After they left, Elara carried her luggage down the hall and stepped into the room Adrian had mentioned. It was small and plain, the kind of space that belonged to someone who came and went without leaving a trace. She wondered how many caregivers had slept there before her. The thought pressed on her chest, so she forced herself to focus on practical things instead.
She placed her books neatly on the small shelf, lined up her toiletries on the desk, and unpacked her clothes. When everything was in its place, she sat on the edge of the bed and told herself to breathe.
By noon, her stomach reminded her she had skipped breakfast. The quiet house made every sound feel louder. She walked into the open kitchen and opened the refrigerator. Empty shelves. Nothing fresh. Not even milk.
With a sigh, she grabbed her bag and headed out. She found a quick lunch nearby and then bought enough groceries to fill the fridge. As she walked back, she kept thinking if it was a right choice to agree on the caregiving job.
At six sharp, dinner was ready. The scent of tomato and shrimp filled the kitchen. Elara set the table, adjusted the silverware, and heard the sound of the front door opening.
"Welcome home," she said softly.
Adrian paused at the entrance. Without a word, he walked past her and went upstairs.
"Dinner is ready," she called, trying to sound cheerful. "I made pasta with tomato and shrimp. It's on the table."
He didn't respond. She heard the faint sound of his footsteps on the stairs above, and the silence that followed felt heavy.
A few minutes later, he returned dressed in soft loungewear. He moved with quiet assurance, his posture straight. Without asking for help, he sat at the leftmost chair at the dining table.
Elara immediately adjusted the plate and utensils in front of him. "Pasta in the center. Spoon on your left. Fork on your right. A glass of water at the upper right," she said gently.
"Good," Adrian replied, short and even.
"I'll leave you to your dinner," she said. "I'll come back to clear the table later. If you need anything, just call for me. I'll be in my room."
He didn't answer, so she walked away, letting her footsteps fade down the hall.
When the quiet settled again, Adrian lifted his hand and found the utensil. He began to eat, the warmth of the meal grounding him more than he expected. This one was different, he thought. She didn't hover. She didn't fill the silence with pity or nervous chatter. She gave him space and clear information, and somehow that small respect meant more than he cared to admit.
Her voice still lingered in his mind. It was young, soft and steady. She sounded like someone barely in her twenties. Why would someone that young choose this kind of work.
Half an hour later, Elara came out and smiled when she saw the empty plate. A quiet sense of accomplishment bloomed in her chest. She washed the dishes, wiped the counter, and returned to her room.
In the study upstairs, Adrian sat back in his chair. The weight of blindness pressed on him again. Reading had once been his escape. Basketball had cleared his thoughts. Even his computer, once an extension of his mind, had become an exercise in frustration. He wondered how long a man could endure helplessness before it hollowed him out.
Then his phone rang.
"Adrian, have you eaten dinner?" his mother's voice came through, warm but anxious.
"I did. Don't worry," he said, his tone softening.
"How's Elara?"
"Elara," he repeated, realizing only then that she meant the new caregiver.
"Yes. How did today go?" she asked.
"So far so good," he said, leaning back in his chair. "And when did you start making such young friends. This morning I was expecting someone twice her age."
"Your mother is still young," she teased, and he could hear her smile through the phone.
He chuckled quietly. "But really, how did you meet her?"
"I met her two years ago at the hospital," Mrs. Vale said. "Her mother had cancer. She passed away a few weeks ago. Elara cared for her all through college and after graduation. She's a good girl, Adrian. She isn't here for money or opportunity. She's here because I asked. Please, be kind to her."
He sighed. "Mum, I'm not that unreasonable."
"I know," she said softly. "Trust her. Let her help. I don't want you to live like this alone and shutting everyone out."
"I'll be fine," Adrian said, almost convincing himself. "I promise."
After hanging up, he stood and made his way downstairs. "TV on." He used the voice control system and the screen came alive, switching to the evening news. It had become his quiet ritual at the end of the day, a small reminder that the world still moved outside his silence.
Elara heard the sound of the television and came out of her room. She remembered the bowl of fruit she had prepared earlier and took it from the refrigerator. She placed it gently on the coffee table in front of him.
"I cut some fruit," she said.
Adrian turned his head slightly. "Thank you," he said after a moment.
"You're welcome," Elara replied, surprised by the calm in his voice and the politeness. She smiled faintly and started to turn away.
"Wait," he said. "Please have breakfast ready at eight every day. I usually go to the office on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Prepare lunch when I'm home. Dinner at six daily. I don't often have evening plans."
"I'll note it down," Elara said. "Do you have any food preferences or anything you avoid?"
"I'm not picky. I eat anything. No allergies."
"All right. If you need help, just let me know. I'll be in my room."
"Got it," he said simply.
Back in her room, Elara sat on the bed and released a long breath. Her shoulders eased as the day's tension drained away. He wasn't impossible. Just guarded. Independent. Maybe lonely.
If she were in his place, she thought, she might have been impulsive too.
She lay back against the pillow and stared at the ceiling. The quiet of the house wrapped around her as she dozed off in her sleep.