Dinner had already begun when I realized Kael would be joining us.
I didn't see him enter right away. I felt it instead, a subtle shift in the room, the way conversations softened, how people straightened almost unconsciously. Even the sound of cutlery against plates seemed to pause for a brief second, as if the atmosphere itself had adjusted around him.
I kept my eyes on my plate, focusing on the familiar details in front of me.
The long table felt more crowded than usual. Eren sat across from me with Lina at his side, close in the easy, unthinking way of people who were used to sharing space. His hand brushed her chair when he leaned forward, her knee angled toward his without hesitation. Just quiet closeness.
I noticed it because I was trying very hard not to notice Kael.
He took the empty seat to my left.
No announcement. No deliberate pause.
"Sorry I'm late," he said, his voice even, controlled.
A few polite responses followed. Someone smiled. Someone nodded. I did the same without turning my head, my fingers tightening briefly around my fork before I forced them to relax.
Conversation resumed. Light, ordinary things. Updates about work, a comment from Eren that earned a soft laugh from Lina, a passing remark about tomorrow's schedule. I smiled at the right moments, responded when spoken to, played my role well enough.
Still, I was acutely aware of the space beside me.
At some point, I wasn't sure when, my foot brushed against Kael's beneath the table.
The contact was light, almost accidental.
My breath caught before I could stop it.
I waited for him to move, to pull away, to correct the mistake.
He didn't.
The contact lingered, barely there but unmistakable. Heat spread slowly up my leg, settling low in my stomach in a way that made my pulse stumble. I focused on breathing evenly, on the sound of voices around us, on the weight of my fork in my hand, anything that wasn't the quiet awareness humming beneath the table.
When he finally shifted, it was deliberate and unhurried, his foot sliding away just enough to break the contact.
The absence felt sharper than the touch itself.
I reached for my glass, grateful for the excuse to move, just as my phone vibrated in my pocket.
Relief washed through me, followed immediately by unease.
"Excuse me," I said, already standing. "I need to take this."
No one objected. I slipped away before anyone could comment, before I could change my mind.
The library was dim and quiet, the scent of old paper and polished wood grounding me in a way the dining room hadn't. I closed the door softly behind me and answered the call.
"Mom."
There was a pause. Then a familiar sigh.
"Mara," she said. Not unkindly. But never warmly either.
I leaned against the edge of the table, closing my eyes as the conversation unfolded in fragments, questions wrapped as concern, concern edged with expectation.
"How long are you planning to stay there?"
"You could be doing more, you know."
"I just want you to be better than this."
The words weren't cruel. That was what made them heavy.
By the time the call ended, my chest felt tight, my thoughts scattered. I stared at the shelves lining the walls, at the countless stories of lives that weren't mine, and wondered when I had started measuring myself against standards I hadn't chosen.
I didn't hear the door open.
"I thought you might be here."
Kael's voice was low, careful.
I turned slowly. He stood just inside the doorway, his posture relaxed, his presence steady. He didn't ask if I was all right. He didn't step closer.
He waited.
"That obvious?" I asked, attempting a smile.
"Only if you know what to look for."
A quiet laugh escaped me before I could stop it. "I'm fine."
He nodded once, accepting the lie without challenging it.
He moved to one of the armchairs near the fireplace and sat, leaving a comfortable distance between us.
The silence stretched. It wasn't awkward. It didn't press or demand. It simply existed, and somehow that made it harder to keep everything inside.
"My mother called," I said finally.
He didn't react, his attention steady and focused.
"She thinks I'm wasting my life," I continued. "That I could be more. Or different. Or something she understands."
"Do you think she's right?" he asked.
The question caught me off guard.
"I don't know," I admitted. "Some days, I feel like I'm exactly where I need to be. Other days, it feels like I'm constantly disappointing someone, even when I don't know what they actually want from me."
His gaze softened, though his voice remained calm. "You don't owe anyone a version of yourself that hurts you."
I looked at him then, really looked, and felt something loosen in my chest.
"I'm not very good at disappointing people," I said quietly. "I try too hard to be… acceptable."
His mouth curved slightly, not quite a smile, but something close to understanding. "Being acceptable is easy," he said. "Being honest is harder."
The fire crackled softly behind him, warmth filling the room.
"Does it ever get easier?" I asked.
"No," he replied. "But it gets clearer."
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Eventually, Kael stood.
"I should go," he said. "Before they start wondering."
I nodded. "Thank you. For staying."
He paused at the door, then turned back.
"You're stronger than you think," he said quietly.
Then he left.
I remained in the library long after the door closed, my thoughts unsettled, my body still aware of the space he had occupied. Something had shifted between us, not dramatically, not visibly, but enough to change the way I would think of him from now on.