MIRA
Days had passed since the hospital. Since the crash, the fire and everything that happened the past week. It was a Saturday morning and I tried to move past the fact that someone had saved me. A boy I barely knew beyond our high school halls. Someone I only met once. Today Mathew is coming over for dinner and I had mixed feelings about it.
I walked down the stairs dressed in a flowing floral gown. The house smelled like garlic bread and roasted chicken—warm, familiar scents that reminded me of those family moments. It reminded me of the time when our family was complete. When we'd sit at dinner with my father at the head of the table and Micheal sitting right across from me. When the house felt like a home not empty, dark and silent.
I stood by the kitchen counter, nervously running my fingers along the rim of an empty glass. I had been upstairs most of the day, avoiding memories and trying to fix my feelings. Mom had been extra busy with work, but still, she managed to make dinner. She found time. She hummed softly as she set the table with extra care. I watched her, grateful and anxious. I wondered why she had to do this.
"He'll be here any minute," she said, glancing at the clock. "Sit down, my dear."
I nodded absently, as I took my seat. I smoothed down my dress for the third time even though I had already changed twice. My stomach fluttered. It was just dinner. A thank-you meal according to my mom. Still I didn't know how to feel. How to react or what to expect.
I heard the doorbell ring and mom practically sprinted to answer it, she was warm, welcoming and excited.
"Good evening ma'am "
I heard him call out at the door when it opened. He sounded low, calm and polite. Then the door creaked open and he stepped In.
He looked quite different tonight. Not Mathew from the fantastic four. The one who was very famous and walked around with an intimidating air of confidence. Not the Mathew that made students grovel and give way. Tonight, he seemed soft. Still mysterious, but real. He was dressed in a black shirt and jeans, and carried a small bouquet of colourful flowers.
"These are for you," he said, offering them to my mother who smiled and placed them in a vase
"Oh, thank you dear! That's so thoughtful." She said. "Come on in, dinner's ready."
His eyes met mine. "Hey."
"Hi," I said, offering a small smile. "Hope you're feeling better." I asked feeling a bit nervous.
"I've never been better," he chuckled.
We sat down for dinner, all three of us. Mom did most of the talking at first. She praised his bravery, checked in on his health, and cracked light jokes when the air grew too thick. Mathew answered humbly, brushing off the compliments with a shrug or a soft smile.
"I just did what anyone would've done," he said.
"Not anyone," My mom replied, her voice a bit low. "You could've kept driving."
He looked at me, and our eyes locked. "I knew something was wrong. It was a nasty feeling and I didn't want to be late."
The room became silent almost immediately. I could feel my heart pounding against my ribs.
"I still don't know how you found me," I said, calmly as I picked a berry.
He waited for a moment, as if he was thinking before he replied. "It was a hunch. I just had the feeling like something was wrong. It was difficult to ignore." then he paused for a moment and said lightly, "I'm glad I found you."
My cheeks flushed. I looked down at my plate. Nobody had cared since Micheal died. Mom and dad had always been too busy with work — not that I blame them but this is new. He thought about me. He sensed something wrong and stopped. He searched for me. A stranger he barely knew.
"You saved my daughter's life," Mom said, her voice tight with held-back tears. "You're always welcome here."
Mathew gave a small nod. His gaze dropped to his plate as he focused on the food.
Dinner continued, quieter now. I found myself watching him. I couldn't help it. I studied his expressions. I always thought he was proud, or even arrogant. But now he was very observant, gentle and kind. When I struggled to cut my food with one hand, he reached over and helped. He didn't say a word, he did it like it wasn't a big deal. I mouthed thanks and took the chunk he cut out. I was impressed. My heart warmed at the gesture.
After dessert—Mom's famous apple pie—we moved to the living room. She insisted on doing the dishes herself, giving us space. I could feel her eyes on us as she left, hopeful in a way only mothers are.
I sat on the couch beside him, careful not to sit too close, but not far either.
"I never really thanked you," I said from my heart
"You don't have to."
"I need to," I insisted. "What you did mattered."
He turned to look at me fully, eyes serious. "You matter."
I blinked, not sure of what he said.
"You're not invisible, Mirabel," he said softly. "Even when you feel like you are… I see you."
I swallowed hard. The words touched something deep in me. Something I hadn't let anyone touch in a long time since I lost my father.
"You... you saw me?" I asked, disbelieving.
He nodded. "I still do."
We sat in silence after that. A comfortable one. One I didn't want to end.
It all started to make sense now. He was there beside me at the lake. When I thought I was alone, he was there with me, keeping me company. And now when I was alone in an abandoned building he found me, and rescued me.
Eventually, Mom returned, drying her hands on a dish towel. "This night was great. How about a movie next time?" she said, teasing.
Mathew chuckled. "Sounds good."
When he got up to leave, I walked him to the door.
"Thanks again," I said.
"For dinner?" he asked, smirking.
"For everything."
He gave me a small nod. "Anytime."
Then he was gone, and I stood in the doorway long after his car drove off.
Something had shifted.
My brother was my best friend. My father was my anchor. I thought I had lost everything that really mattered. But my heart was opening up for a new one. Another person who didn't just fill up the gap. Who made me feel safe. I found a safe place in the most unexpected person.
What I didn't realize was… I was starting to love him.
---
MATHEW
The flowers weren't exactly my idea. Not really. They were Draco's. My father's second in command and my best friend. For someone so tough who did dangerous things like him, he was a hopeless romantic. And he thought it's just good manners to show up with a gift when someone invites you into their home—especially after saving their daughter's life. His words, not mine.
Still, they worked. Her mom Mrs Maxwell smiled as she received them. I could tell she was impressed. Her eyes were kind and warm. Her house smelled like garlic and roasted chicken, and the thought of the food made my stomach churn. I suddenly felt hungry and nervous at the same time.
I walked in and then I saw her. She looked beautiful in an understated way. Her hair fell gently over her shoulders, her dress looked simple but elegant. She was nervous too, I could tell. From the way she kept adjusting in her seat and lowering her gaze. Trying not to meet mine. It felt like she couldn't face me. So I tried to ease the tension between us.
"Hey," I said.
"Hi," she replied, then added, "Hope you're feeling better."
"Never been better," I said, even though my ribs still ached and my back was killing me.
Dinner was good. Really good. But I couldn't remember how it tasted. All I could think about was her. I was focused on her. The way her voice trembled when she spoke, the way her mom kept glancing between us like she was connecting dots we hadn't yet drawn. There were no words between us. At least not yet but a thousand thoughts were running through my mind.
"I just did what anyone would've done," I said, when her mom thanked me again.
"Not anyone," she replied. I realized that it was true. That was what made Mirabel special. I did for her what I wouldn't do for anyone else.
Mirabel looked at me, her eyes wide and questioning. "I still don't know how you found me."
I hesitated, then told the truth. "It was a hunch."
That was half of it. I'd been restless all through practice. And after dropping Alexa off I didn't take my normal route back home. I passed the rough one bumpy road and stopped when u saw her car. It wasn't logic or timing—it was instinct. Like I was meant to be there.
"I'm glad I found you," I said. And I meant it.
The way her eyes softened when I said it made me warm on the inside. Later, in the living room, the quiet between us felt charged. She tried to thank me again.
"You don't have to." I replied trying to shrug her off.
"I need to," she insisted. "What you did mattered."
"You matter." I replied with all seriousness.
She looked at me like no one ever had so I felt the need to explain.
"You're not invisible, Mirabel," I told her. "Even when you feel like you are… I see you."
And I did. I saw her at the school gate. Taking in the beauty of the school while causing a hold up. I saw her when she walked into French class that morning, a little bit shy. I saw her looking peaceful and beautiful by the lake side, without any trouble in the world. What I didn't see was the pain she felt inside. The pain I caused her. I remembered how she wiped her tears when I approached her by the lake. I remembered how curled up she was over her brother's picture in the building. That was when I noticed. She thought no one did, but I did.
Because I knew what it felt like to be alone.
When she asked again, voice, soft and shaking, "You saw me?" I nodded.
"I still do."
That night I felt something settle in my chest. I was determined. Determined to care for her. To love her. To ease her of her every pain—including the one I caused.