Esther adjusted the strap of her worn leather bag as she stepped into the quiet hallway of Lovet Academy. Though just twenty-one, she carried the calm confidence of someone who had seen enough of life to truly care. A third-year student of Child Psychology, she had taken the part-time role of assistant tutor not just to support herself financially, but to gain hands-on experience working with children whose voices were often misunderstood, or entirely unheard.
She wasn't licensed yet, but her training had taught her lessons no textbook ever could. Every child had a story, some wrapped in silence, others written in defiance. Esther had made it her mission to read between those lines.
"You're finally here," a colleague called out, snapping her out of her thoughts. "Professor Turay was asking for you. Said to head straight to his office the moment you showed up."
Esther nodded and quickened her pace.
Professor Turay wasn't just the Head of Child Development at Lovet Academy, he was a cornerstone of the school's reputation, a respected scholar with a kind heart and decades of clinical and classroom experience. Known for his calm intellect and fatherly warmth, he was the kind of educator whose presence alone could put an anxious child, or student at ease.
To Esther, he was more than a professor. He was a mentor, a protector, and in many ways, the steady hand that had guided her since her first year. After seeing her brilliance and dedication, he had offered her the assistant tutor position six months ago. He believed in her even when she doubted herself, and in return, she never gave him reason to regret it.
Esther reached his office and gently knocked once before stepping in.
"Good afternoon, Professor," she greeted.
"Esther," he smiled, rising to meet her with the same warmth that had first drawn her to him.
"Glad you're here. Please, have a seat."
Professor Turay had always been more than just a mentor. He'd played a fatherly role in her life, guiding her through both academics and personal struggles. It was he who had offered her the assistant tutor position six months ago, a gesture not only to help her financially but to sharpen her skills in the real world. Esther had never let him down.
"I have a new enrollee," he began, sliding a file across the desk to her. "She's special, and I'd like you to personally handle her case."
Esther opened the file, scanning through its contents.
"She's the niece of a good friend of mine," the professor added. "Her aunt is hoping we can help her heal."
"Her speech disability… it was caused by a car accident?" Esther asked, eyes pausing on a medical note.
"Something like that. The accident didn't damage her vocal cords. The trauma, however, was enough to silence her. It's been five years."
"Loss of her mother," Esther said softly, more to herself than to him.
The professor gave a gentle nod before standing. "Come, I want you to meet her."
Together, they descended to the lower floor, where vibrant colors and whimsical decorations made the children's therapy room feel warm and welcoming. At the far end, seated on a cushioned bench, were a well-dressed woman and a quiet young girl.
"Bella," Professor Turay greeted with a kind smile, embracing the woman briefly.
"Turay," Lady Bell replied with equal warmth. "It's been a while."
"I could say the same." He turned slightly. "Allow me to introduce you. This is Esther, my top student and personal assistant. She'll be taking care of your niece's case."
Lady Bell's eyes landed on Esther, measuring her silently. "She looks… young," she said at last, her voice holding a polite skepticism.
Her gaze swept over Esther again. Was this young woman truly capable of helping her niece? Many experienced specialists with decades of expertise had tried, and failed.
"Bella," the professor said gently, "I know your concerns. But I'd never assign anyone I didn't have full faith in. Esther is gifted. She sees what others don't. That's why I'm entrusting her with your niece."
Lady Bell hesitated, then nodded slowly. Years of friendship with Turay had built trust, and his word had never failed her.
"Very well," she said at last. "I look forward to seeing what your top student can do."
With a gracious smile, Lady Bell rose and followed Professor Turay out of the room, leaving Esther alone with the girl whose silence spoke louder than most voices.
Minutes passed in stillness, thick with unspoken tension. Betty sat at the far end of the room, absorbed in her tablet, fingers dancing over the screen in practiced strokes. Esther remained seated, her posture calm but attentive. She raised her hand in a playful wave, trying to catch Betty's attention.
No response. Not even a flicker of acknowledgment.
"Hi," Esther said gently, shifting just enough to sit beside her, not too close, not too far. "My name's Esther. What's yours?"
Still nothing.
But Esther had noticed what Betty was doing, a digital painting slowly taking shape on her screen. The colors were soft yet vivid, and the strokes spoke of someone who knew how to see the world in layers.
"I see you like painting," Esther continued, her voice warm. "Would you teach me sometime?"
Betty's fingers froze mid-stroke. Then, without a word, she closed the app with a hard tap and turned to Esther with a scowl. Her fingers moved quickly across her tablet, and a robotic voice read aloud:
"Stay away from me. I'm not your friend."
Esther smiled, unshaken. "Now that's a start," she replied, the kindness in her tone untouched.
Betty's eyes narrowed. She typed again.
"I despise smiles. They look pretentious."
Esther tilted her head thoughtfully. "Fair point. Then I won't smile. I've always felt like people who smile too much are hiding something anyway."
There was the slightest twitch in Betty's lips, so faint, it could've been a trick of the light.
"You're trying to act like me so I'll like you," the voice on the tablet said again, her fingers arching an accusing eyebrow.
"Oh, absolutely," Esther admitted. "That's literally my job, get you to like me, then help you."
"I don't need your help. Stay away from me."
With that, Betty stood abruptly and marched toward the door.
"Fine," Esther called after her casually, "but hear me out."
Betty stopped, fingers hovering above the doorknob.
"You give me three days. If you still don't like me, or the school, you can leave. Your aunt will just enroll you somewhere else and hire someone new. And we both know how that cycle goes."
Betty turned slightly, one brow raised, her interest piqued despite herself.
"But," Esther added with a smile she knew Betty would hate, "if you agree, we try something different. Together."
There was a long pause. Then Betty walked back slowly, her eyes studying Esther as if she were a puzzle to be solved.
She typed again.
"Fine. But you only get three days. And if you fail my tests, I'm asking my aunt to change schools."
Esther blinked. "Wait..tests? We didn't talk about tests."
"You'll see," Betty's tablet read, just as a devious grin curled on her lips.
Esther sighed playfully. "Great. I've just made a deal with a tiny evil genius."
And for the first time, Betty didn't deny it.
Just then, the door opened, and Lady Bell stepped back into the room with Professor Turay. Her eyes immediately searched Betty's face, her expression unreadable.
"So," Lady Bell began carefully, "what do you think, Betty? Would you give the school a try?"
For a moment, there was silence. Professor Turay and Lady Bell exchanged a glance, clearly bracing for a refusal, or worse, an icy stare. But instead, Betty turned her screen toward them and typed a reply with the calmness of someone who knew she had the upper hand.
"Absolutely. I'm eager to see what tricks my new tutor has up her sleeves."
Lady Bell blinked. For a second, she didn't breathe. That was not the answer she was expecting, not from Betty.
"Wow," she said at last, exhaling a half-laugh. "That's… a first." Her voice trembled with stunned relief. "I thought I'd have to beg you again, like every time, but…"
Her words trailed off as she glanced at Esther, a look of quiet gratitude softening her guarded features. "Whatever you said… thank you."
Professor Turay chuckled proudly beside her. "I told you, Esther is the right choice."
"You were right," Lady Bell admitted, her voice warming as she offered Esther a nod. "Let's hope this continues."
With that, Professor Turay led the pair toward the hallway. Esther stood quietly by the window, watching as Lady Bell and Betty got into their sleek black car. Just before the door closed, Betty turned back briefly, catching Esther's gaze. That sly smirk again, like a challenge unspoken.
Esther smiled to herself.
Game on.
The night clouds soon shadowed the east sunset and at the Lewis Mansion clinks of fine cutlery echoed through the grand dining room, where crystal chandeliers cast a warm golden glow over polished wood and expensive china. The long mahogany table was set with precision, though only three seats were occupied at its vast length.
At the head of the long mahogany dining table sat Daniel Lewis, a man whose presence commanded attention even in silence. At thirty-seven, he wore the dignity of a seasoned leader and the stillness of a man shaped by loss. With sharp, thoughtful eyes and a voice rarely raised, Daniel was the embodiment of refined tradition, a man who still believed in handwritten letters, morning prayer, and the weight of one's word.
Daniel wasn't just the head of the Lewis family, he was the visionary behind Lewis Dynamics, a multi-billion-Leones tech empire renowned for its cutting-edge software solutions. A brilliant strategist and tireless perfectionist, he had built the company from the ground up, driven by the belief that innovation should serve people, not replace them.
But tonight, Daniel was just a father.
As he sat in the sprawling dining hall, its elegant chandeliers casting a soft golden glow, his mind wasn't on market shares or product launches. His attention was fixed on his daughter and the growing gap between them that no fortune could fill.
Daniel built his life on discipline, duty, and devotion, first to his late wife, now to their daughter, Betty.
To his right sat his elder sister, Lady Bell, elegantly composed in her evening gown, always the calm voice of the house when things threatened to fall apart. Beside her, Betty stirred her mashed potatoes absentmindedly, her tablet propped up like a silent barrier between her and the world.
"She barely touched her salmon," Lady Bell whispered, leaning slightly toward her brother.
"She never eats much at dinner anymore," Daniel replied without taking his eyes off his daughter.
"I know," she said gently, "but things may change soon."
Daniel looked at her now, brow arched.
"I've taken the liberty of enrolling Betty into Lovet Academy," Lady Bell said, setting her wine glass down with grace. "It's a top-tier school for special needs children, one of the best in the country. They don't just teach, they connect."
Daniel's fork paused mid-air.
"You enrolled her? Without asking me?"
"I spoke with Professor Turay," she continued, undeterred. "He personally recommended someone… a student assistant. Her name is Esther. Young, but promising."
Daniel scoffed lightly. "And Betty agreed to this?"
Lady Bell turned to Betty, eyes tender. "Sweetheart, why don't you tell your father?"
Betty looked up from her tablet, her expression unreadable. She typed quickly and held the screen toward her father:
"I'm fine with it. It might be… interesting."
Daniel blinked. His mouth opened slightly, clearly not the response he'd been expecting. A pause fell over the table like a sudden hush in the wind.
He leaned back in his chair, studying his daughter with the mix of awe and cautious hope.
"Well… if you're okay with it," he said slowly, his tone softening, "then it's settled."
Lady Bell smiled to herself and cut another piece of her fish.
"I just want her to be around people who see her," she said. "Not just her silence."
Daniel gave a thoughtful nod and turned to Betty. "You'll let me know if you want to stop, right? Or if anyone gives you trouble?"
Betty nodded. She didn't smile, but her eyes held something close to a spark. A sliver of trust. That was enough..for now.
Dinner went on in calm, the first in a long time without tension crackling between every pause.
The mansion had gone still.
Daniel stood alone by the fireplace in his room, shirt loosened at the collar, sleeves still rolled. The light from the flames danced gently across the walls, casting flickers of gold and shadow over the tall bookshelf, the untouched armchair, and the lone picture frame he held in his hands.
It was her.
Marain.
His wife.
The photo was an old one, her smile radiant, full of life. She held a three-year-old Betty on her lap, both of them caught in a moment of unfiltered joy. Daniel's eyes lingered on Marain's face, his thumb grazing over the glass like he could touch her again.
"I failed you," he whispered, voice low and rough with emotion. "I should've been there that day. If I had just…" He stopped. The words caught in his throat like knives.
He exhaled slowly and sat on the edge of his bed, the frame still cradled in his hands.
"Betty doesn't smile like that anymore," he murmured. "She barely even looks at me."
His eyes glistened now, though no tears fell. Daniel Lewis didn't cry. Not in public. Not in private. But the ache inside him carved out silence just the same.
"I miss you, Marain," he breathed. "I miss the way you made everything feel… light."
A pause.
"But I swear to you… I'll protect her. I'll keep her safe. And if this new school brings even a flicker of light back to her, I'll move mountains to keep it going."
He looked up at the picture again.
"Just stay close, alright? Wherever you are… stay close to her."
Daniel placed the frame gently on the nightstand beside his bed, then stood and walked to the window. Outside, the moonlit garden shimmered beneath the stars, and in the distance, Betty's bedroom light flicked off.
He watched it for a long while, the shadow of a father cast in warm gold and old regrets.