Chapter 4: Tea and Confidantes
The kitchen at the Rowon house quickly became Amaya's favorite sanctuary. It started with weekly tea, then evolved into casual drop-ins. Elara Rowon wasn't just a friendly neighbor; she was a revelation. She listened to Amaya's dramatic retellings of college dramas, her elaborate theories about her books, and her dreams of a future she was still trying to figure out with genuine interest, never dismissing them as childish.
"You have such a vibrant imagination, Amaya," Elara said one afternoon, pouring them both a second cup of Earl Grey. "It's a gift. This house has been too quiet for too long."
Amaya beamed, hugging the compliment to her chest. "It's so much more fun here than my house. My mom just tells me to be more practical."
"Practicality has its place," Elara mused, her warm hazel eyes twinkling. "But so does magic."
Amaya couldn't help but smile at Elara's words. The world she lived in was one of practicality, where every decision had to be measured, every dream weighed against reality. But Elara made it feel like it was okay to dream, to let your imagination roam freely. She made it feel like there was space for the impossible.
It was during one of these cozy sessions, while helping Elara sort through a box of old photographs, that Amaya found the picture. It was of a stunning young woman with Aris's same defiant eyebrows and messy dark hair, laughing as she was hugged by a man, a cityscape Amaya didn't recognize behind them.
"Who's this?" Amaya asked, holding it up. "She's beautiful. She looks like you."
Elara's face softened with a profound, maternal love. "That's my daughter, Lena. And her husband, Mark."
"Your daughter?" Amaya's eyes widened. "Aris has a sister? He never mentioned her!"
"He wouldn't," Elara said with a light sigh.
"He thinks he's the sole bearer of the family's burdens now. Lena is five years older than Aris. She's a graphic designer, lives in London. So smart, so independent. She got married at twenty-one."
Amaya stared, her mind reeling. Elara, with her youthful energy and kind eyes, looked like she could be in her late forties. The math didn't compute. "Twenty-one? But… you look so young! You have a married daughter?"
Elara laughed, a joyful, unrestrained sound. "You are the sweetest thing. I had Lena when I was quite young myself. It's the secret, you know."
"What is?" Amaya leaned forward, captivated.
"Marrying young," Elara said, a nostalgic smile softening her features. "You get to grow with your person. You build a life together from the ground up. You stay… well, not young in years, but young in spirit. You're partners in the adventure. By the time your friends are just starting, you're already settled into your life, still full of energy." She gestured to the photo. "Look at her. She's twenty-six, building her career in a new country with the man she loves. She's living her life without waiting."
A profound, earth-shattering idea clicked into place in Amaya's mind.
This was it.
This was the blueprint.
It wasn't just about loving Aris—it was about building a life. A life that started now, so they could grow together like Lena and Mark, like Elara and her husband. A team. Young. Fearless.
"I want that," Amaya whispered, her olive eyes wide with clarity. "I don't want to wait until I'm old and boring to have my adventure. I want to marry young."
Elara reached across the table and patted her hand. "When you find the right person, my dear, you'll know. And you shouldn't let anyone tell you it's too soon."
Amaya held her gaze, her heart pounding with the certainty of it. "I won't. I'm going to make it happen."
Just then, the back door opened.
Aris walked in.
His messenger bag hung from one shoulder, his posture tired but composed. He stopped short when he took in the scene: the open box of photographs, the teacups, his mother and the girl next door leaning together like co-conspirators.
His light hazel eyes flicked from Amaya to his mother, the gold flecks catching briefly in the kitchen light before his expression settled into guarded neutrality.
"Amaya," he said, her name precise, slightly stiff.
"Aris!" Amaya replied, her voice buoyant with a new, unshakable confidence. "We were just talking about your sister. She's gorgeous! Why don't you ever talk about her?"
His jaw tightened—just a fraction. He glanced at his mother, then back at Amaya, uncertainty passing through his hazel gaze before it cooled.
"Do you need help with anything?" he asked, his voice distant now.
"No, darling, we're quite fine," Elara said gently. "Amaya was just keeping me company."
Aris gave a short nod. "I have to study."
The words weren't unkind, but the chill beneath them was unmistakable. He turned and left the kitchen, his absence lowering the temperature of the room.
Amaya didn't feel dismissed.
She felt validated.
Her smile lingered as she looked at Elara—and then toward the hallway Aris had disappeared down, her future crystallizing in her mind.
"You know," Amaya said softly, almost shy now, "I've decided something. I want to marry young. I don't want to wait for my life to start. I want an adventure now."
Elara smiled, pride and affection glowing in her hazel eyes. "I think that's a beautiful idea, Amaya. Just remember—it's not about finding someone to marry. It's about finding someone to build a life with. One full of laughter, challenges, and love."
Amaya nodded, something deeper than infatuation stirring inside her. This wasn't just about Aris anymore.
It was about the future she wanted.
She had her mission.
And now, she had her reason.
She wouldn't just make Aris see her.
She would make him see their future.
A future that started now—while they were still young enough to claim it.
Elara leaned back, her eyes bright with quiet wisdom. "It's a good plan, Amaya. Just remember—life, love, and adventure rarely arrive on schedule. Be ready when they do."
Amaya's mind raced, possibilities unfurling like a vast, open sea.
She wasn't going to wait for life to happen.
She was going to make it happen—one step at a time.
And she was determined that Aris Rowon would be right there with her…
whether he was ready or not.