The morning light spilled softly through the dining room curtains, bathing everything in a quiet golden hue. The air carried the scent of coffee and freshly toasted bread.
Aiden wheeled himself out of the elevator, freshly showered, his damp hair brushing against his forehead. He looked tired but composed, the traces of last night's chaos hidden behind his calm expression.
Mia was already at the dining table, setting down his plate. She glanced up as soon as she heard the low hum of his wheelchair.
"Good morning," she greeted, her voice a little too soft, a little too polite.
"Morning," Aiden replied, his tone equally reserved.
He rolled closer to the table. She poured coffee into his cup and placed a napkin beside his plate. Her movements were careful, almost hesitant. The memory of her staying by his side last night—pressing a cool towel to his forehead, whispering softly for him to hang on—kept replaying in his mind.
But he said nothing.
They began to eat in silence, the only sounds were the clink of cutlery and the faint ticking of the wall clock.
Every so often, Aiden's eyes flicked toward her. She looked pale from lack of sleep, her hair loosely tied, strands falling against her face. There was something about the way she avoided his gaze that made his chest tighten.
"About last night…" he finally began, voice low.
Mia didn't look up. "You don't need to explain. You were drunk. It happens."
Aiden hesitated, then exhaled. "Still, I shouldn't have—"
"I said it's fine," she interrupted gently, forcing a small smile. "Just… try not to do it again, okay? It scared me a little."
Her words hung in the air, fragile but sincere.
Aiden looked at her for a long moment, his throat tightening. "Alright," he said softly. "I won't."
The silence that followed wasn't cold—it was something else. Something unsure.
When Mia stood to clear the dishes, Aiden's hand brushed hers by accident. The brief contact sent a strange jolt through both of them. She pulled her hand back quickly, muttering, "I'll just clean up."
He watched her retreat into the kitchen, his fingers curling slightly against the table. There were so many things he wanted to say, but none felt right.
So instead, he sat there listening to the sound of running water, feeling the weight of unspoken words fill the room.
And for the first time in a long while, Aiden realized that silence could say more than words ever could.