Dinner passed in a blur of trivial conversation. Everyone was immersed in mindless chatter except for Gabriel and Clara. They both felt like outsiders, lingering in a place where they didn't belong. Clara's spirit had been crushed since the beginning of the evening by her father's words, and Gabriel's psyche was frayed after the haunting memory of his sister, Sarah, resurfaced. He managed to answer questions only when forced, trying his best to appear composed. But every time his eyes met Clara's, the tension of the past tightened its grip on him—seeing his sister's eyes in hers—and he would sink back into a hollow stare at his plate. The night finally ended, and everyone retreated to their homes; some left entertained, while others left depressed.
.
.
.
The Next Morning...
Inside the classroom, Clara's thumbs flew across her screen in a series of frantic texts:
_Beth..? Where are you?
_Beth.. you missed Math class!
_Beth... why didn't you come? I'm bored; your chair is empty in front of me.
They were just messages sent into a void. Clara wondered if Beth was still sleeping after staying up late at the dinner, or if she was sick. They had only met a day ago, but Clara had already grown accustomed to her presence, especially since she knew no one else at school.
The moment the bell rang, Clara packed her things and joined the sea of students. she walked slowly, lost in her music with headphones on, swaying slightly and humming along to her favorite song. Suddenly, she spotted Gabriel leaving the school building, heading toward his car as if he had just settled some urgent business inside.
Her curiosity peaked—why was he here? And where was Beth?
She rushed toward him, her nerves on edge. "Excuse me..?" she ventured, her voice filled with practiced courage.
He turned toward her before opening his car door, looking at her with a chillingly cold expression. "Yes..?"
A wave of instant regret washed over her. She had probably been too hasty in approaching him, forgetting for a moment just how arrogant he could be.
"Is Beth okay?" she asked softly.
"Yes, she's fine," he replied with absolute coldness. He started the engine and looked at her through the open window, his gaze suggesting he was in a desperate hurry, as if her concern were nothing more than a nuisance.
" I mean... why was she absent from school today?" she asked, her voice tight with nerves.
He started the engine, the low hum filling the space between them. "She claimed there were prominent breakouts on her face... she's waiting for treatment," he replied curtly.
A small smile flickered on Clara's lips; finally, he had given her a straight answer and a complete sentence. "So, were you here to justify her absence?" she asked slowly, testing the waters.
But he let out a sigh of visible irritation and boredom. He turned his gaze toward her, his expression flat. "Something like that... Goodbye. Your father shouldn't see you talking to strangers."
Clara furrowed her brows in confusion; she had no idea what drove him to say such a thing. Was he watching her? She hugged her backpack tightly against her thighs with both hands and said softly, with a hint of defiance, "My father doesn't pick me up from school. I walk home alone."
He gave a curt nod before driving away. "Good. Enjoy your walk then."
The car sped off into the distance, leaving her behind. In his rearview mirror, he caught a glimpse of her figure standing on the sidewalk, watching him leave. But with his usual coldness, he looked away and continued on his path, indifferent. A single ride with this girl yesterday had dragged him into a spiral of depression that lasted all night; he had vowed to himself to stay far away from anything—or anyone—that might lead him back to her.
As for Clara, she remained on the sidewalk, walking slowly and taking in her surroundings, Her walk home was the only time she felt truly free, away from the suffocating presence of her father, who rarely allowed her to step out.
But her relief was short-lived as the rain began to fall in torrents. It came down with such force that people started running in every direction. Those who had anticipated the weather opened their umbrellas, while she was left to run through the downpour, searching for anywhere to hide.
She had always loved the rain... just not the embarrassing situations it always seemed to put her in.
Fortunately, she found shelter under one of the awnings protruding from the storefronts, but she was already soaked through. Her beautifully styled hair was ruined, and her light makeup began to smudge over her soft skin.
She cursed herself... cursing the perpetual embarrassment that seemed to follow her everywhere.
She decided to stay put until the rain eased, despite how desolate the street looked. Suddenly, a familiar luxury black car pulled up in front of her. It was Gabriel.
Was this hope?
He had vowed just moments ago to ignore her, to distance himself from the image of his little sister. But now, he felt that same protective instinct he once had for Sarah. For all his arrogance and coldness, he wasn't heartless.
"Get in..." he said coldly.
She approached, brushing wet strands of hair from her face, her voice trembling from the cold. "I'll wait for the rain to stop and walk home..."
"You'll get sick if you wait," he repeated. "Get in."
"My father is coming to pick me up..." she offered another excuse. Even though she desperately needed the warmth, her pride was at stake. He had left her alone on the sidewalk without a second thought, and now he was back to rescue her from the downpour.
"Your father doesn't pick you up, remember? Get in."
"I'm soaked... I'll ruin your car seats."
He let out a sharp sigh of annoyance. "Stop making excuses and get in, or I'll get out and put you in the car myself."
She hesitated, struck by the sternness in his voice and his dead-serious gaze. She wondered if he truly didn't mind the mess or if he was simply acting out of pity. Finally, she gave in, opened the door, and sat beside him.
"Thank you..."
He didn't answer. His focus remained entirely on the road, seemingly indifferent. She felt a wave of shame as she watched the water from her clothes seep into the expensive leather seat.
"You're shivering..." He reached over and handed her a hot cup of coffee. "Take this. I haven't touched it. Drink; it will help with the chills."
"Did you come back for me?" she asked softly, her voice barely a whisper in the quiet car.
"For you?" he scoffed with a trace of mockery. "This is just my usual route to work."
Flushed with embarrassment yet again, she murmured, "Right... it's strange how your mood shifts. First, you drive away and leave me, and now..."
"It's not too late if you want me to drop you off here," he replied coldly, his voice flat.
He was relentless in his ability to make her feel out of place. She shook her head, forcing a small smile. "No... I'm just joking."
Despite her attempt to lighten the mood, he remained stoic. His focus was entirely on the road, his expression devoid of any reaction to her presence.
"By the way... I don't want to go home just yet," she said, looking out at the blurred city. "I was planning to go somewhere else. You can drop me off nearby, and I'll walk the rest of the way."
"Walk? Do you mean run?" he asked, sounding genuinely perplexed. "No sane person would choose to walk in this downpour."
"Fine... I'll run then," she said with a playful smile.
"Where to? I'll take you there myself," he said bluntly.
Suddenly, he was being a gentleman... or perhaps he was always this kind, hidden beneath a layer of ice he reserved for the world.
"There's a flower shop nearby," she said gently. "I want to go there."
"A flower shop?" he asked seriously, driving with calm precision. "Since when does the girlfriend buy flowers for her boyfriend?"
Clara couldn't hold back her laughter. She pressed her hand against her lips, a soft giggle escaping her. "I'm not buying flowers for a boyfriend... I just happen to love the owner of the shop."
So, she's your friend?" he asked.
"Something like that... she's a lovely old lady. I always feel like I belong when I'm with her," Clara replied, taking a sip from her cup.
"Fine. Tell me where the shop is."
She guided him there, and he pulled up safely in front of the flower shop. The rain had subsided into a gentle drizzle. Clara thanked him and stepped out, only to find the old woman rushing out of the shop, beaming with excitement
Mama Rosa embraced her tightly, kissing her cheeks as if she were her own daughter. Their bond was so tender that Gabriel found himself lingering, watching them through the window without starting the engine. He found it curious that an eighteen-year-old would seek friendship with an elderly woman—a clear sign of "starved affection." What she lacked in her parents, she had found in a kind stranger.
But his thoughts were cut short when he saw the old woman's face pressed against his window. "Who is this handsome man?" she asked with an admiring grin.
Clara turned bright red. "Mama Rosa! No... please, don't talk to him... come back!" Clara tried to pull her away, but Mama Rosa was relentlessly social, a bit clumsy in her boundaries, and spoke with a thick, heavy Mexican accent that gave her English words a sharp, rhythmic power.
Gabriel cleared his throat awkwardly.
"Who are you? Is this your boyfriend, Clara? He is so handsome... much better than that idiot you used to be with!"
Clara wanted to die of embarrassment. She tried to push her away, but Mama Rosa shoved her aside, continuing to peer at him.
"Excuse me... Clara... I should go," Gabriel said calmly, attempting to flee. But there was no escaping Mama Rosa.
"You're not going anywhere! Get out. I've made apple pie... you're having some with us!"
"I can't, Ma'am... I have work," he said politely, trying to find an exit. But she opened his door and practically hauled him out of the car.
Clara couldn't suppress a laugh. Gabriel shot her a threatening glare, his eyes promising silent revenge for this predicament.
"It won't take long... just one slice. Inside, now!" she ordered, pointing toward the door.
"Mama Rosa, he's not my boyfriend... he's my friend's father," Clara clarified desperately as they all walked into the shop.
Mama Rosa stopped abruptly, squinting at him with pure disbelief. "He is far too handsome to just be a 'friend's father'... Are you really a father?" she asked, scrutinizing his sharp features and overwhelming charm as if searching for a hidden truth.
For the first time, a faint flush of embarrassment colored Gabriel's cheeks. He cleared his throat repeatedly, trying to maintain his aura of dominance, but this old woman was effortlessly stripping him of his composure. He didn't have the heart to snap at her; her kind spirit was too plain to ignore.
"Yes... I am married, and I have a daughter," he replied, taking a seat on a sofa. The shop was a beautiful mess of scattered petals and blooms, filled with the intoxicating scent of jasmine.
"And what are you doing with Clara then?" Mama Rosa asked while pouring tea into delicate cups.
"Rosa... he just gave me a ride because it was pouring rain," Clara intervened quickly.
"You look way too young to have a daughter Clara's age... how old are you, anyway?" Mama Rosa pressed on.
"Mama Rosa, stop questioning him!" Clara snapped, feeling a wave of anxiety. She was certain Gabriel would find this intrusive, given his private and guarded nature.
To her surprise, he didn't snap. Instead, he offered a calm, unexpected smile. "Thirty-six... I am thirty-six years old."
Mama Rosa met his answer with a mischievous grin. "So, you are a victim of an early marriage!"
"Rosa, please stop!" Clara cried out, wanting the floor to swallow her whole.
"Fine, fine... I'll go get the pie," Mama Rosa said, disappearing into the small side kitchen. Clara immediately seized the chance to apologize. "I am so sorry... she's incredibly social and says whatever pops into her head. You can leave now if you want; I'll just tell her you had a sudden work emergency."
He met her gaze with a steady, quiet look. He shrugged his shoulders with his usual cold indifference and said, "It's fine. I can handle her."
"Well, you're not obligated to stay... you can go," Clara insisted.
"I'm not going anywhere," he replied coolly, his gaze locking onto hers. "There is no urgent work waiting for me that's more important than this."
Gabriel adjusted his posture, settling into a more relaxed position. Even his eyes shifted, losing their icy edge and warming into a look of genuine ease. Mama Rosa returned, blowing on her hands to soothe the heat from the dish as she set it down. "Here it is... the best apple pie you'll ever have!"
Gabriel offered a rare, calm smile. "It looks delicious."
Clara watched in amazement as he interacted so naturally with Mama Rosa. The first impression she had of him—arrogant, conceited, and cold—was crumbling. He was responding to Rosa's warmth without her even trying.
"I didn't know Clara was coming today, or I would have made Cinnamon rolls... they're much better than apple pie and Clara's absolute favorite," Mama Rosa remarked.
The memories hit Gabriel like a tidal wave once again. Everything he had tried to outrun came rushing back. He had vowed to stay away from her to avoid the ghost of Sarah, but he had given his heart a chance, and here he was. Fate was sending him another sign: Clara was a mirror of his sister. Sarah had loved cinnamon rolls too; she had been obsessed with them.
"You like cinnamon?" he asked Clara, his voice returning to that guarded coldness.
"Yes... I love it," Clara replied, her voice tinged with a sudden sadness, as if the word had awakened a memory in her too.
Mama Rosa looked at them both, becoming serious for the first time. The scene before her made her feel a profound connection between the two, despite the age gap. "Do you like cinnamon too, or what?" she asked, serving them each a slice of pie.
Gabriel took a sip of his tea and said in a low, masculine voice that was barely audible: "No... I just... remembered that my little sister loved cinnamon too."
"Then she and Clara would have been best friends!" Rosa chirped.
Gabriel cleared his throat and said quietly: "She passed away."
Both Mama Rosa and Clara stopped eating, frozen in shock. A sharp pang of guilt pierced Mama Rosa's chest; she realized her clumsy chatter had ripped open an old wound. But Clara looked at him with new eyes, beginning to understand that his arrogance and coldness were merely armor for a deeply scarred soul.
"I'm sorry..." Clara whispered, staring into her cup with quiet grief. "I'm so sorry for your loss."
"I wasn't wrong when I felt you two were connected somehow," Mama Rosa said aloud, her inner thoughts slipping out by mistake.
Gabriel looked at her, puzzled. "What do you mean?"
Rosa raised her eyebrows with her usual lack of filter. Without considering how it might hurt Clara, she blurted out: "Clara had a brother too... but he died in a car accident."