Elara entered the room with her usual grace, the soft click of her heels against the polished floor the only sound breaking the silence. The maid opened the door for her with a respectful nod and stepped aside, allowing her to enter. Elara placed her tablet on the corner of the sideboard, her fingers lingering for a brief moment, as though releasing the weight of the day's boardroom battles.
The long dining table was set family-style, bowls and platters brimming with steaming lentil soup, fragrant spiced das, perfectly rolled rotis, and a colorful array of vegetables and chutneys. At the head of the table sat Elara's father, deep in conversation with an elder uncle about the latest market trends. Her mother moved gracefully between kitchen and table, ladling soup into bowls with practiced elegance.
Aisha, Elara's older sister, was telling a lively story about a new art exhibit she'd seen, her hands gesturing enthusiastically. Mira, the youngest, sat beside her, quietly observing, her pale green scarf draped neatly around her shoulders. Sam leaned casually against the counter, watching the scene unfold with a mischievous gleam in his eyes.
As Elara settled into her seat, Sam was the first to speak. He handed her a glass of water, a playful smile tugging at his lips. "You survived the business duel, huh?"
Elara took the glass wordlessly, her eyes meeting his briefly before drifting toward the table, the corners of her lips hinting at something unreadable.
Mira, always quick to pick up on subtle dynamics, chuckled softly. "If anyone can survive that, it's Elara. Cold as ice under pressure."
Aisha nodded in agreement, her smile a mixture of admiration and amusement. "Don't let her composure fool you—she knows exactly how to navigate those rooms."
Sam raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Word is, Ethan didn't even blink. Colder than you, and I didn't think that was possible."
Elara set the water aside with deliberate calm, her gaze momentarily flicking to her mother, who was now arranging the final dishes. Her voice, when it came, was cool but authoritative, signaling the end of the conversation. "Can we please eat before the food gets cold?"
Sam raised his hands in mock surrender, his grin never wavering. "Alright, dinner it is."
As the meal progressed, the family settled into their comfortable rhythm. Bowls of lentil soup were passed around, and the soft murmur of conversation filled the air. Mira asked Aisha about her latest gallery show, Aisha teased Mira about her upcoming exams, and their parents exchanged proud smiles. Elara participated with quiet nods and occasional remarks, her focus mostly on the meal, her thoughts still lingering on the events of the day.
Midway through the meal, the doorbell rang, cutting through the easy chatter. The maid stood, excused herself, and opened the door. A moment later, Ethan entered, his presence as striking as ever. He was dressed in a sharp charcoal suit, a sleek gift box in his hands.
"Grandfather asked me to drop this off," Ethan said, his gaze scanning the room before it settled on Elara.
Her mother stood and greeted him warmly. "Please join us, Ethan."
Ethan gave a polite nod to each family member before seating himself opposite Elara. For a brief moment, the family's chatter paused, the hum of conversation falling into a natural lull as plates were shifted to make room.
Her father, ever the businessman, was the first to speak. "How's your latest venture going, Ethan?"
Aisha, never one to miss an opportunity for a compliment, added, "Your punctuality is as impeccable as always."
Sam, however, couldn't resist the temptation to tease. He leaned back in his chair, a playful glint in his eyes. "So, was the boardroom battle icy, or do you two just read each other's minds?"
Ethan looked across the table, his expression calm and measured. His voice, when he spoke, was even and composed. "No mind reading—just understanding."
Laughter rippled through the family, each of them appreciating the subtle exchange between Elara and Ethan. Despite the minimal words, there was something undeniably compelling about their dynamic. It wasn't about grand gestures or overt affection; it was about a quiet, shared understanding.
Elara caught Ethan's gaze for a moment, her eyes softening ever so slightly before she turned her attention back to her plate. The connection between them, though unspoken, was palpable.
As the meal wound down, the final course—sweet rice—was brought out, signaling the end of dinner. Ethan rose to leave, and Elara followed suit. They walked into the hallway together, the soft shuffle of their footsteps the only sound in the otherwise quiet house.
"You didn't have to bring that tonight," Elara said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
"It felt... right," Ethan replied quietly, his words sincere but carefully chosen.
Elara's gaze dropped to her hands, the weight of the moment settling between them. "It happened the way it was meant to," she murmured, almost to herself.
There was no need for further words. They understood each other in the silence. No grand declarations, no dramatic gestures—just a quiet recognition of what was between them.
Ethan stepped out into the cool night air, and Elara closed the door behind him, leaning against the wood for a moment. The house felt quieter now, but within its walls, something had subtly shifted. Elara couldn't put her finger on it, but she knew something had changed between them—something that couldn't be undone.