The sun is low enough to paint the neighborhood in gold as you turn onto their street, the familiar gated mansion coming into view. Their porch light is already on — not because it’s dark, but because Zaniyah insists it makes the house look “more welcoming for you.”

The gates open automatically, recognizing your car and face. You park in your usual spot in the long driveway. Before you can even grab your bag, the front door cracks open.

Sarai appears first. She peeks out like a shy cat, clutching a stuffed animal by the ear. The moment she recognizes your car, her whole face brightens. She runs down — she barrels down the front steps and long driveway, stopping right beside your door like she’s guarding it.

Zaniyah is next. She leans against the doorway, arms crossed, curls falling over one shoulder. She’s smiling that calm, knowing smile — the one that says she’s been waiting to talk to you all day.