Elena sat on the edge of her bed, her left ankle stretched out before her.
The dull ache pulsed in time with her heartbeat, sharp whenever she shifted it the wrong way.
"Ughhh! It still hurts." She groaned in pain.
Maybe some pain-reliving ointment would do the trick? It usually did.
She uncapped the small tube of ointment from her bedside drawer and squeezed a pearl-sized drop onto her fingers. The cool cream soothed the tender skin as she rubbed it in gentle circles. She winced but kept going until the sting dulled to a faint throb.
At least I wont walk like a baby deer this time, she thought with a half-hearted smile.
Once done, she limped to her wardrobe and pulled the wooden doors open. Rows of neatly folded clothes stared back at her — mostly soft pastels.
Her fingers paused on a baby-pink, full-sleeved dress, with soft white flowers scattered across the fabric. The hem brushed just above her knees, modest and gentle — the kind of dress that whispered rather than shouted.
She draped it over her arm and limped to the shower.
Hot water cascaded over her shoulders, washing away the day's dust and the sting of embarrassment from her earlier fall.
By the time she blow-dried her hair, soft natural curls framed her face, still damp at the ends.
It's getting hard to manage this bird's nest now, she thought, hand-combing the strands.
She slipped into the dress — it hugged her curves gently at the waist before flowing down to her knees.
She caught her reflection in the mirror and froze for a moment. The girl staring back looked... unfamiliar.
Big olive-green eyes with long lashes. A small, pointy nose — too small, she thought, for her wide eyes. Her gaze moved to her lips, naturally pink and too full for her liking.
Why won't my height stop growing already!
Too much, she decided, brushing away the thought with a sigh. She'd never liked looking at herself too closely; the mirror always seemed to notice the things she didn't want to see.
Her body had changed faster in the last few years than her mind could keep up.
Puberty was a thief, she thought. It stole comfort and left curves I never asked for.
She hated the attention her curves drew, the way some boys at school stared at her breasts without shame.
She used to hunch her shoulders back then, trying to shrink herself, to disappear into the background.
Maybe if I don't draw attention, they'll stop looking?
She parted her thick brown hair down the middle, tying it into a clean low ponytail and left a few strands to frame her face.
The faint blond undertones caught the lamplight.
A swipe of lip gloss, a touch of mascara — that was enough. She'd never liked doing makeup anyway.
Finally, she slipped on her beige flats — comfortable, practical, and kind to her sore ankle.
She never liked heels, anyway.
Downstairs, the air was thick with the aroma of roasted vegetables and spices. She noticed the good cutlery was out — polished silver and crystal glasses — which meant tonight's guests were important and her heart sank a little.
Her brother Nick was already at the table, helping their mother set it with his usual grin.
Two years older, taller, and far too relaxed for her mother's liking, Nick had a way of easing the tension in any room.
He'd always been her favourite in this dysfunctional family.
He glanced up from the table as she entered, eyes narrowing at her slightly uneven steps.
"Don't tell me you tripped again?" he said, a smirk tugging at his mouth.
Elena rolled her eyes at him. "Maybe the road tripped me," she said, trying to sound casual.
Nick laughed under his breath. "You and gravity are in a lifelong relationship, huh?"
She tried not to smile, but it slipped through anyway.
He was the only one who could make her laugh when she least wanted to.
"But seriously, what happened?" He insisted. "Where did you slip this time?"
"Nowhere Nickie! I just twisted my ankle while standing up in the library. It's nothing! PLEASE DROP IT ALREADY!" She emphasized each word so he gets the hint that she doesn't want to talk about it anymore.
If mom or dad hears about it, I'll probably get a lecture on who the girls should walk properly or how I just live in my own world and don't take care of myself…
From the kitchen, their mother's voice called sharply, "Elena! Stop chatting and help your brother. The Browns will be here any minute!"
Elena sighed, setting down the napkins beside the plates.
Of course. The Browns. Who else could it be?
Her stomach tightened at the name.
" Haven't they come a little earlier to the UK this year?"she asked Nick who was still frowning at her feet.
"Back to earth, Nickie!" she tried to gain his attention.
"FYI, Nathan missed his hometown. He just finished his university this year and wanted to spend some time here before joining Robert's company." He blurted out at once.
He continued,"You'd have this valuable piece of information, if you paid attention to what mom was discussing last weekend at the dinner table, young lady!" He mimicked Mom's tone flawlessly and I laughed at him.
The doorbell rang, sharp and commanding.
Her father's voice echoed from the hallway. "Everyone, come here before I open the door!"
Elena exchanged a quick glance with Nick — that familiar, unspoken here we go look — and followed him to the front of the house.
Their father stood straightening his blazer, his expression a practiced mix of authority and hospitality.
"Now remember," he said quietly, "Robert and I go way back. He's a good man, and we've done a lot together. Be respectful, both of you."
Nick whispered under his breath, "When am I not?"
Elena elbowed him lightly, biting back a grin.
The door opened, and a rush of cool air swept in along with a wave of perfume and polite laughter.
"Robert!" her father exclaimed warmly, embracing the man on the doorstep. "Welcome back to England, my friend!"
"David! It's been too long," Robert said, his voice rich and confident. He had that look of someone who'd succeeded abroad — tailored coat, sleek hair with a hint of silver, and a presence that filled the room.
Behind him stood Judith, elegant in a cream trench coat, and their daughter Claire, smiling politely. Claire had grown taller, sharper around the edges — no longer the giggling girl who used to braid Elena's hair in the garden years ago.
She's changed quite a bit. Beautiful as she was, dressed to impress now. And God! The amount of makeup for an informal dinner! She scanned Claire
"Please, come in," David gestured grandly, and the Browns stepped into the house.
The greetings were formal at first — a blend of nostalgia and polite distance. Judith smiled, looking around approvingly at the decor. "You've kept this place lovely, as always, Hannah," she said to Elena's mother, her tone sweet but faintly edged.
"Thank you," Hannah replied, smoothing her apron. "I do what I can."
Judith's eyes landed on Elena and she scanned her from top to bottom.
"And look at you Elena — you have grown up so much since I last saw you. And the braces are finally gone for good!"
Elena could only politely smile at that demeaning remark.
She continued discussing her looking at Hannah now, "She still seems shy and reserved after all these years. Nothing changed there — except her height and her hair. She used to have such beautiful blond curls."
Hannah forced a smile in courtesy, the kind reserved for guests who didn't know when to stop.
Judith laughed lightly, glancing at David, "I suppose no one inherited the boldness and confidence from you then. Looks like both genes landed on Hannah's side!"
She laughed and David nodded, reluctant and tight-lipped.
They all settled into the dining room, the scent of roasted garlic and herbs floating in the air. The polished cutlery gleamed under the chandelier. Elena took her place quietly beside Nick, opposite the Browns.
Judith immediately began her soft parade of updates. "Our son, Nathan, couldn't make it tonight, unfortunately — he's working on a big finance project for his university. He might join later tonight!" Her tone carried a humble pride that filled every corner of the table. "He's always been so dedicated. You know how competitive it is in New York."
Her mother nodded politely, while her father smiled stiffly. "That's wonderful. I'm sure he's doing very well."
Claire leaned forward, grinning. "You'd like New York, Nick — you should visit sometime."
Nick chuckled. "Only if your brother promises to show me around."
Judith laughed softly. "Oh, he'd be thrilled to. Though he's hardly home these days — always busy, always driven. It's in his blood, I suppose."
Then came the inevitable comparison, dressed in concern. "You two must be so proud of your children," Judith continued, turning to Elena's parents. "Nick and Elena, such lovely kids. But I do hope they keep up — it's such a competitive world out there. You know how cruel business can be to the unprepared."
Elena's fork paused mid-air.
There it is.
Her father laughed awkwardly. "They're doing fine, Judith. Elena's in accounting and finance, and Nick—"
"Helping me with the company when he can," Nick finished for him. "Trying to learn the ropes."
"Ah, yes!" Robert said, eyes lighting up. "Hamilton & Co., right? I must say, David, our collaboration has done wonders. Your distribution network is unmatched in the UK."
"Thank you, Robert," David replied, visibly pleased. "And your new furniture line — the artisan series — it's flying off our shelves."
"Well," Judith interjected, setting down her glass, "perhaps business should be left for after dinner, gentlemen?"
And get back to belittling young Hamiltons!
Robert chuckled. "Yes, yes, of course. We'll save the shop talk for the office later."
But the damage was done — the moment of pride and partnership had slipped into tension again.
Elena glanced at Nick. He rolled his eyes subtly. She had to bite back a smile.
A few more condescending remarks made her way at the dinner table and she was done for the night.
When dessert was served, she excused herself quietly, murmuring something about needing fresh air.
Outside, the night was cool and fragrant. The garden was dimly lit by the porch light, the grass glistening faintly from evening dew. She took a deep breath, grateful for the silence.
Then — footsteps. Slow. Unhurried. Certain.
She turned, and her heart stumbled in her chest.
The man from earlier — the driver — stood at the edge of the path, hands tucked casually into his pockets, that same quiet confidence in his stance.
Her pulse quickened. The garden seemed to shrink around her, shadows pulling closer, the air too still.
He was standing exactly where her night had started to fall apart.
Why is he here?
No. No, no. It can't be.
Is he following me?