The house was quieter than usual. The teacups had been cleared, the laughter of the guests already folded into the walls.
Elara sat on the edge of her bed, still in her forest-green dress, her dupatta folded neatly beside her. The faint scent of jasmine from the garden slipped through the half-open window.

She replayed the evening in pieces — her mother’s bright voice, Selene’s warmth, Lucen’s calm eyes meeting hers.
None of it made sense.

Lucen.

He was from her class.
How could it be him?

Across three years of university, she had stayed polite but distant, careful never to blur lines. People had called her proud; some thought she was cold. In truth, she simply never felt safe enough to let anyone close.

The quiet had always been easier than misunderstanding.

And now the boy who had quietly shared that silence was the one whose family had come with a proposal.

She exhaled, leaning back against the headboard. It must have been their mothers, she told herself. An old friendship is turning into an arrangement. That’s all.

But the thought refused to settle.

Her reflection in the mirror looked composed, yet somewhere inside, an old fear stirred — the one she had carried since childhood.
She remembered voices raised too loud, doors closing too hard, her mother’s tired eyes. She had learned early that marriage could turn gentleness sharp.
Even after years had softened the memory, the fear stayed: of promises that changed, of safety that vanished.

Her fingers tightened around the edge of her dupatta.
I’m not ready, she thought. Not for this. Not yet.

Still, when she closed her eyes, the image that surfaced wasn’t of fear but of Lucen’s quiet smile — steady, unhurried, as if he had understood what she hadn’t said.

She turned off the lamp, letting the moonlight spill across the room.
For the first time in years, the silence didn’t comfort her — it waited, expectant, full of questions she couldn’t answer.

The road home shimmered with scattered lights, the hum of the engine steady beneath his parents’ soft conversation. His mother was still talking about the evening — how poised Elara had been, how everything had felt right.

Lucen listened quietly, watching the lights smear across the glass. A small smile touched his lips, but his thoughts were far away, replaying the moment their eyes had met.

She had looked calm to everyone else, but he’d seen the faint tremor she’d tried to hide, the storm behind her steady gaze.
Strange, he thought, how someone could understand a person without ever needing words.

He leaned his head back against the seat, closing his eyes for a second. The motion of the car and his mother’s voice tugged a memory forward—two nights earlier, when he’d finally gathered the courage to speak..

Flashback — Two Nights Ago

He had been at his desk, pretending to study, his pen unmoving for almost an hour. Every time he tried to focus, her voice from the dinner returned — soft, measured, slipping between words like quiet music.

He’d never been impulsive, yet that evening, he pushed back his chair and walked straight to the living room where his mother was arranging flowers in a vase.

“Need something, Lucen?” Selene asked without looking up, a small smile already forming—she’d noticed his sudden appearances lately.

He cleared his throat, trying to sound casual. “No, just… wanted to ask if you need help with—uh—those lilies.”

She glanced at him over her shoulder, amusement flickering in her eyes. “Help with lilies, or help with decisions?”

He blinked. “Decisions?”

Her smile widened. “You’ve been pacing your room for an hour. You like Elara, don’t you?”

He blinked, completely thrown. “What — how — ”

His mother chuckled, tucking a stray petal into the vase. “Mothers know. You’ve looked different ever since that dinner.”

Lucen rubbed the back of his neck, giving up the act. “You’re not wrong,” he admitted quietly. “I just… didn’t know how to say it.”

“Then don’t overthink,” she said, voice gentle. “Just tell me what you feel.”

He hesitated, then met her eyes. “I like her. She’s different. The way she listens, the way she carries silence — it doesn’t feel empty around her. I think she’s the person I’ve been waiting to understand.”

Selene’s expression softened. “And here I thought you’d never notice anyone. Every girl I mentioned before bored you, but this one — ” She chuckled. “This one makes you poetic.”

He laughed, a little embarrassed. “You won’t regret it.”

“Regret it?” she teased. “I’m already calling Lyra tomorrow. Now go, before you change your mind.”

He had walked away smiling, the weight of uncertainty finally gone.

Now

The car turned onto their street, the lights outside thinning into darkness. Lucen opened his eyes, that memory fading into the present.

He hadn’t expected the proposal to happen so soon — or for her to look at him with that mix of disbelief and quiet fear. He wished he could tell her it was all right, that she was safe, that nothing between them needed to change, even if life decided to tie them in this new bond.

When the car stopped, his mother looked back at him with a knowing grin. “You’re quiet again.”

He shook his head, smiling faintly. “Just thinking.”

Selene squeezed his hand before stepping out. “Good thoughts, I hope.”

He watched her walk toward the house before looking up at the night sky. The stars were faint but steady — like her, he thought.

And somewhere across the city, in a room filled with the scent of jasmine and unspoken questions, Elara was still awake, staring at the same sky, both of them caught in the same uncertain calm.

Neither of them knew what tomorrow would bring.
But for the first time, both were thinking of each other not as strangers, not as classmates, but as two quiet souls learning what destiny sounded like when it whispered instead of knocking.