The late afternoon light poured softly through the tall windows of Maya's family estate, tinting everything in gold. The table in front of them was a colorful mess — open wedding catalogs, teacups, swatches of satin, and scattered pens that had long given up their purpose. Laughter floated in the air, the kind that came easily when people were comfortable around each other.
Maya was the center of it all, her excitement spilling over into every corner of the room. "If one more person tells me ivory and cream are the same color," she said, waving a piece of fabric, "I might actually lose it."
Ethan, her fiancé, chuckled from across the table. "You said you wanted elegant simplicity. I'm merely providing moral support."
"You're providing commentary," she shot back, grinning. "Which isn't quite the same thing."
Elena smiled softly as she helped smooth out the fabric samples. Her gaze drifted toward the open window — the garden outside was alive with color, but her mind wasn't really there. Daniel, seated beside her, noticed immediately.
"You've been quiet," he said in a low tone, just enough for her to hear. "Everything okay?"
She gave him a reassuring nod. "Just thinking."
Across the table, Adrian listened without looking up. His fingers tapped once against the porcelain edge of his cup before he stilled them. He didn't need to look to know she was tired; he could feel it in the small pauses between her words, in the way her smile came a second too late. He had learned her rhythm without meaning to.
Maya glanced between them, sensing something in the air but choosing to ignore it for now. "Adrian," she said suddenly, "what do you think? About these colors?"
He blinked once, dragged his gaze back to the table. "They're fine," he said smoothly. "Elegant."
"You're impossible," Maya sighed, but she was smiling. "No opinions, no complaints — just polite agreement."
"Years of business meetings will do that to you," he replied, his voice even, but his eyes — when they met Elena's — carried a weight that had nothing to do with professionalism.
A silence slipped in between the laughter. The kind that doesn't draw attention but somehow presses at the edges of everyone's awareness.
Then came the small accident — a pin rolling off the table, a quick reach to catch it, and a soft hiss of pain.
"Ow—"
Elena looked down, a faint smear of red forming on her fingertip.
Before she could move, Adrian was already there — too fast, too calm. He caught her hand without thinking, his thumb brushing lightly against her skin to check the small wound.
"It's nothing," she murmured, her voice quieter than she meant.
He didn't reply at first. His eyes lingered — not on the blood, but on her fingers in his palm. For a brief, suspended moment, the air between them thickened.
And then, as quickly as it came, he let go. "Be careful," he said, his tone soft, too controlled.
Daniel's gaze shifted, catching the exchange. He didn't say anything either, but his jaw tightened ever so slightly.
Maya cleared her throat, smiling a little too brightly. "Alright, gentlemen, if we're done with the heroics, can we get back to the dress fittings before I lose daylight?"
The tension dissolved into laughter again, but something had changed. Beneath the easy conversation, there was an awareness — fragile and unspoken — threading its way between glances and half-smiles.
When everyone stood to leave the room, Adrian lingered for a moment near the window. He looked out at the garden where the sunlight faded into soft evening hues, his reflection faint in the glass.
She was laughing again with Daniel and Maya, her voice soft, her shoulders relaxed.
And he thought — not for the first time — that the hardest part of wanting something wasn't the desire itself. It was pretending you didn't.