240. WAYA, WOKI & KIWI

240. WAYA, WOKI & KIWI
Layla sat quietly in her old apartment bedroom, staring at the large canvas propped against the wall. The half-finished portrait of Leon stared back at her with ghostly stillness, the once-bold strokes of blues and blacks now faded and tired.
It had been a week since they brought Luna home. Mornings belonged to Zaley, who managed the chaos of making breakfast, feeding, and school runs while she took care of getting the girls ready for the day. Afternoons were hers. By the time Layla returned, Luna was usually on the edge of sleep.
Her own interaction with the little girl was still limited. Luna trusted Zaley. She adored Lilly. With Layla, though… it was cautious ground. At least she no longer ducked behind Zaley’s legs when their eyes met. That was something. That was a start.
Now, at 11 AM, Layla sat with a steaming mug of coffee, brush in hand, working on the old painting. Her life had tilted into something new and heavier, yet strangely balanced. Two girls who needed her. A man who shared the work, the care, the love and every other damn thing in between.
Even when she first suggested adoption, a flicker of doubt had burned inside her. Can I really do this? She’d wondered.
Yet somehow, without a plan, she found herself doing exactly that; balancing it all.
Plans had never been necessary with Zaley. They had lived together before, in another life, in another version of themselves. Words weren’t needed. Things simply fell into place, like puzzle pieces clicking where they belonged. She never knew it could feel this easy with the right partner.
Layla chuckled softly to herself, gathering the sketches she had drawn as a teenager, tucking them neatly away while Kirill helped her move the canvas.
Back at the penthouse that afternoon, Luna was still wide awake when Layla arrived. Zaley left with Kirill, leaving the house unusually quiet.
This time, when Luna looked at her, there was no terror in her eyes. Only hesitation. She followed Layla silently to the empty room where the mural was taking shape on the wall.
“Do you love colours, Luna?” Layla asked gently.
The girl gave a shy nod. Words didn’t come easily to her yet. Her vocabulary is limited, but she understood far more than she could speak.
Layla handed her a drawing book and a box of crayons. Luna sat cross-legged beside her, tongue peeking from the corner of her mouth as she sketched with intense concentration. She held up the page proudly; it looked like a tangled net.
“Loki,” she announced. Or rather, “Woki.” The L slipped away on her tongue.
Layla smiled. “Woki? Where is Loki, hmm?” she teased, painting a leaf on the wall.
At once, Luna jumped to her feet, determination sparking in her tiny frame. She dashed from the room before Layla could stop her. The words rose instinctively to her lips—No running, Sprinkles—but she caught herself just in time.
A minute later, a shrill scream tore through the hall. Layla dropped her brush, stumbling over a paint bottle as she bolted out of the room.
In the living room, Luna barreled toward her, latching onto her legs with a frightened grip.
Kirill stood just a few steps away, brows furrowed, looking every bit as startled as Layla.
Layla steadied herself, blinking between the little girl clinging to her legs and Kirill, who looked just as startled.
“Hey, hey, Luna…” Layla crouched carefully, prying the child’s small hands from her jeans. “It’s okay. He won’t hurt you.”
Luna’s big eyes darted up at her, brimming with panic, then flicked to Kirill.
Layla lifted her in her arms.

Kirill forgot his wallet.
Which never happened.
But today, it did.
He went back upstairs, greeting Eli in passing, and snatched the wallet from the living room table. Just as he was about to leave, something small and quick appeared in the corner of his vision.
He turned, and Luna let out a piercing scream, spinning in a frantic little circle. Was it hopping? Skipping? Some hybrid of both? Whatever it was, the performance ended with her bolting straight toward Layla the moment she entered the hall.
Ah… kids. Such a nuisance.
“Hey, hey, Luna… It’s okay. He won’t hurt you.” Layla’s voice was soft as she scooped the trembling girl into her arms.
“Big scary man,” Luna whispered dramatically, her eyes wide as saucers.
Layla threw her head back and laughed. “No, Luna. He’s our friend. Look—” She held out her free hand toward Kirill. “Kirill, shake my hand.”
He froze, gaze narrowing at the absurd request.
“Whether you believe it or not, Zaley is insane in his head,” he said flatly. “The other day, when you rode your bike with your helmet on, one of the security guards glanced at you. I had to stop Zaley from tearing him apart. Ever since you became his fiancée, that obsession of his has climbed to a new level. So no. I won’t touch your hand.”
Layla’s sigh was sharp, edged with command. “Shake. My. Hand. Kirill.”
Against all reason, he did.
“Now smile,” she ordered.
Luna’s tiny hand darted down, prying at his fingers with surprising strength. “No touch, Waya,” she demanded, frowning hard.
Then, planting her palm over her own chest, she declared with utmost seriousness, “Mine.”
Layla froze for a heartbeat, her throat tightening. Mine. The word rang in her ears like a fragile promise. Luna, who barely spoke, who had clung to Zaley’s shadow for days, was now holding onto her, shielding her as if she belonged to her. A rush of warmth spread through Layla’s chest so quickly it nearly brought tears to her eyes. She smoothed a hand over the girl’s hair, silently promising she’d be hers too.
Kirill blinked. “...Waya?”
Luna bobbed her head seriously. “Waya.”
He frowned deeper. “What is Waya? Is that supposed to mean something?”
“Waya!” she said again, louder this time, her brows furrowed, as if sheer volume would clear his confusion.
Kirill looked helplessly at Layla. “What is she even saying?”
Layla covered her mouth, laughing. “She’s saying Layla.”
Kirill scowled. “She’s the one mispronouncing, and I’m the one getting scolded?”
Luna glared at him, unimpressed. “Waya,” she repeated stubbornly, hugging Layla tighter.
Layla shook her head, amused. “Okay, Luna. Say hi to Kirill.”
The little girl turned her face away, scowling. But after a moment, she peeked back and mumbled, “Hi, Kiwi.”
Kirill froze. Then his head snapped toward Layla. “Kiwi?”
Layla doubled over laughing, almost spilling Luna out of her arms.
Kirill groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Why do all of your children murder my name like that?”
Luna giggled then, like she had done it on purpose.
As if on cue, Loki came padding into the room, the fluffy little puppy letting out his best attempt at a bark directed straight at Kirill.
Kirill turned his glare onto the pup.
Loki froze mid-growl, whimpered, and scrambled back, hiding behind Layla’s legs with his tail tucked.
Layla lost it completely, clutching her stomach with laughter.
Luna smirked smugly at Kirill from Layla’s arms, as though her “Kiwi” nickname had just been vindicated.