“I want to stop by the supermarket,” Riyana said softly while looking out of the window.
Jabco did not question her. He just nodded and turned the steering wheel toward the supermarket near her apartment. The traffic was light, and the drive felt strangely calm. The city outside moved at its own pace, but inside the car, everything felt quiet and contained.
Riyana rested her hand on her bag, her thoughts calm.
The car stopped in the parking lot. Jabco got out first and walked around to her side, opening the door. She stepped out without looking at him, her mind already on what she needed to buy.
They walked inside together.
The supermarket was moderately busy. Soft music played in the background. People moved around with carts, some alone, some in pairs, some as families. The smell of fresh vegetables and baked bread filled the air.
Riyana headed straight toward the grocery section.
When she reached for a trolley, Jabco moved faster than her.
“Let me,” he said, taking the trolley handle from her hand before she could react.
Riyana stopped walking and looked at him.
Her brows knit together slightly.
Since when did he do grocery shopping?
Since when did he insist on pushing the trolley?
She stood there for a second, watching him like he had suddenly grown a second head.
Jabco noticed her stare but did not say anything. He just adjusted his grip on the trolley and waited.
Riyana did not argue.
She turned and started walking again.
As she moved through the aisles, she picked items carefully. Rice, vegetables, fruits, milk, things she always bought. Jabco walked behind her, pushing the trolley slowly, paying attention to everything she picked up.
She could feel his presence behind her.
Every few steps, she glanced back at him without realizing it. This was the first time in all the years she had known him that she had seen him inside a grocery store like this. Not giving orders. Not sending someone else. Just… walking.
And strangely, he looked comfortable.
He examined the items she placed into the trolley as if they mattered. He even leaned forward sometimes to read labels. It almost felt domestic. Too domestic.
They moved from one aisle to another.
That was when Jabco’s eyes caught something on the other side.
A couple.
The woman looked heavily pregnant, maybe eight or nine months. Her belly was round and prominent. She leaned slightly on the trolley, clearly tired. Her husband stood close to her, reaching for items from higher shelves so she did not have to stretch.
She was eating chips straight from an open packet while pointing at other snacks. Chocolates. Candy. Noodles. Her husband smiled helplessly and put everything she asked for into the trolley.
Jabco slowed his steps.
He watched them quietly.
Something tightened in his chest.
He glanced at Riyana.
She was a few steps ahead of him, focused on selecting vegetables, doing everything on her own. She did not ask for help. She did not pause. She did not lean on him.
She never did.
Even now.
A thought crossed his mind, sharp and uncomfortable.
Would she ever ask me for help?
The answer came too easily.
Probably not.
The thought made him feel heavier than he expected.
A few days ago, late at night, he had searched about pregnancy. He just sat with his phone, scrolling quietly, reading things he had never cared about before.
Mood swings, Cravings, Sensitivity.
Pregnant women often crave spicy food. Salty snacks, Sweets, Junk food.
He looked at Riyana again.
She barely ate snacks. She was careful. Health conscious. Disciplined to a fault. He doubted she would ever openly ask for chips or chocolates. She would probably suppress it. And Ignore it. Tell herself it was unnecessary.
While she was busy on the other side of the aisle, comparing brands, Jabco quietly reached out and picked a few things.

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