Amara wore a sweater over her pajamas. She’d been sitting at the kitchen table for an hour, unmoving except for the slow circle her finger traced along the rim of her mug.
She had tried to write, but her mind had been clouded with issues from Celeste. Her best friend had been going through a lot.
It had been one day since the funeral.
Twenty-four hours, and yet the air still carried the weight of Nana’s absence, like soone had drawn all the color out of the world and left it in grayscale.
For Celeste, she knew it was worse. Celeste had lost the only mother she’d ever truly had. Amara had seen the way her friend had walked out of the church yesterday. Her shoulders were squared, and her jaw were really tight, but eyes glassy as if she were just one breath away from breaking.
Amara had promised herself she would be strong for her friend. But strength seed, was a currency she was running out of.
A knock suddenly ca to her door, and her brows lifted. Celeste would have called her if she was coming, but she didn’t. So, who was this? She almost didn’t answer.
This wasn’t even how Celeste knocked, if in case her best friend was out for a surprise visit. This knock was tentative, almost polite.
It ca with three soft raps followed by silence. She pulled her cardigan tighter around herself and shuffled to the door, bracing for another neighbor with condolences she wasn’t ready to hear.
But when she opened it, she paused. Elias stood there.
For a mont, she just blinked at him.
He wasn’t holding flowers, or a casserole, or anything at all. He simply had his hands shoved in his coat pockets. His hair was damp at the edges, as if the drizzle outside had caught him on his way over.
"Hi," he said, voice low, almost sheepish. "I just... wanted to check in."
Amara’s first thought was: How did you find my address? However, the question died before it reached her lips. He didn’t look like a man who’d co here for any reason other than exactly what he’d said.
She stepped back. "Co in."
The warmth of the apartnt seed to settle differently once he was inside. Elias moved with that unhurried ease she’d noticed the first ti they’d t. He always walked like he had all the ti in the world, and none of it was wasted.
"Tea?" she asked, out of habit more than hospitality.
He smiled faintly. "If you’re having so."
In the kitchen, the kettle was already on the counter, a half-full pot of water from earlier sitting cold inside. She refilled it and set it to boil, aware of him leaning against the doorway, watching her with quiet interest.
She picked up her almost cold tea, tapped on it, and continued drinking.
"You tap your cup twice before you drink," he said suddenly.
She froze for half a second before glancing at him over her shoulder. "I... what?"
"You do." He smiled, small and warm. "Two taps. Left hand on the rim. You’ve done it both tis I’ve seen you drink. One at the club, and now."
Amara blinked, heat creeping into her cheeks. "That’s... not sothing most people notice."
"Guess I’m not most people." His tone wasn’t smug; it was simply matter-of-fact.
She busied herself with spooning tea leaves into the strainer, pretending she didn’t notice the way her pulse had shifted, just a little.
They drank at the kitchen table in silence. She didn’t let his presence get to her. In fact, she had no idea what to do with his presence.
Elias didn’t fill the silence with questions or platitudes. He simply sat there, with his hands wrapped around his mug, as he let the stillness breathe between them.
For Amara, it was disarming. People always wanted sothing from her when they visited. So wanted details, so wanted more stories.
So just wanted sex, right after she had spoken about her feelings packaged neatly into sentences they could nod at and say I understand even when they didn’t. Elias just sat there, watching the steam curl between them.
"Yesterday was..." She stopped, swallowing the lump in her throat. "It was harder than I thought it would be."
"I know," he said.
She looked at him, searching for the usual signs of pity she got from everyone, and even her parents. However, his gaze was steady, and unflinching. His gaze held no pity. Almost nothing.
"You were close to her?" he asked, finally.
"I wouldn’t say close. Not like Celeste was. But she..." Amara’s fingers tightened on her mug. "She made feel welco, even when I didn’t think I belonged anywhere apart from where my family are.."
Elias nodded slowly, like he was storing that away sowhere private.
As the tea cooled, their conversation andered. They spoke about books. About how she’d once tried to grow basil on her windowsill and killed it in a week. And about how he didn’t believe in umbrellas, preferring to just get wet.
At one point, she caught him looking around the apartnt. Not in a nosy way — more like he was taking in the shape of the life she’d built here.
"It’s very... you," he said.
She frowned. "What does that an?"
"It feels lived in. Comfortable. Not staged." He gestured toward the bookshelf by the wall. "Your books are arranged by how much you liked them, aren’t they? Not alphabetically."
Amara felt her lips twitch. "...Maybe."
He grinned. "Thought so."
By the ti he stood to leave, the light outside had softened into early evening. She walked him to the door, unsure why the air between them felt... lighter than when he’d arrived.
"Thanks for the tea," he said.
"Thanks for... checking in."
Elias lingered for a fraction of a second, his gaze eting hers — steady, unhurried, as if he could read everything she wasn’t saying. Then he nodded, slipped his hands back into his pockets, and stepped into the drizzle.
Amara closed the door and leaned against it.
She told herself it was just a cup of tea. Just company on a gray day.
She had to believe that, for her own sanity.
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