The hallway was dim compared to the warm, glowing lights of the living room. A few lanterns hung gently along the walls, their soft amber glow flickering across the polished wooden floor. It was quieter here—no laughter, no clinking glasses—just the muffled hum of the celebration Elena had escaped.
She stood near a small console table decorated with framed pictures of Maya's childhood, tracing her finger absently along the edge. Her heartbeat still hadn't settled from the photos, from Leela's hands, from Adrian's intensity in the moments before she slipped away.
She closed her eyes.
Get a grip, she told herself.
This was supposed to be a happy night. A beautiful night. For Maya.
Not… whatever this ache was.
Footsteps approached.
Slow, purposeful.
She stiffened before he even appeared.
Adrian stopped at the mouth of the hallway, his tall frame casting a long shadow on the floor. His suit jacket hung open, his sleeves rolled up from earlier, and his expression—though calm—carried something tight beneath the surface.
"Elena."
The way he said her name wasn't soft.
It wasn't gentle.
It was controlled… but threaded with something unsteady.
She kept her eyes on the floor. "You should be inside. They're doing dessert."
"I'm not hungry."
Her breath hitched. She bit the inside of her cheek. "Leela was looking for you."
His jaw clenched at that name. "I'm aware."
Silence stretched—tense, fragile, charged.
"Elena," he said again, slower this time, stepping closer, "why did you walk away?"
"I didn't want to ruin the photos," she murmured. "You were… busy."
"With what?"
His voice was low, but not angry—more like he was forcing himself to stay steady.
"Enjoying yourself," she said carefully.
He took one more step. Just one.
Enough for her to feel the warmth of him seep into the narrow hallway.
"Elena."
He spoke like her name was something he wasn't supposed to say often.
"Look at me."
She finally lifted her eyes.
And instantly regretted it.
Because his gaze wasn't cold or distant—it was burning. Not with anger, but with something heavier. Something he hadn't said. Something he couldn't say.
He swallowed, throat tight.
"You think what you saw meant anything?"
"You looked comfortable," she whispered. "Like you didn't mind."
He let out a sharp breath through his nose.
"She grabbed me," he said. "Not the other way around."
Her chest tightened painfully.
"It doesn't matter."
"It matters to me."
She blinked, startled. "Why?"
He froze.
For the first time that night, for the first time in a long time, Adrian looked… conflicted. His walls wavered. His composure cracked just slightly.
He opened his mouth—
Then closed it.
His hands curled into fists at his sides, like he was fighting with himself.
"I don't want you misunderstanding things," he said finally. "Not about her… and especially not about me."
Her breath caught again.
"Adrian—"
A burst of laughter echoed from the living room. Someone called Maya's name. Music shifted to something softer, slower.
But the hallway stayed still, suspended in its own fragile bubble.
He exhaled slowly, then said, almost reluctantly:
"You walked out during the photos. I noticed."
She swallowed. "It wasn't—"
"You're allowed to say it bothered you."
Her heart stumbled. "I don't—"
"You do."
His voice softened, but only slightly.
"You did."
She felt her pulse in her throat, her fingers, her ribcage.
"Why does it matter to you?" she whispered.
He looked at her, truly looked at her, like she was the only thing in that hallway, in that house, in that entire night that he could see.
"Elena."
Her name again—low, heavy, almost tortured.
"You have no idea how much it matters."
Heat crawled up her spine.
Her breath trembled.
Before she could speak, Leela's voice rang from the living room:
"Adrian? There you are—come try the cake!"
He closed his eyes for half a second—annoyed, frustrated, something breaking through the surface. When he opened them, he glanced back toward the hallway entrance, then returned his gaze to Elena.
"I'm not done," he said, voice a soft warning.
"Don't leave."
Then he stepped away, moving back toward the living room, shoulders tense, expression unreadable but undeniably affected.
Elena stayed where she was, breath unsteady, fingers gripping the edge of the console table for balance.
She didn't know what he had been about to say.
But she knew one thing with painful clarity:
Whatever was happening between them…
he felt it too.