As they stepped into the house, Elaine's mother leading the way, they were immediately welcomed by the gentle warmth and the familiar scent of home.
To Elaine, everything looked almost exactly the same as she had left it months ago. The air still carried that faint floral fragrance she had always associated with her mother. The mahogany table sat in its usual place at the center of the room, its polished surface catching streaks of afternoon sunlight that streamed in through the large window. The brown rug underfoot was a little more worn now, the chairs looked older, and there were a few new decorations, tiny vases, picture frames, and an embroidered cloth that hadn't been there before. But overall, it still felt like home.
To Allan, however, it was something entirely different. The atmosphere of homeliness the smell of cooked food, the warmth of enclosed space, the soft ticking of the wall clock was something he hadn't felt in years. It made his nose tingle strangely. The house seemed to close in around him, not suffocatingly, but like a forgotten memory pressing against the edges of his mind. His sharp eyes scanned the walls, they didn't miss the series of portraits lined neatly along them pictures of Elaine and her mother from her childhood to her current age. But there was something peculiar. Her father was absent from every single frame.
"Good evening, ma'am," Allan said, his voice slightly awkward, his posture stiff as he tried to look polite.
Elaine's mother turned toward him with a warm, practiced smile. "Good evening, dear," she replied gently. There was something almost motherly in her tone that made Allan pause and study her expression more closely, as if trying to find any hint of suspicion behind the kindness.
He opened his mouth to say more, perhaps to thank her or explain something, but she cut in smoothly.
"Why don't we all talk while having lunch? It'll be ready soon."
Her voice carried the quiet authority of someone used to being obeyed. With that, she left the room, though not before sparing a brief, unreadable glance at her daughter.
As soon as she disappeared into the kitchen, Elaine let out a long, tired sigh and threw herself onto the couch, her body sinking into the soft cushions. She rubbed her face with both hands, then tilted her head back against the chair with a groan.
"What is it?" Allan asked. He was still standing, his hands in his pockets, his gaze following her.
"I'm tense," she admitted honestly, lowering her hands.
"I was wondering what she'd say," she added softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
"No need to wonder," Allan replied calmly, his tone matter-of-fact. "During lunch, there'll be a lot of questions and answers anyway."
"That doesn't make me feel any better," she muttered, giving him a look.
"Didn't think it would," he said dryly.
Elaine huffed, a faint smile tugging at her lips despite her nerves. "Won't you sit?" she asked, gesturing to the empty seat beside her.
"No," Allan said absentmindedly, his attention clearly elsewhere. His eyes were drawn to the window, where sunlight spilled gently across the floor.
She was about to tease him when her mother's voice rang out again from down the hallway.
"Elaine!"
Elaine jumped slightly, standing up quickly as if she had been caught doing something wrong. She didn't understand why she felt guilty, she hadn't done anything bad yet her heartbeat had been racing really fast since they arrived.
"Yes, Mum!" she called back, her tone obedient and soft.
That earned a faint, almost amused smile from Allan, one he tried to hide but failed to completely.
Her mother stepped into the room again, wiping her hands with a towel. "Why don't you take your guest to the spare room? You should also freshen up before lunch," she said, her tone polite but laced with quiet curiosity.
Elaine nodded immediately, grateful that there was a spare room. "Alright, Mum."
As they walked down the narrow corridor together, Allan spoke suddenly. "Your mum's… weird."
Elaine frowned deeply, turning to glare at him. "What do you mean by that?"
He met her gaze for a moment, then shook his head lightly. "Nothing. Forget it."
He had brushed it off as nothing. But she didn't forget. His tone had carried something more than casual remark something that stirred her curiosity and slight unease. She wanted to ask again, but by then they had reached the room.
It was quiet here, a little distance from the main part of the house. The room faced the small garden outside, where tall trees swayed gently in the afternoon breeze. Sunlight streamed through the thin curtains, painting golden shapes on the floor.
"Make yourself at home," Elaine said softly, standing at the threshold.
Allan stepped into the room, his eyes roaming slowly over the modest but cozy space a neatly made bed, a small wooden table, a window overlooking the trees. For a moment, his expression softened, as if the stillness of the room reminded him of something long forgotten.
He only nodded his head as though in approval.
Elaine lingered for a second longer, watching him quietly before turning to leave. Her hand rested briefly on the doorframe.
As she walked away down the corridor, towards her room, the faint sound of her mother's voice drifted again from the kitchen, and the smell of food, warm, spiced, and familiar filled the air. But beneath that comfort was a strange tension neither of them could quite name.