Hazel chose chess.
Not because she was good at it. God no.
But because it made her feel smart just looking at the board.
Adrian was already sitting on the floor in the lounge when she walked in with the set in her arms.
"You play?" she asked, setting it down on the coffee table between them.
Adrian nodded once. "A little."
That probably meant: he was a grandmaster, trained by monks in a Himalayan temple.
She sat cross-legged, arranging the pieces.
"I'll be white," she said cheerfully. "Ladies first."
He arched a brow.
She smirked. "Don't give me that look. You'll destroy me anyway."
The first few moves were quiet. Calm.
Hazel tried her best to focus, but every time Adrian's fingers brushed a piece, her mind wandered—back to this morning, to the smile, to the hand-holding.
Was this a new version of him? Or was she just seeing him clearly for the first time?
Midway through the game, she made a bold move with her knight.
Adrian blinked. "That was aggressive."
Hazel gasped dramatically. "Was that… a full sentence?"
He almost—almost—smiled again.
They played for a few more minutes before Hazel leaned back with a sigh.
"You know, I've never actually finished a game of chess," she admitted. "I always get bored or distracted halfway through."
"Not tonight," Adrian said. "You're doing fine."
She stared at him. "Are you… encouraging me?"
He looked away, but not fast enough to hide the flicker of amusement.
Hazel tilted her head. "Can I ask you something?"
He paused. Then nodded.
"Why chess?"
He looked at the board.
Then, in a voice softer than usual, he said, "My mother taught me."
Hazel blinked.
"She used to say… life was like this. Strategy. Patience. Knowing when to sacrifice and when to protect."
Hazel swallowed. "She sounds… wise."
Adrian gave the smallest nod. "She died when I was twelve."
A beat of silence passed.
Hazel's heart pinched.
She didn't know what to say. So she didn't say anything.
Instead, she reached across the board and moved her queen—right into the path of his bishop.
Adrian looked up. "That's checkmate in two."
"I know."
He frowned.
She smiled gently. "Some things are worth losing for."
He stared at her.
Longer than usual.
Then he stood.
Hazel thought he was leaving—but instead, he walked to the window, hands in his pockets.
"It's hard," he said suddenly. "Letting people in."
Hazel's breath caught.
"I know," she replied. "But sometimes… you don't have to say anything. Just sit beside them."
He turned.
Their eyes met.
No smiles. No jokes.
Just understanding.
And maybe—for the first time—not as strangers.
But something closer.