Morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, scattering across the floor in pale gold. The house felt unusually still, as if it too was recovering from last night’s commotion.
Elara sat by the window, her hair still unbrushed, the smell of breakfast drifting faintly from the kitchen.

She was lost in thought, tracing invisible patterns on the edge of her teacup, when she heard the soft knock on the door.
Her mother stepped in, smiling the way she always did when she had something to say but was choosing her words carefully.

“You’re awake early,” Lyra said gently.

“I couldn’t sleep much,” Elara admitted, setting the cup down.

Lyra came to sit beside her on the bed. The air between them was calm, yet expectant — the kind that asked for honesty.

“I wanted to talk to you about last night.”

Elara looked down at her hands, already knowing what was coming.

“I like Lucen,” her mother said after a pause. “He’s a good boy — responsible, kind, already working part-time while finishing his degree. Lyra told me he’s been supporting some of his father’s expenses too.”

Elara looked up, surprised. “He’s working?”

Lyra nodded. “Yes. He’s been handling freelance software projects for almost a year. He’s doing quite well, actually. I think he’ll have a bright future.”

Her mother’s voice softened, turning fond. “And he’s respectful. I noticed that the first time we met him. Even last night — he didn’t say much, but there was something very grounded about him.”

Elara listened quietly. Her mother’s praise didn’t surprise her; Lucen had always seemed composed. Still, her mind was filled with too many questions, most of them without words.

Lyra hesitated, then added, “Selene told me that once you agree, they’d like to arrange an engagement soon. Nothing rushed, of course, but they’re eager to make it official.”

The words hit her with a dull weight — engagement.

Elara’s fingers tightened around the edge of her dupatta. “Mom…” she began softly, “I’m not sure I’m ready for this.”

Lyra turned to her, her expression kind but firm. “I know it feels sudden, but you don’t have to decide today. Just think about it. Sometimes, the right things don’t wait for us to be ready; they wait for us to recognise them.”

Elara wanted to believe that — to believe that safety could be found in what felt uncertain. But deep down, the old fear stirred again, quiet and unrelenting.

After a long silence, she said, “Can I meet him? Before I decide anything?”

Lyra’s face softened, relief flickering in her eyes. “Of course, you can. I think that’s a very wise idea.”

An hour later, Lyra’s phone buzzed with Selene’s cheerful voice on the other end. The plan was set quickly — the same day, simple and private. Lucen would pick Elara up after lunch, and they could talk freely somewhere neutral.

By early afternoon, Elara’s room was a quiet whirl of movement.
She stood before the mirror, slipping into a cream long shirt and light beige trousers — something modest, comfortable, not too formal. Her hair fell loosely around her shoulders.

She wasn’t dressing up, not exactly. But still, she looked a little softer, her usual calm threaded with a quiet nervousness.

 Lyra peeked into her room, smiling. “You look lovely. Don’t worry too much — Selene trusts her son completely. And so do I.”

Elara nodded, trying to steady her voice. “I just don’t want to disappoint you or Dad.”

“You could never,” her mother said, brushing a stray hair from her face.

By late afternoon, her phone buzzed with a message.
Lucen: I’m outside.

Her pulse quickened.
She took a deep breath, smoothed the crease in her shirt, and stepped out.

The air was warm, sunlight filtering through the neem tree in front of the house.
Lucen was standing beside a sleek black car, dressed more formally than usual — a crisp shirt, sleeves rolled, hair neatly brushed. He looked both composed and quietly nervous, his usual calm carrying an extra layer of care.

When he saw her, he straightened slightly, an almost imperceptible smile appearing on his lips.

He greeted, his tone polite, low.

She replied softly, her hands folded in front of her.

He walked forward, opening the passenger door for her. For a brief moment, she hesitated — not out of pride, but principle.
Keeping her distance, she moved to the back door instead and slipped in quietly.

Lucen blinked, momentarily confused, then understood.
A small, amused smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he closed the front door again and circled to the driver’s seat.

The engine started, the car sliding smoothly onto the road.
Neither spoke for the first few minutes. The silence between them wasn’t cold — it was careful.

Elara looked out the window, watching the city unfold, while Lucen stole quiet glances at her through the rearview mirror.
He didn’t want to disturb her thoughts. But each time she brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear or turned her face toward the light, something in him softened further.

They drove for nearly twenty minutes before the sign appeared: Café Lumere.
The same place where, months ago, Lucen had first realised what his feelings truly meant.

When the car stopped, Elara exhaled slowly, her hands folded in her lap. She stepped out, waiting as he parked properly.

He joined her a moment later, walking beside her without speaking.
They entered the café together, the chime above the door giving a soft ring that seemed louder than it should have.

He led her to the same table near the window — the one that overlooked the small garden, where the light always fell beautifully on the polished wood.

Elara sat down carefully, her fingers brushing the rim of her teacup before she spoke.
Except she didn’t.

Her throat felt tight, words tangled somewhere between curiosity and fear.
She had been the one to ask for this meeting, yet now, facing him, she couldn’t decide where to begin.

Lucen noticed. The nervous way she tapped her finger against the table, the way her eyes darted toward the window instead of him.

He smiled faintly — not mocking, not impatient, just gentle.

If she was struggling to find her words, he would lend her calm.
If she were afraid, he would steady the silence for her.

He took a quiet breath, leaned slightly forward, and decided to break the ice — softly, respectfully, without making her flinch.

And as his voice filled the stillness between them, the story began to move again.