CHAPTER FOUR
The next morning, Lira woke to the smell of coffee.
But this time, Kael was still there.
He stood at the counter, pouring two cups. He wore a different suit. Dark gray. His hair was still damp from the shower.
"You're here," she said.
"It's Saturday."
She blinked. Saturday. She had lost track of days.
"I don't work on Saturdays," he said. "Usually I pretend to. But today I thought I would try something different."
"What?"
He gestured to the counter. Bagels. Cream cheese. Fresh fruit arranged on a plate.
"Breakfast," he said. "Made by me. Well, assembled by me. The bagels are from a shop."
She laughed. A real laugh. He watched her with something soft in his eyes.
They ate together at the counter. He asked about her students. She told him stories. The boy who cried because his goldfish died. The girl who announced she was marrying her best friend when they grew up. The class pet hamster that escaped and was found three days later living in the supply closet.
He listened. He asked questions. He almost smiled multiple times.
"This is nice," she said.
"Yes," he said. "It is."
---
After breakfast, he asked if she wanted to see something.
He took her to a floor of the tower she had never visited. Floor 85. The windows faced east, toward Queens. Toward her old neighborhood.
He led her to a room at the end of the hall. Empty. Sunlight pouring in.
"What is this?" she asked.
"Nothing yet. But I thought..." He paused. Uncomfortable. "You draw buildings. You study architecture. I thought maybe you would want a space. To work. To create. If you want."
She stared at him.
"You're giving me an office?"
"A studio. If you want it. You can design it however you like. Elena will help with whatever you need."
She did not know what to say. No one had ever given her space before. No one had ever given her room to create.
"Why?" she asked.
He looked at her. Direct. Honest.
"Because you stopped drawing," he said. "Because you forgot you were allowed to have things just for you. I want you to remember."
She kissed his cheek. Quick. Impulsive.
He went very still.
"Thank you," she said.
He nodded. His jaw was tight. His eyes were bright.
---
That afternoon, she visited her father.
Antonio was walking laps around the hospital corridor. Slow. Steady. Determined.
She told him about the studio. About Kael's gift. About the empty room with sunlight and windows facing Queens.
Her father stopped walking.
"He gave you a studio?"
"Yes."
"Just like that?"
"Yes."
Antonio was quiet for a long moment. Then he smiled. A knowing smile.
"That man loves you," he said.
"Papa—"
"He gave you space to create. Space to be yourself. That is love, mija. That is real love."
She did not argue. She could not.
---
That night, she cooked dinner again. Kael came home at 7pm. On purpose. To eat with her.
They sat at the table. Both of them. Like a real couple.
"I spoke to my father today," she said. "He thinks you love me."
Kael's fork paused.
"What did you tell him?"
"I didn't tell him anything. He figured it out himself."
He was quiet for a long moment.
"Your father is a smart man," he said finally.
She looked at him. He looked at her.
Neither looked away.
---
After dinner, they sat on the balcony. First time. City lights below. Stars hidden behind the glow.
"Tell me about your mother leaving," she said. "If you want to."
He was quiet so long she thought he would not answer.
"I was seven," he said. "She packed a suitcase. She kissed my forehead. She said she would come back."
He paused.
"I waited at the window for three hours. She never came back."
Lira's chest ached.
"My father said women leave. That's what they do. He was drunk when he said it. He was always drunk after she left."
"Did you ever see her again?"
"No. She sent letters sometimes. I never opened them. They're in the locked drawer. With the whiskey bottle."
"Why do you keep them?"
He thought about it. Long and hard.
"Because throwing them away feels like admitting she's really gone. Like admitting I really don't matter to her."
Lira reached over. She took his hand.
"You matter," she said.
He looked at their hands. Her small fingers wrapped around his.
"To who?" he asked.
"To me."
---
They sat like that for a long time. Hand in hand. City lights below.
When they finally went inside, he stopped at her door.
"Lira."
She turned.
"Thank you. For today. For everything."
She smiled. "Goodnight, Kael."
"Goodnight."
She went into her room. She did not sleep for a long time.
Neither did he.
CHAPTER FIVE
Sunday morning. No coffee on the counter.
Lira woke confused. Then she heard sounds from the kitchen. Movement. Someone cooking.
She walked out in her pajamas. Hair messy. Eyes half open.
Kael stood at the stove. He was making eggs. He wore sweatpants and a t-shirt. She had never seen him in anything but a suit.
"You cook now?" she asked.
"I'm learning." He gestured to the pan. "The eggs might be terrible."
She leaned against the counter and watched him. He was focused. Determined. He flipped the eggs carefully, like they were important documents.
He put a plate in front of her. The eggs were slightly burned. The toast was cold.
She took a bite.
"Perfect," she said.
He almost smiled. "Liar."
"You're right. But you tried. That's what matters."
He sat beside her with his own plate. They ate together. Burned eggs and cold toast. It was the best breakfast she could remember.
---
After breakfast, he asked if she wanted to see the studio again. She said yes.
They went to floor 85. The empty room. Sun
light pouring in.
She walked around the space. Measuring with her eyes. Imagining possibilities.
"I could put a desk here," she said. "By the window. And shelves along that wall. And a table for spreading out