"So," Rhea continued, "every night I'd jump from the door straight onto the bed. No touching the floor." She paused. "Once I missed."
Ling snorted.
"I said don't laugh!"
"I'm not!" Ling said, immediately failing. "Please continue."
Rhea groaned. "I landed halfway. Panicked. Screamed so loud the neighbors thought something terrible happened."
Ling laughed openly now. "You? Screaming?"
Rhea buried her face in her hands. "Mom came running, turned on all the lights, and found me frozen there, crying because the monster was 'about to grab my ankle.'"
Ling leaned forward, delighted. "That is adorable."
"It is humiliating," Rhea corrected.
Ling reached out and poked her gently. "What else?"
Rhea hesitated. "There was this school play. I was supposed to recite a poem." She sighed. "I forgot the entire thing. Just stood there."
Ling winced. "Ouch."
"I panicked," Rhea said. "So I bowed. In the middle of the stage. And walked off."
Ling burst out laughing, falling back against the couch. "You just… left?"
"I thought it was respectful," Rhea muttered.
Ling wiped her eyes. "I love this version of you."
Rhea glanced at her, embarrassed but smiling despite herself. "You promised not to make fun."
Ling leaned closer, grin softening. "I promised not to be cruel. Making fun is different."
Rhea shook her head, then added quietly, "You're not allowed to tell anyone."
Ling placed a hand over her heart dramatically. "Your secrets are safe with me."
Rhea rolled her eyes. "Liar."
Ling laughed but didn't let her escape. She leaned back on the couch, eyes bright, chin resting on her hand.
"Continue," she said, dragging the word out. "You can't stop now."
Rhea groaned. "I already told you enough."
Ling shook her head. "Nope. I want the full archive. Every embarrassing chapter."
Rhea sighed dramatically and gave in. "Fine. But don't exaggerate it later."
Ling raised two fingers. "I make no promises."
Rhea stared at the ceiling, as if replaying old memories. "I was… chubby. Like properly chubby. Mom used to call me healthy, which was clearly a lie."
Ling's smile widened instantly. "I'm already imagining it."
Rhea shot her a look. "You're not allowed to interrupt."
"I'm silent," Ling said then failed immediately, laughing under her breath.
"I was stubborn," Rhea continued. "If someone told me to do something, I'd do the exact opposite. Teachers hated me."
Ling nodded seriously. "That explains everything about adult you."
Rhea ignored her. "And angry. I used to get angry so fast. Once, I stopped talking to my cousin for three days because she ate my chocolate."
Ling laughed openly now. "Three days? For chocolate?"
"It was my chocolate," Rhea defended. "I even made a chart once to track snacks."
Ling leaned forward, elbows on her knees. "You were terrifying."
"I was practical," Rhea said firmly. "Also, I cried easily. But only in private."
Ling softened at that, her laughter easing into something gentler. "Small Rhea sounds intense."
"She was," Rhea admitted. "And awkward. I tripped a lot. Ran into doors. Fell off chairs."
Ling shook her head, smiling like she was watching a movie. "I can see it. Cute. Furious. Determined."
Rhea rolled her eyes. "You're enjoying this too much."
Ling reached out, cupping Rhea's face suddenly, her tone playful but warm. "You're too cute. I want our babies to be like this. Chubby, Stubborn and dramatic."
Rhea froze for half a second then rolled her eyes hard. "You're ridiculous."
Ling laughed and leaned in, kissing her cheek, then her lips light, affectionate, teasing. "I'm serious."
Rhea shook her head, embarrassed but smiling despite herself. "We have not even—"
"Shh," Ling interrupted softly. "Let me imagine."
Rhea looked away, cheeks warm, but she didn't pull back. "You're impossible."
Ling grinned. "And you're perfect. Even chubby, angry, snack-obsessed six-year-old you."
Rhea finally laughed, leaning into Ling's side. "I hate that you like this version of me."
Ling wrapped an arm around her, voice low and fond. "I like every version."
Ling tilted her head, eyes suddenly thoughtful — the dangerous kind of thoughtful.
"So," she said slowly, like she had cracked a mystery, "tell me one thing."
Rhea narrowed her eyes. "What now?"
"Did your mom," Ling continued seriously, "used to buy new chairs daily?"
Rhea blinked. "What?"
Ling nodded like it was obvious. "You said you used to fall from chairs. And you were chubby." She paused, then added with fake concern, "The chairs must have been breaking."
There was a second of stunned silence.
Then Rhea stared at her. "Excuse me?"
Ling immediately burst into laughter, falling back against the couch. "I'm just saying — structural damage. Furniture trauma."
Rhea lunged at her, shoving her shoulder. "Idiot. I fell, the chairs didn't collapse."
Ling clutched her chest dramatically. "So the chairs survived but the pride didn't?"
Rhea groaned. "You promised you wouldn't make fun."
"I promised nothing," Ling said smugly. "I nodded and laughed already, remember?"
Rhea crossed her arms. "You're impossible."
Ling leaned closer, still grinning. "Admit it though. Little Rhea, chubby cheeks, angry face, slipping off chairs like gravity personally hated you."
Rhea tried to stay annoyed but failed. "I was not slipping. I was… miscalculating."
Ling laughed again. "That's even worse."
Rhea pushed her away again, cheeks warm. "You're lucky I'm in a good mood."
Ling's voice softened just a little. "I'm lucky you're telling me all this."
Rhea paused, then muttered, "You're not allowed to repeat this. Ever."
Ling lifted her hand. "Scout's honor."
Rhea eyed her suspiciously. "You were never a scout."
Ling smiled and leaned in anyway, pressing a quick kiss to Rhea's cheek. "Still. Your secrets are safe with me."
Rhea sighed, shaking her head. "I regret starting this."
Ling rested her forehead against Rhea's. "No, you don't. You like that I know."
Rhea didn't answer but she didn't move away either.
She hesitated for a moment, then sighed like she was already regretting it.
"There's something else," she said quietly.
Ling's eyes lit up immediately. "Oh, this tone means something embarrassing."
Rhea shot her a warning look. "You promised."
Ling leaned back, grinning. "I promised to listen. Not to behave."
Rhea rolled her eyes and continued anyway. "When I was five… I had very serious thoughts about marriage."
Ling blinked. "Five?"
"Yes. Five," Rhea repeated firmly. "Don't interrupt."
Ling zipped her lips dramatically, though her smile betrayed her.
Rhea stared at her hands as she spoke, voice soft but steady. "I used to think marriage was the most important thing in the world. Not love marriage. The idea of it." She shrugged. "Probably because every adult around me talked about it like it was some final destination."
Ling nodded, genuinely curious now.
"I decided," Rhea went on, "that I would only marry someone who was… strong. And kind. And who wouldn't leave." She paused. "I didn't even know what cheating meant back then, but I knew I hated the idea of someone leaving."
Ling's smile faded just a little.
"I also decided," Rhea added, a little embarrassed, "that I'd never marry before twenty-five. Because five-year-old me thought that was very mature."
Ling snorted despite herself.
Rhea groaned. "Don't laugh."
"I'm not," Ling said quickly. "Okay, I am. But keep going."
Rhea sighed. "I even planned practical things. Like… I'd cook. But only sometimes. And I wouldn't fight loudly. And I'd never embarrass my partner in public."
Ling tilted her head. "You were already negotiating terms?"
"I was," Rhea said seriously. "I also told my mom I'd only marry someone who listened to me when I talked."
Ling went still at that.
"And," Rhea added, cheeks warming, "I said I didn't want a husband who scared me."
The room quieted.
Ling reached out slowly, resting her hand over Rhea's. "I am not scary. And that's a lot for a five-year-old."
Rhea shrugged lightly. "I was a weird kid."
"No," Ling said softly. "You were observant."
Rhea glanced at her. "You're not making fun?"
Ling shook her head. "I'm imagining a tiny, stubborn Rhea setting marriage rules like a contract."
Rhea laughed despite herself. "I was very serious about it."
Ling squeezed her hand gently. "Do those rules still apply?"
Rhea thought for a second, then nodded. "Most of them."
Ling smiled, leaning closer. "Good. Because I don't plan on leaving. And I listen. Even when you pretend you don't want me to."
Rhea's breath hitched slightly. "You're unfair."
Ling kissed her temple, light and warm. "You started it. Five-year-old you planned too well."
Rhea shook her head, smiling to herself. "I can't believe I told you this."
Ling whispered, amused and sincere all at once, "I'm honored to know the first draft of you."
Then Ling tilted her head, pretending to think deeply. Then she clicked her tongue.
"You know," she said slowly, "five-year-old you lied."
Rhea frowned. "About what?"
Ling leaned closer, eyes mischievous. "You said you'd never humiliate your partner."
Rhea opened her mouth to protest, but Ling was already laughing. "You absolutely do. Regularly. Publicly. Casually."
Rhea scoffed. "That's not humiliation."
"Oh, it is," Ling insisted. "You roast me like it's a hobby."
Rhea crossed her arms. "You deserve it."
Ling gasped dramatically. "See? Exhibit A."
Rhea tried to hold a straight face and failed. "Okay, fine. Maybe I tease. But you exaggerate."
Ling shook her head. "You once corrected my pronunciation in front of three people and a waiter."
"That was educational," Rhea said firmly.
Ling laughed harder. "And then there's the fighting part. Five-year-old you said you wouldn't fight loudly."
Rhea raised an eyebrow. "I don't."
Ling stared at her. "Rhea. You and silence are antonyms."
Rhea burst out laughing. "That's rude."
"It's accurate," Ling said smugly. "You don't fight quietly. You argue with passion. With hand gestures. And expressions. And tone."
Rhea pointed at her. "You provoke me."
Ling nodded proudly. "And you react beautifully."
Rhea leaned back, shaking her head. "I can't believe I trusted five-year-old me."
Ling softened, her teasing easing into something warm. "I like that you're loud. And stubborn. And dramatic."
Rhea glanced at her. "You do?"
Ling nodded. "It means you care. You don't disappear into silence."
Rhea's smile turned small, thoughtful. "I guess the rules changed."
Ling reached out, brushing her thumb lightly over Rhea's knuckles. "Good. Because I don't want a quiet partner. I want you."
Rhea looked away, embarrassed. "You're still annoying."
Ling grinned. "And you're still breaking childhood promises."
Rhea laughed, leaning closer. "Some promises were unrealistic."
Ling laughed with her, resting her forehead against Rhea's. "Then let's make new ones. Adult ones."
Rhea nodded softly. "Those I can keep."
Ling leaned back with a thoughtful hum, then suddenly straightened like she'd remembered something very important.
"Wait," she said, pointing at Rhea. "What about your twenty-five-year marriage plan?"
Rhea froze. "What about it?"
Ling smirked. "You said you wouldn't marry before twenty-five." She tilted her head, eyes playful and entirely unserious. "I can't wait that long."
Rhea stared at her. "Ling—"
"You're nineteen," Ling continued confidently. "Perfect. Ideal. Best age for marriage."