Chapter 22: Two Months Later… A Different Kind of Silence
Two months had passed since Elira signed the marriage papers, choosing peace over war. The mansion had grown quiet not with tension, but with something warmer. Something gentler.
Zayn had changed.
The man who once looked at her with resentment now greeted her with soft eyes and quiet gestures. He didn't say much, but his actions had begun to speak. Coffee left on her desk. Blankets draped over her when she fell asleep on the couch. Books placed on her nightstand the kind she liked but never told anyone about.
Elira noticed.
She no longer flinched when he entered the room. She no longer ate dinner alone.
Tonight, they sat across from each other at the dining table, the silence between them no longer awkward. Just... peaceful.
"How was work?" he asked suddenly.
Elira blinked. "Tiring. But okay."
He nodded, then cleared his throat. "I was thinking we could go somewhere this weekend. Just us."
Her fork paused mid-air. "Us?"
"Yeah," he said, looking her in the eyes. "If you want."
A slow smile formed on her lips. "I'd like that."
Maybe this wasn't just a fake marriage anymore.
Maybe something real was beginning.
Something she didn't dare hope for.
Yet here it was soft, slow, and silently blooming.
Zayn stood at the window of his bedroom, arms wrapped around himself as he looked out at the soft rain painting the glass. He wasn't sure when this house started to feel like home. Or when the air between him and Elira had stopped choking her.
She heard a soft knock at the door.
"It's open," he called.
Elira stepped in, her hair slightly damp, wearing a simple black hoodie and joggers. Casual. Unbothered. But when her eyes met his, she hesitated like a girl with a secret.
"I made you tea," he said, holding a mug out. "Chamomile. For your headaches."
Her heart stuttered. "Thank you."
He didn't leave right away. He stayed near the doorway, watching her as she took a sip, and then glanced back at the rain.
"Elira."
She looked at him.
"Can I ask you something?"
She nodded.
"Why did you really agree to this marriage? You had a choice."
She hesitated. "I thought I didn't."
"That's not an answer."
She placed the cup down and turned fully toward him. "You want honesty?"
"I do."
"I was tired of being a burden to my family," she said quietly. "Tired of feeling invisible. This marriage... I thought maybe it would give me a place in the world. Even if it was a broken one."
Zayn didn't speak for a long moment. Then he walked toward her, closing the distance slowly.
"You were never invisible," he said. "Not to me."
Her breath caught.
"Maybe I hated you," he continued, "but I never didn't see you."
"And now?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper.
He hesitated. "Now I'm trying to see you better."
Her lips parted, a hundred questions tangled on her tongue. But none of them escaped. Only silence stretched between them again, and in it, something else pulsed tentative, fragile, but undeniably present.
The weekend came sooner than expected.
Zayn didn't say where they were going. He just told her to pack lightly, wear something comfortable, and trust him. Elira, who once would've argued, simply nodded.
Trust. A word that used to taste bitter on her tongue now felt possible.
They drove in silence for a while, the radio playing soft jazz, the wind outside brushing past the windows like whispers.
Finally, he parked at a coastal cabin wooden, warm, and tucked away in a small cliff overlooking the ocean.
"This is beautiful," she said, stepping out and breathing in the salty air.
"I thought you might like it."
"You thought right."
He smiled. A real one.
That night, they sat by the fireplace.
Zayn poured her a glass of wine. Not the expensive kind, but the kind she liked cheap, sweet, and fruity.
"How did you know?"
"You left a bottle uncorked in the kitchen once. I tasted it. It was... very Elira."
She laughed. "Sweet and annoying?"
"No," he said softly. "Comforting."
The flames crackled between them, shadows dancing on the walls. Outside, the waves crashed against the rocks with the rhythm of a slow heart.
"I don't want to pretend anymore," she said suddenly.
He looked at her.
"I don't want to keep playing the role of your wife in public and feeling like a stranger in private."
Zayn's jaw tightened, but not with anger. With something else regret, maybe.
"I never wanted to make you feel like a stranger."
"Then stop," she whispered.
He moved closer, so close she could feel the warmth of him. His fingers reached for hers but paused just inches away, waiting for permission.
She gave it.
And when his fingers closed around hers, it felt like the first real chapter of their story had just begun.
Not out of obligation.
But choice.
Later that night, as they stood outside under the stars, Elira whispered, "You used to hate me."
"I used to hate a lot of things," he said, "especially myself."
"And now?"
"I'm learning," he said. "To hate less. To feel more. To let you in."
She turned to him, her eyes reflecting the stars. "That's all I ever wanted."
Zayn touched her cheek gently, as though she were something fragile precious.
"You're not invisible, Elira," he said. "You never were."
And when he kissed her, it wasn't out of guilt, anger, or duty.
It was real.
It was the beginning.