The morning after their meeting arrived softer than expected — a thin mist still clinging to the air, the scent of last night’s rain lingering like a promise not yet fulfilled.

Lucen stood by his window, mug of black coffee in hand, watching the sunlight scatter across the damp street. The world outside seemed to hum with a stillness he recognised — the same kind that had filled Café Lumere yesterday, when Elara had finally met his eyes without hesitation.

A faint smile curved his lips.
He hadn’t told her the truth yet — that he had been the one to ask for this, to take the first step — but somehow, he didn’t regret holding it back.
She wasn’t ready for confessions. She needed reassurance first, not revelation.

He took another sip of coffee, remembering the sound of her beneath the rain, the way she’d slowly begun to relax, like a door gently opening after years of being locked.

Downstairs, he heard his mother’s voice — bright and familiar.
“Lucen! Breakfast’s getting cold!”

He set his mug down, smiling, and headed down the stairs.

Selene was already seated at the table, scrolling through her phone with that particular expression mothers wear when they’re pretending not to be curious.

He sat opposite her. “Good morning.”

Selene looked up, her eyes instantly narrowing with a knowing glint. “So,” she said, drawing the word out, “how did yesterday go?”

Lucen tried to play it off with a casual shrug. “It went well.”

“Just ‘well’?” she teased, arching a brow. “You came home last night looking like you’d just solved world peace.”

He chuckled softly. “We talked, that’s all. She’s… thoughtful. Careful with her words. I think she’s still processing everything.”

Selene leaned back, her curiosity tempered by maternal warmth. “And what about you?”

He hesitated, searching for the right words. “I think I’m learning what patience really feels like.”

His mother’s smile softened. “Patience, hmm? I remember when you couldn’t wait five minutes for dinner.”

“People change,” he said, but his tone was quiet, almost reflective.

Selene tilted her head, studying him. “You really care about her, don’t you?”

He met her gaze, neither denying nor confessing. “I just… want her to feel safe. That’s all.”

Something in his voice made Selene’s teasing fade into tenderness.
She reached over, her hand brushing his briefly. “Then you’re already doing more than most.”

He smiled faintly. “She asked for a week to decide.”

Selene nodded approvingly. “Good. Give her that time. She seems like someone who needs to understand things deeply before trusting them.”

“She is,” he said, the words almost a whisper. “She’s been through more than she lets on.”

Selene didn’t ask how he knew — she simply smiled, the kind of knowing smile only mothers carry. “Then maybe she needs someone who can understand without asking.”

After breakfast, Lucen retreated to his room again. The sunlight had shifted, bright now, cutting sharp lines across the floor.
He sat at his desk, opening his laptop, pretending to work. But his thoughts were elsewhere.

He kept seeing her — the way she’d looked at him when she said, “Why did you agree to it?”
There had been vulnerability in her tone, but also courage.

He respected that.
He admired it.

She wasn’t the kind of person to be won over with words; she was someone you built trust with, slowly, quietly.

As he leaned back in his chair, his gaze fell on the small notebook lying half-open beside him. Inside it, rough sketches of app prototypes, old ideas, scribbled notes — and, between two pages, a receipt from Café Lumere.
The day he had first realised he was falling for her.

He smiled slightly. “Full circle,” he murmured to himself.

That evening, as the sun dipped low and painted the sky with soft amber, Selene knocked lightly on his door.

“You’re quiet again,” she said with a half-smile.

Lucen turned in his chair. “Just thinking.”

“About her?”

He didn’t deny it. “Maybe.”

Selene stepped closer, resting a hand on his shoulder. “You did the right thing yesterday — giving her space. Sometimes love isn’t about answers; it’s about waiting for the right question to find its time.”

He looked up at her, warmth in his eyes. “You always know what to say.”

She smiled, brushing his hair lightly like she did when he was younger. “It’s a mother’s job to sound wise now and then.”

When she left, the room fell quiet again. Lucen turned back toward the window.

The first stars were beginning to appear, faint but steady — like the look in Elara’s eyes when she’d finally said thank you.

He didn’t know what her decision would be, but for the first time, uncertainty didn’t feel heavy.
It felt hopeful.

Because sometimes, he thought, silence wasn’t the absence of an answer —
It was the promise that one was coming.

Morning sunlight stretched across the room when Elara opened her eyes. The scent of jasmine still lingered faintly in the air, mingling with the warmth of tea brewing downstairs.

For a few seconds, she stayed still — listening to the quiet rhythm of the house. Her thoughts were scattered between the conversation at Café Lumere, the way Lucen’s voice had sounded beneath the rain, and the gentleness that had unsettled her in ways she couldn’t name.

When she finally came downstairs, her mother was setting the table for breakfast.

“Good morning, love,” Lyra said with a smile that carried both curiosity and restraint.

“Morning,” Elara replied softly, taking her seat.

They ate in near silence for a while, the clinking of cups filling the room. Then Lyra spoke, tone light but expectant.
“So… how did the meeting go?”

Elara hesitated. “It was… nice.”

Her mother’s eyebrows lifted. “Nice?”

She smiled faintly. “He’s very polite. Calm. It didn’t feel forced.”

Lyra’s smile grew warmer. “I told you he was a good boy. Selene raised him well. He’s already earning, you know — part-time, but enough to support himself.”

Elara nodded absently. She remembered him mentioning projects once in class, but never realised how much responsibility he already carried.

Lyra reached for her cup, her expression softening. “You don’t have to decide yet, Elara. Just keep your heart open. Sometimes people surprise us — especially the quiet ones.”

Her daughter smiled faintly, eyes lowering. “Maybe they do.”

Later that day, she sat by her window, phone in hand, staring at a blank chat screen.
Her best friend, Ayla, had been waiting for an update since last night.

Finally, she typed:
Elara: It was… not what I expected.

The reply came seconds later.
Ayla: That sounds interesting. Not good, not bad — just unexpected? Spill.

Elara smiled despite herself and began to type slowly, thoughtfully.
Elara: He’s different, Ayla. Quiet. Not the kind of quiet that makes things awkward — the kind that makes you feel safe. He listens. Like, really listens.

There was a pause before Ayla replied.
Ayla: And? You like him?

Elara’s fingers hovered over the screen. She didn’t know how to answer that.
After a long moment, she wrote:
Elara: I don’t know yet. But I didn’t feel… afraid. And that’s new.

Ayla’s next message came softer.
Ayla: Maybe that’s a start.

Elara put her phone down, a small, thoughtful smile resting on her lips.
Outside, the clouds had begun to thin, streaks of sunlight filtering through.

She rested her head against the windowpane, watching droplets slide down the glass.
Somewhere inside her, the storm she’d been carrying for years felt a little quieter — not gone, but gentled.

When her mother peeked into the room later, she found her lost in thought.

“Still thinking about yesterday?” Lyra asked softly.

Elara nodded. “Just… trying to understand what it all means.”

Lyra smiled knowingly. “You’ll know when it’s time.”

Her mother left her to her thoughts, and Elara turned back toward the window.
The evening light shimmered across her reflection, and she caught herself smiling — not at the world, not even at Lucen, but at the feeling of calm that had begun to return.

In two quiet houses, two quiet hearts carried the same thought in different shapes —
that sometimes, it isn’t love that arrives first,
But peace and respect.