Chapter Seventeen — Evening Sparks
(Inara's pov)
The sky outside Elias's window had turned a deep indigo, sprinkled with early stars. The soft glow of the lamp on the coffee table cast golden warmth across the room. I kicked off my shoes and curled up with my notebook, while Elias sprawled on the carpet beside me, pencil in hand, doodles on the margins of his own papers.
"Okay," he said, leaning over, "so Elara's next chapter could use… less melodrama, more heart."
"Less melodrama?" I echoed, laughing. "You literally suggested a talking squirrel last week."
"That squirrel had purpose," he countered, smirking.
We spent the next hour debating dialogue, adding lines, stealing each other's pens, and occasionally brushing hands in ways that made my chest flutter. The room felt small and infinite all at once — warm, safe, full of quiet magic.
At one point, I glanced out the window. Across the street, by the little fountain in the square, a couple was walking hand in hand. They looked about our age.
The girl's hair was tied back messily, her sweater a little loose, her steps careful. But she was laughing — a bright, open laugh — while the boy beside her made exaggerated faces, making her giggle even harder.
I smiled softly. "Look at them," I murmured.
Elias glanced up from his notes. "Cute," he agreed, eyes crinkling.
"They're… happy," I said, tilting my head, noticing the faint paleness in her cheeks. "Even though she doesn't look… perfect. She looks… like she's fighting something, but she's still smiling."
Elias nodded, his hand brushing mine again. "That's brave," he said quietly. "And really inspiring."
I felt a lump in my throat, a strange mixture of hope and melancholy settling in my chest. "I want people to feel like that… in my book. Real, messy, happy even when it's hard."
"You're already halfway there," he said softly, squeezing my hand.
We returned to our writing, but the image of the couple lingered in my mind, like a gentle echo. Elias noticed my distraction and nudged me. "Thinking about your audience again?"
"Yeah," I admitted. "I just… I want to write something that makes people feel everything. Like joy and hope, even when life isn't perfect."
He smiled, brushing a stray hair behind my ear. "You'll do it. You already do it for me."
I felt warmth spread through me, heart beating faster. "And you… you inspire me," I whispered.
We shared a quiet laugh over a ridiculous plot twist I'd just written, leaning close to read each other's notes. His shoulder brushed mine, and I didn't pull away.
"You know," he said, voice soft, "I could stay like this forever. Writing, laughing, you next to me. Perfect little bubble."
I smiled, resting my head lightly against his shoulder. "Me too."
He kissed the top of my head gently, and I closed my eyes, savoring the warmth, the soft thrum of his heartbeat against mine. It was one of those rare, perfect moments where the world seemed paused — small, golden, infinite.
When the clock struck eight, Marco popped his head into the room, cape flopping over one shoulder. "Are we done saving the world yet?"
Elias groaned but ruffled his little brother's hair. "Not quite. But soon, Marco. Soon."
I laughed, scribbling a few last lines into my notebook. "I don't want to leave," I admitted softly, glancing at Elias.
"Then don't," he whispered, holding my hand tighter. "Stay a little longer."
I nodded, curling closer as we read each other's lines in quiet comfort. Outside, the world was fading into night, the streets glimmering with lamplight, and the couple I had noticed earlier had disappeared from view. But their brief glimpse lingered in my mind — a reminder that joy, even fragile joy, existed.
And right now, in this golden room with the boy I loved beside me, I felt it too.
We finally said goodbye hours later, stepping into the cool night. Elias held my hand, thumb brushing mine, the kind of touch that made my chest ache with warmth.
"Tomorrow?" he asked softly.
"Tomorrow," I said, smiling, leaning in for a quick kiss. "More writing, more laughter, more… us."
He grinned. "Full-on fire continues?"
"Full-on fire," I echoed, heart thumping.
And as I walked home, notebook clutched tightly, the memory of the couple outside stayed with me — a quiet, hopeful echo of happiness in all its fragile, beautiful forms.
End of Chapter Seventeen