing rice from Meimei's plate. The twins were arguing over the last piece of fish. Xiaohua was sneaking vegetables onto Lili's plate when the child wasn't looking.
And then Lili, sweet Lili, carefully picked up a piece of chicken from her own plate and placed it on his.
"For you," she said seriously. "You need to be strong to do doctor stuff."
Something in Zayne's throat tightened. It was such a small gesture—a child sharing her food—but it felt monumental.
She was giving him part of her meal, this family that had so little was sharing with him freely.
"Thank you," he managed, voice rough. "That's very kind."
"We share everything," Lili explained matter-of-factly. "That's what families do."
Families.
The conversation flowed around him. The twins were telling a story about their father—the drunk father, the one who abandoned them—and Zayne listened with growing horror.
"—and then he came home at two in the morning, yelling about gambling debts—"
"And Nana woke us all up, got us dressed—"
took us to the neighbor's house in our pajamas—"
"We spent the night there while Papa fought with Mama—"
"Nana stayed awake all night, sitting by the door, making sure he didn't follow us—"
"Enough." Nana's voice was quiet but firm. She reached over and gently flicked both twins on the forehead—not hard, just enough to interrupt.
"That's ancient history. No need to relive it."
But Zayne had already seen it—the flash of pain in her eyes, quickly hidden behind her smile. The way her hands trembled slightly before she clasped them in her lap. The forced brightness in her voice.
"She was only thirteen," Meimei said softly, looking at Zayne. "When she started protecting us. Taking us away when Father came home drunk. Making sure we were safe. She was just a child herself."
"Please stop it." Nana stood abruptly, her smile too bright, too forced. "I'm going to get more tea."
She fled to the kitchen, and the table went quiet.
"She doesn't like to talk about it," Xiaohua whispered. "It makes her sad."
"But she should be proud," one twin insisted. "She saved us. Over and over."
"Some things are too heavy to be proud of," Nana's mother said gently. "They're just... survived. Now eat your breakfast. All of you."
Zayne looked toward the kitchen where Nana had disappeared, then at the family around him—these children she'd protected, this mother she'd helped raise them.
The weight she'd carried since she was barely a teenager herself.wonder she smiled so hard. Smiling was armor. If she looked strong, her siblings would feel safe. If she never broke, they never had to worry.
But who protected the protector?
Who held her when the weight became too much?
After breakfast, Zayne helped clean up—insisting despite protests—then went looking for Nana.
He found her under the apple tree in the backyard, sitting with her knees pulled to her chest, face buried in her arms.
Her shoulders were shaking.
Zayne's heart cracked.
He approached slowly, quietly, not wanting to startle her. When he was close enough, he lowered himself to sit beside her in the grass.
"Nana," he said softly.
She jerked upright, hastily wiping her face.
"Zayne! I didn't—I was just—" She forced that bright smile, the one that didn't reach her eyes. "Sorry, I'm fine. Just needed some air. We should go back inside—"
"Stop." His voice was gentle but firm. "Stop pretending you're fine when you're not."
"I am fine—"
"You're crying."
"I'm not—" Her voice broke. Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks despite her attempts to hold them back. "I'm fine. I'm always fine. I have to be fine because if I'm not, then who will—who will—"
"Who will be strong for them?" Zayne finished quietly. "Who will protect them? Hold everything together?"
She nodded, unable to speak.
"Nana." He shifted closer, carefully, giving her space to move away if she needed.
"Who protects you?"
That question broke something in her. She made a sound—half laugh, half sob—and shook her head. "Nobody. That's not—I don't need—"
"Everyone needs someone." Zayne's voice was so tender it hurt. "Even the strong ones. Especially the strong ones."
"I can't—" She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to hold the pieces together.
"If I break, if I stop being strong, everything falls apart. My siblings need me. My mother needs me. I'm the—I'm the one who holds things together—"
"You were thirteen." The words came out harder than he intended, anger bleeding through—not at her, never at her, but at the universe that forced children to become adults too soon.
"You were thirteen years old, protecting your siblings from a drunk father. Fourteen when you ran away. Fifteen when you started working night shifts. You've been in survival mode for six years, Nana. Six years of being strong and smiling and never letting anyone see you break."to—"
"No." He reached out slowly, telegraphing his movement, and gently took her hand. "You don't. Not right now. Not with me. You're allowed to break. You're allowed to be tired. You're allowed to admit that carrying the weight of your entire family since you were barely a teenager is—" His voice cracked. "—is too much for anyone, let alone someone who should have been protected instead of doing the protecting."
She stared at him, tears streaming freely now, and something in her face—that carefully maintained armor—finally crumbled.
"I'm so tired," she whispered. "I'm so tired of being strong. Of smiling. Of pretending that watching my father choose alcohol over us didn't destroy me. That walking home alone at midnight doesn't terrify me. That working until I collapse and then waking up to do it again doesn't make me want to just—"
She stopped, shaking her head. "But I can't say that. I can't feel that. Because if I do, then I'm weak, and if I'm weak, then—"
"Then who holds everything together," Zayne finished. "I know. I understand." He squeezed her hand. "I did the same thing. Different circumstances, same pattern. Be perfect, be strong, never let anyone see the cracks. Because if they see you break, they'll know you're not—"
"Not enough," she whispered.
"Not enough," he agreed. "Not worthy of the love we desperately need but can't ask for."
They sat in silence, hands clasped, two people who'd learned to survive by never admitting they were drowning.
"I see you," Zayne said finally. "The real you. The exhausted, scared, trying-so-hard-to-hold-it-together you. And I need you to hear this, Nana—you're enough. Even when you break. Even when you're tired. Even when you can't be strong. You're still enough."
"I don't know how to not be strong," she admitted. "It's all I know."
"Then learn with me." He shifted, opening his arms in invitation. "Because I don't know how to not be in control. How to admit I need someone. How to let myself be vulnerable. But I want to learn. With you."
She looked at him—this man who'd traveled three hours to make pancakes, who'd spent his whole visit trying to lighten her load, who'd seen her at her most raw and hadn't run away.
Then she fell into his arms. Zayne caught her, held her tight against his chest as she finally, finally let herself break. She cried—deep, wrenching sobs that she'd been holding back for years. All the fear, the exhaustion, the weight of being strong when she was just a girl who needed someone to tell her it was okay to rest.
Zayne held her through it all. One hand cradled her head, the other wrapped around her small frame, and he just—held her. Let her break against him, let her soak his shirt with tears, let her shake apart knowing he would hold the pieces until she was ready to put them back together.
"I've got you," he murmured into her hair.
"I've got you. You can rest now. I've got you."
Time became meaningless. They sat under the apple tree—the same tree she'd climbed to make jam, the same tree where she'd hidden as a child when her father's anger got too loud—and Zayne let her fall apart safely.
Eventually, the tears slowed. Her breathing steadied. But she didn't pull away, and he didn't let go.
"I'm sorry," she mumbled against his chest. "I got your shirt all wet—"
"I don't care about the shirt."
"I'm being weak—"
"You're being human." He pulled back just enough to tilt her chin up, making her meet his eyes. "This is what strength actually looks like, Nana. Not smiling through pain. Not pretending you're fine. But admitting when you're not. Letting someone help carry the weight. That takes more courage than I have most days."
She searched his face, looking for judgment or disappointment. Found only warmth, understanding, and something that looked a lot like love.
"Why are you so good to me?"
she whispered.
"Because you deserve it." Simple, matter-of-fact. "Because someone should have been good to you six years ago when you needed it. Because I—" He paused, then said it. "Because I love you. And love means holding someone when they break, not just celebrating when they're strong."
Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks, but these were different. Softer. Not from pain, but from relief.
"I love you too," she said. "Even though I'm a mess. Even though I'm broken—"
"You're not broken." Zayne brushed tears from her cheeks with his thumbs.
"You're bent, maybe. Tired. Carrying too much. But not broken. And even if you were—" He smiled softly. "—I'm a surgeon. I'm very good at fixing broken things."
She laughed—watery but genuine—and buried her face in his chest again. They sat there as the morning sun climbed higher, as the sounds of her siblings playing drifted from the house, as the village went about its day.
And Nana, who'd been strong for everyone else for six years, finally learned what it felt like to let someone be strong for her.
"Thank you," she whispered eventually.
"For what?"
"For seeing me. The real me. The tired, scared, barely-holding-it-together me." She pulled back to look at him. "No one's ever—everyone always says how strong I am. How inspiring. How capable. But you—you saw that I was drowning."
"I recognized a fellow drowning person," Zayne said quietly. "Takes one to know one."
"Then let's not drown alone anymore."
She laced her fingers through his.
"Let's hold each other up."
"Deal." He raised their joined hands and pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles—a promise, a commitment, a beginning. "No more drowning alone."
From inside the house, Lili's voice rang out: "NANA! DR. ZAYNE! MAMA SAYS COME INSIDE OR THE COOKIES WILL GET COLD!"
They looked at each other and smiled—tired but genuine, soft but real.
"Ready to face the chaos again?" Zayne asked.
"With you?" Nana stood, pulling him up with her. "Yes. I think I am."
They walked back to the house hand in hand, and if her eyes were still red from crying, no one mentioned it.
But her smile—the one she wore now—was real.
Not armor. Not pretense. Just genuine happiness because for the first time in seven years, she didn't have to carry everything alone.
She had someone who would hold her when she fell apart.
And that made all the difference.
.
.
.
.
.
To be continued __