Over the next days, Adrian returned to the shack again and again, more often than either of them expected.
And each time, he came with something in his hands. Sometimes it was sweets. Sometimes it was simple snacks wrapped in paper or tied in cloth. Never anything too expensive.
Adrian couldn't explain why, but he felt the need to hide his noble identity from her. If he brought jewelry, pastries from noble kitchens, or delicacies only aristocrats could afford, it would give him away immediately. So he chose small things, a bag of nuts, a few pieces of chocolate, a freshly baked bread roll, humble gifts that matched the life she lived.
He even dressed in peasant clothes when visiting, clothes that felt strange on his skin but necessary. And strangely, even with all this pretending, Adrian found himself genuinely enjoying the time they spent together. It amazed him how simply accepting each other as friends had brightened both of their worlds.
To Irene, Adrian was the only friend she had ever truly made, someone who didn't look at her as a curse, a misfortune, or something to avoid. Someone who listened. Someone who smiled. Someone who made her laugh.
To Adrian, it was something even more complicated. Irene softened the loneliness he carried inside himself. Her presence made the silence around him feel less heavy. Her smile made the world feel warmer. Adrian couldn't fully understand the feeling, but he knew one thing clearly that he treasured the time they shared. In those moments, sitting beside her, it felt like the world was gentle enough, as if that alone was enough for him to breathe easier.
One afternoon, they sat behind the shack carving pictures onto a flat stone using a sharp rock they found. They etched simple shapes, flowers, cats, messy circles, and sometimes just lines that didn't mean anything.
"Adrian, I have a question," Irene said suddenly, interrupting the quiet scraping of stone.
"What is it?" Adrian answered without looking up.
"Why did you come back?"
"What are you talking about?"
"Since the first time we met," she clarified.
Adrian's hand stopped moving. The rock slipped from between his fingers for a moment, and Irene noticed the shift instantly. She felt the air change, even in small ways, Adrian's stillness spoke louder than words.
"Is it important?" he asked.
"No,"
she said softly. "But I genuinely want to know."
Adrian stared into space for a second. His instinct was to lie, to make something up, something smooth and safe. But for some reason, he didn't want to lie to her anymore. He didn't want to taint whatever bond they had built. And so he spoke the truth, bluntly:
"I just wanted to check if you're alive."
"…What!?"
Irene's voice cracked in disbelief.
Adrian wasn't joking. His face was serious, expression unchanging. He genuinely meant what he said.
"I wouldn't have died from just a mere scratch," Irene protested.
"You looked like someone who could break with just a small bend," Adrian said calmly.
Well… I did faint that time,
Irene thought, cheeks warming with embarrassment.
Wanting to lighten the mood, Irene decided to tease him.
"Would you be sad if something happens to me?"
Adrian looked up at her. His face was calm, no anger, no embarrassment, no confusion. Just a sharp focus that made her spine straighten.
"Don't say such a thing," he replied.
Irene giggled nervously and teased him again,
"You wouldn't be then, but what about now? What if I disappear?"
Her voice was light, playful, almost childish. To her, it was only a joke.
But to Adrian… it was not.
"Irene"
he said suddenly, sharply.
She flinched at the bluntness of her name. He was staring at her, serious, unblinking, the longest gaze he had ever given her. The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. Irene felt her heartbeat grow louder. She was intimidated, unable to look away.
She parted her lips, trying to speak something.
But before she could, Adrian smiled. A small, gentle smile. Soft enough to silence her completely.
"I would be very sad, so don't go anywhere."
The statement hit her harder than she expected. Irene froze, blush rising across her cheeks.
What does he mean by it?
Then, to her absolute shock, Adrian reached out and took her hands. Both of them. His grip was warm, careful, reverent. Irene's breath caught. She felt her heart pound too fast, too hard. Adrian didn't say anything else at first, he simply held her hands as if they were fragile, valuable things he needed to protect.
The silence lasted long enough to steal her ability to think.
Finally, he broke the stillness again, his voice low and sincere:
"Promise me you won't go anywhere."
Startled, overwhelmed, Irene's mind struggled to function. She was completely caught up in the moment, swept away by the intensity of his gaze.
"…Okay"
And with that, they returned to carving the stone. Or rather, Adrian did. Irene's hands were too shaky to carve straight lines anymore. She stayed quiet for the rest of the day, her thoughts spinning, her cheeks warm, and her heart strangely light.
It seemed Adrian had gone back to normal…
But Irene had not.
Not for the rest of that day.
Maybe not ever.
Irene had been sharing Adrian's treats with Carlo ever since. And though Carlo still didn't know where they came from, he eventually accepted one truth: whoever Irene was meeting… made her happy. Whoever this mysterious friend was, he didn't seem to be hurting her. If anything, Irene looked brighter by the day.
Her expression had softened, her steps were lighter, her sewing steadier. She hummed sometimes. And that alone was enough to ease Carlo's constant worry.
But relief did not erase his curiosity.
In fact, it made it stronger.
Carlo found himself thinking more and more about this unseen "friend."
He wondered what kind of person could make Irene smile like that. What they talked about. What they did together. Why she was suddenly glowing with a happiness he rarely saw in her.
He wanted to know, needed to know. Not because he doubted her, but because he was her brother. Her only family.
And yet… Irene refused to speak about it.
Every time he brought the subject up, she dodged the question.
A gentle laugh.
A vague answer.
A change of topic.
Little excuses, soft and sweet, but excuses nonetheless.
At first, Carlo brushed it off. Irene had always been private about her small joys, afraid they'd be taken away like everything else in her life. But after days passed, and her lies grew slightly more frequent, Carlo began to sense something different.
Why hide a friend?
Why hide happiness?
If it were only a normal friendship, Irene would have told him proudly.
So what was holding her back?
The uncertainty gnawed at him quietly, forming a knot in his chest he couldn't untangle. Eventually, the worry grew into determination. He told himself it was only natural, he was her brother. He had every right to know who she was meeting. And he would find out, one way or another.
So that day, when morning came and Irene had just woken up, Carlo stood by the door and told her, as usual, that he was heading out for work.
And he did leave.
But only for an hour.
Just long enough for Irene to relax, to think he was gone for the day.
Then Carlo slipped quietly back through the trees, careful with each step, making sure no twig snapped beneath his boots. His heartbeat was steady, focused.
Today, he would finally learn who his sister had been meeting.
And why she felt the need to hide it.