Strange Evening

I waited anxiously for Elias Graves to arrive, my finger incessantly tapping against the table, creating a soft yet rhythmic sound that cut through the stillness of the room. "Lorelei dear, stop tapping the table," my mother gently admonished, her voice smooth yet firm, like a soft breeze weaving through the air. "Yes, sorry, I wasn't thinking," I replied, my gaze dropping to the plate before me. The food, once steaming and inviting, had begun to lose its warmth, now looking unappetizing and cold, as a mixture of anticipation and disappointment lodged itself heavily in my stomach. Was this man truly not coming?

Just then, a deep, apologetic voice pierced the thick tension in the air. "My apologies, ma'am." I looked up to see Elias standing in the doorway, his dark hair still damp from a recent shower, tousled and falling in soft waves over his forehead. He wore casual gray sweatpants that hung loosely from his lean frame, giving him an air of relaxed informality that somehow felt out of place at our dinner table.

"Oh, it's alright. Please take a seat," my mother encouraged warmly, waving him to join us. I quickly gestured for him to sit beside me, eager to forge a connection. But to my surprise, he bypassed my invitation, opting for a chair two places away instead. A sinking feeling settled in my stomach, heavy and leaden. Maybe he didn't like me after all?

My mother, with her ever-sunny disposition, tried to spark small talk, but Elias's responses were brief and vague, his gaze drifting away from her face, lost in some distant thought. With a deep breath, I broke the silence, attempting to pull him into the conversation. "So Mr. Elias, what brings you here?" The question tumbled out clumsily, and I winced internally at how awkward it sounded. I caught my mother's sidelong glance, her brows furrowing slightly with concern. "Sorry, that sounded impolite. I meant to say it's nice to meet you."

Still, there was no immediate response from him, and the sense of unease in the air thickened, promising a long and uncomfortable dinner. "I heard from my mother that you'll be staying with us for a year, am I right?" I asked, half-expecting a simple nod. To my surprise, he turned his gaze to mine and replied, "Yes, that's quite right. I hope you won't mind."

His eyes lingered on me a moment longer, and for an unexpected heartbeat, his warm tone wrapped around me like a gentle embrace. "Of course not! I'm quite a talker, so I think we can be friends," I said cheerily, my heart lifting. "I can tell," he replied, a hint of a smirk dancing at the corners of his lips. "Um, what does that suppose to mean?" I questioned, confusion knitting my brows together, but he shrugged, his expression unreadable.

Suddenly, he coughed—an awkward, rough sound that interrupted our fragile connection. "My, you caught a cold," my mother observed with genuine concern etched across her features. "Honey, can you please take him to his room and give him some medicine?"

Elias turned to me, eyes wide with surprise, and for a fleeting moment, I thought I detected a soft flush creeping across his cheeks, a delicate pink tinting his otherwise pale skin. I nudged him playfully, unable to resist, "Looks like your cheeks are pink, Mr. Elias." He shot me a glare, but rather than feeling insulted, I found it strangely humorous.

"Yes, I ca—" I started, only for him to abruptly stand, declaring, "N-n-no, I'm fine. No need, she doesn't have to." His awkward smile was a blend of embarrassment and stubbornness. I couldn't fathom why he was reacting this way.

"Well, he says he doesn't want me to help," I remarked, glancing at my mother, who contemplated the situation with a thoughtful frown. "No need to worry; it's no issue. She'll help you."

"I'm just dizzy, that's all," Elias insisted, but my mother was unfazed. "Darling, can you hold his hand while you take him?"

I blinked, momentarily taken aback by her bold suggestion, but an exhilarating thrill coursed through me at the thought of reaching out and touching his hands. "Are you sure, Mother?" I asked, my voice teasingly light.

"Of course!" she replied, her smile radiant. I could see Elias's cheeks deepen further in color, a rosy blush spreading like wildfire across his face. My mother remarked playfully, "Look at him! His cheeks are getting rosy!" As her words sank in, I watched, fascinated, as his expression shifted, the heat of embarrassment flooding his features. Was his blushing a result of the cold, or was it something else entirely?

I extended my hand toward him, a warm invitation dancing in my smile. "Well, Mr. Elias, shall I take you to your room?" I asked, my voice laced with a mischievous note, hoping to bridge the growing chasm between us.