Scene 2
The Rare Softness
Sarah sat quietly in the backseat, soft melodies echoing from the car speakers. The road rolled on beneath them.
Eyes closed. Body still.
Then, unknowingly… she began to hum.
At first, just a whisper of a tune.
Then, gently—almost dreamily—she started singing in the softest voice, the kind that brushes against silence like silk.
As if she had forgotten the world outside, and was lost in a place where only the music existed.
Fifteen minutes passed.
Now, she rested her head against the cool window glass.
No more humming. No more voice.
She had fallen asleep.
And no wonder—she and Aliza had spent the night laughing, playing cards, sharing secrets and giggles under warm blankets. It was only natural… her body finally gave in to rest.
---
An hour later, precisely at 7:25 a.m., the car pulled up in front of a grand, towering mansion. The kind that looked like it held more secrets than rooms.
Sarah remained asleep, completely unaware of where she was.
The driver stepped out of the car. His phone rang.
He answered.
A low, cold voice came from the other end:
"Why isn't she out yet?"
The driver responded calmly, "She's sleeping."
A pause. Then the same deep voice, slightly softer—though still commanding:
"Still sleeping? … Don't wake her. I'll carry her in."
The call ended.
Seconds later, the main gate creaked open.
Out walked a tall figure—impossibly composed, the very image of calm control.
Half-sleeved formal jacket. Crisp white shirt. Black trousers. Hands tucked into his pockets.
His footsteps were silent, his presence heavier than the air around him.
The driver bowed and opened the car door.
He leaned inside.
With practiced ease and quiet gentleness, he slid one arm behind her back, the other beneath her knees.
Without waking her, he lifted her.
Sarah stirred faintly, her head pressing softly against his shoulder.
But she didn't wake.
Through the bright hallway—lined with polished wooden doors, ornate lights, and neatly framed paintings—he walked.
Silent. Focused. Guarded.
A maid standing nearby bowed quickly.
"Is her room prepared?" he asked in his usual ice-laced tone.
"Yes, Lord," the maid replied.
She slid open the door to a soft, pastel-lit bedroom with plush pillows and a cozy white bed.
He entered and walked over, placing Sarah gently onto the bed—like she was made of clouds.
He pulled the blanket up to her chin.
Sat beside her for a moment.
Just… watching.
Her small frame curled slightly in sleep, one hand tucked under her cheek.
A strand of hair had fallen across her face.
He reached out—hesitated—then slowly brushed it behind her ear.
A pause. A breath.
Then he stood.
Without another glance, he turned and walked out, closing the door behind him.
---
Outside, the hallway whispered.
"Don't you think the Lord has changed since she came?" murmured one maid to another.
"Yes… too strange," the other replied. "He's not like before. There's… softness in him now."
---
Sarah, still deep in sleep, might later believe it was just one of the servants who had carried her in.
She wasn't used to being carried.
Not used to being touched, gently or otherwise.
If she had known who it was, maybe her heart would've skipped.
But for now, she remained unaware—wrapped in dreams, completely unaware of the rare softness that had surrounded her for those quiet few minutes.
---
End of Scene 2