4. You’re defending her

“I want to ask you something,” Gian said quietly, though his voice carried an unmistakable firmness. “Who exactly were you trying to please?”

Aurelia froze. Her lips parted, but no sound came out.

Madam Lestari folded her arms even tighter across her chest. “Certainly not me, Gian,” she snapped.

Silence settled over the room.

Before anyone could add another word, Gian stepped forward. Slow, steady, without theatrics. His gaze cut through the tension, directed at only one person.

“I never asked you to cook,” he said. “I didn’t ask for anything.”

Aurelia bit her lip, head dipping slightly.

But then, to her surprise, Gian picked up a cloth. He wiped the messy countertop once, calmly, without a complaint before turning to his mother.

“She just arrived today. If a small mistake is enough to set you off like this… maybe this house is simply too harsh for anyone.”

Madam Lestari stiffened. “You’re defending her?”

Gian didn’t answer.

He simply looked at his mother for a long, heavy moment. Then he set the cloth down and turned to leave.

His footsteps echoed across the marble floor, slow, deliberate. But right before he reached the doorway, he paused and glanced back at Aurelia.

“If you still want to try,” he said softly, “start with something that won’t burn the house down.”

Then he walked away, leaving the air thick with a lingering, misty quiet.

Madam Lestari huffed. “See? He pities you.”

Aurelia didn’t respond. Embarrassment still burned on her cheeks, but somewhere beneath it, a small pocket of relief formed. Not because Gian defended her, but because he didn’t condemn her either.

She looked at the mess in the kitchen. Her hands trembled slightly as she began to wipe the counter. But this time… she didn’t feel entirely defeated.

That night, Aurelia returned to her room with her body aching and the faint smell of oil still clinging to her hair. She sat at the edge of the bed, staring at her own dim reflection in the window. This house was quiet. Too quiet. Yet somehow, Gian’s earlier words kept echoing in her mind.

If you still want to try…

Just one sentence, but it felt like permission to breathe.

Aurelia opened her small notebook and wrote down one thing:

Learn to cook,  start with scrambled eggs.

The next morning, Gian came downstairs earlier than usual. Already dressed for work, black suit, gray tie, expression unreadable, he slowed his steps as soon as he reached the dining room.

On the table lay a glass of milk. A plate of toast. And… scrambled eggs.

Not perfectly shaped. Slightly burnt at the edges. But undeniably made with effort.

Aurelia stood near the table, hands clasped behind her back, clearly nervous. She wore a simple blouse and slacks, her face bare of makeup.

“I… tried making a simple breakfast,” she said quietly. “Nothing that could start a fire today.”

Gian looked at her for a long moment. Then he sat down. Picked up a fork. Took a small bite of the eggs. Chewed slowly.

He didn’t compliment her. He didn’t complain either. But he finished everything. Even the toast that had gone slightly cold.

“Thank you,” he said.

Aurelia’s chest fluttered.

After Gian left, one of the maids—who had been peeking from behind a wall—gave her a small smile.

“That’s the first time Mr. Gian has sat down for breakfast in a long while.”

Aurelia blinked. “Really?”

The maid nodded. “He usually just grabs coffee and leaves. But today… he actually ate.”

Aurelia looked at the now-empty chair at the table. Gian’s expression rarely gave anything away, but this morning… something small, fragile, had shifted.

This house still felt like a labyrinth of cold hallways and untouchable secrets. But for a moment, one of its doors had cracked open.

Night fell by the time Aurelia closed her bedroom door. The day had stretched endlessly. She still knew little about Gian, this house, or her place within it. But today, for the first time she felt her presence wasn’t completely invisible.

She sat on the edge of the bed, eyes tracing the soft glow of the chandelier above. Then she opened the window. The night breeze slipped in, carrying the faint scent of the afternoon rain.

Her gaze drifted downward to the dim backyard.

Gian stood there. Alone. Near a small gazebo lit by a weak lamp. His head was slightly tilted back, as if searching the sky for something he couldn’t quite reach. His suit jacket was gone; he wore only a white dress shirt and dark pants. The soft light caught half his face and for a heartbeat, Aurelia saw something she’d never seen before.

Not anger. Not authority.

But… emptiness.

And when Gian slowly turned his head toward the second-floor window toward her, their eyes met. Not for long. Not enough to call it a stare. But enough to make Aurelia’s heart seize.

Because in those eyes, she didn’t just see coldness.

She saw a wound.

She didn’t know what time it was when she drifted into sleep again. The world outside was still dark. But the vibration of a notification jolted her awake. The rain had stopped hours ago, leaving a thin layer of mist on the glass.

Aurelia rubbed her eyes and reached for her phone on the nightstand. The screen lit up, displaying a single email:

[Re-Registration Schedule for New Graduate Students. Faculty of Psychology, University..]

Her fingers froze. Her breath hitched.

She had forgotten something very important.