Michael's blue gaze lingered on the pages, as if each swirl of ink were a constellation mapping the secrets of my heart. Then he looked up at me, those piercing blue eyes cutting through the haze of my thoughts. "Tell me, Aubrey," he murmured, his voice soft but insistent, "what did that girl do to reignite your spark?"
I was startled—surprised that he even remembered her. His question hovered between us like the curling tendrils of steam rising from the hearth. I drew in a breath, recalling the way her laughter drifted through the café like wind chimes, the gentle tilt of her head when she listened, as though every word I spoke mattered more than the world itself. "She..." I began, voice barely above a whisper, "reminded me of hope. She made it possible to breathe again, after so long trapped beneath ice."
He leaned forward, elbows propped on his knees, fingers tapping out a quiet rhythm. "And what's her name?" he asked, arching a skeptical brow. "It can't be Snowflake, can it?"
A rueful smile tugged at my lips. "Her real name is Emma," I confessed. "She works at the café down the road."
Michael's eyes widened. "The café?" he repeated, incredulous. "Don't tell me it's the same place you asked me to investigate."
I nodded, and he regarded me as if I were the most unpredictable man he had ever known—perhaps only surpassed by our father. "Do you—do you like her that much?" he pressed.
Like her? The question echoed in my mind. No, it wasn't just like. I loved her, and there was no denying it. My heart had long since ceased to accept any other truth. For the first time in my life, I yearned for something beyond my own freedom: the promise of her hand in mine, the sound of her laughter weaving through my everyday. I would gladly surrender my solitude, let my hands bleed on the violin's strings if it meant I could buy her roses as red as my own heart. And so I whispered to Michael, "I don't just like her. I need her—more than I ever imagined needing anything."
"Aubrey, I'm really happy to see you like this," Michael said, his voice warm with relief as he folded his hands in his lap. "So—did you confess your feelings to her?"
I shook my head, shoulders tight with anxiety. "No, not yet. I'm terrified she'll reject me, Michael."
He laughed, low and amused. "Never thought I'd see great Aubrey Ardel afraid of rejection by a girl."
"Shut up," I snapped, flipping him off reflexively.
Michael only smiled, his expression gentle. "Then don't let fear keep you silent." He rose and walked to the window, where the last golden rays of sunlight filtered through. He pressed his palm against the cool glass, looking back over his shoulder. "Go to her tomorrow," he said, voice firm. "Don't bring rehearsed lines—bring the truth you've laid bare here." He swept his hand toward the scattered pages on my desk, where ink shimmered in the firelight. "She doesn't need perfection. She needs you."
A surge of determination lit within me, tentative yet undeniable. The violin in its corner seemed to resonate, as if urging me forward. I gathered the pages into a neat stack, pressing them against my chest. "Thank you," I whispered, my voice thick with gratitude. "For believing I could find my way back."
Michael's face softened, a flicker of something vulnerable in his eyes. "If I'm being honest," he admitted, stepping closer, "seeing you like this—it broke my heart. It hurt knowing there was nothing I could do to save you from your own silence." He reached out, brushing a stray sheet of paper from the stack. "But you're not alone anymore."
In that moment, his words settled around me like a promise, dissolving the last of my doubt. Tomorrow, I will cross that silent corridor and speak my heart.
-
"Let's take a break, guys," Kais said, brushing the dust off his hands as he double-checked the camera clips one last time. He raised an eyebrow, turning to me with mock disapproval. "But seriously—why the hell did you nickname my sister Snowflake?"
I leaned back against the wall, smirking. "Because the first time I met her, she was hunched over a notebook, sketching this ridiculous-looking snowflake. It looked more like a spider on ice than anything else."
Kais let out a groan. "Man, you couldn't get a little more creative? No wonder it took you forever to win her over."
Michael, who had been silent until now, chuckled from behind his cup of coffee. "Joke's on you," he said, shaking his head. "It took forever because you stood there like some towering gatekeeper between them—arms crossed, death stare on full blast."
Kais shrugged, unbothered. "Hey, I had to make sure he was actually worthy of her."
I shot him a look. "You stalked me."
He gave a slow, smug grin. "Surveillance. It's called being a responsible older brother."
Michael snorted. "You had spreadsheets on him."
Kais raised a finger. "Color-coded."
His phone chimed sharply, breaking the lull in the kitchen. He glanced at the screen, thumbed it open, and snorted.
"It's from Hayat," he announced. "She won't be joining us today. She says we should either cook something ourselves or order takeout—our choice."
Michael, who had just finished the last sip of his coffee, raised an eyebrow as he rinsed his cup and placed it neatly in the sink. "It's been forever since I last cooked," he muttered. "And the last time didn't end well for anyone."
Kais clapped his hands together. "Alright then—takeout it is. What are you guys craving?"
I leaned forward, dead serious. "I want herb-crusted sea bass with asparagus tips and lemon beurre blanc. Add truffle mushroom risotto with shaved parmesan on the side. And for the main—roasted duck breast with fig glaze and wild rice pilaf."
Kais stared at me blankly for a second. Then he tapped his phone with deliberate flair. "Cool. I've ordered pizza."
Michael blinked. "Why the hell would you even ask us if you'd already made up your mind?"
Kais shrugged with a smug grin. "It's called courtesy, Michael. Look it up."
"You're unbelievable."
"I'm not wasting my money feeding you two like you're royalty. You eat like pigs. Be grateful you're getting pizza and not air."
Michael rolled his eyes. "Charming, as always."
"Thank you. I try."
The doorbell rang ten minutes later, cutting through the thick air of banter and empty stomachs.
Kais strolled over, unlocked the door, and returned triumphantly with a towering stack of pizza boxes. The aroma hit us like a freight train—cheesy, garlicky, and unapologetically greasy.
"Three large," he announced, setting them down with a dramatic thud. "Pepperoni, Margherita, and Michael's crime against pizza—whatever this fig thing is."
Michael snatched the top box and opened it like a sacred text. "Goat cheese, fig, and caramelized onion. One day you'll evolve enough to appreciate it."
I reached for a slice of pepperoni. "Says the guy who once ate cereal with cold brew because we ran out of milk."
"That was innovation," Michael replied flatly.
"Sure it was," Kais said, grabbing two slices at once. "Genius-level survival."
As we dug in, the kitchen filled with the sound of rustling cardboard, chewing, and the occasional groan of approval. The food was cheap, fast, and entirely perfect.
"This isn't half bad," I mumbled, mouth full.
Michael raised his slice like a toast. "To culinary compromise."
Kais clinked his crust against Michael's. "To not poison ourselves in the kitchen."
I nodded. "To Hayat for abandoning us today."
We all laughed, the kind of easy, careless laughter. For a few minutes, the world was simple—just warmth, food, and the odd insult tossed like a breadstick.
Kais leaned back in his chair, chewing thoughtfully. "You know," he said, "for a bunch of idiots, we make a decent team."
Michael raised an eyebrow. "Did you just call us a team?"
"Moment of weakness," Kais said.
"Caught in 4K," I added.
He rolled his eyes but didn't deny it. For once, none of us did.