Chapter 13 : Relax Aria

Aria's POV

I sat on the edge of the bed staring at the opposite wall.

The new sheets were still smooth. The thicker blanket Lila had left was folded neatly at the foot. Morning light filtered through the small window in a thin, gray band. From the angle of it, I guessed it was around half past eight.

Lila was already gone.

On the nightstand sat a small tray with toast, a covered bowl of fruit, a glass of water, and the two pills the doctor had left. A scrap of paper rested beside them in her uneven handwriting.

Eat. Take these. Stay in bed. I'm serious.

I read it twice, then set it down.

When I finished, I sat back against the headboard and stared at the wall again.

Boredom settled in faster than I expected.

I stood and smoothed the already-smooth sheets. Then I adjusted the blanket. Then I moved the tray to the dresser, wiped an invisible speck of dust from the surface, and put the tray back. I rearranged the two books on the small shelf. I folded and refolded the spare towel hanging on the back of the chair. By the time I stopped, I had straightened the entire room for the third time and the restlessness under my skin had only grown sharper.

I needed to move.

The doctor had said rest. Julian had ordered it. Lila had threatened me over it. But sitting still with nothing to occupy my hands felt worse than the fading headache.

I opened the door carefully and stepped into the hallway.

The staff corridor was empty. I found a dusting cloth in the small supply closet at the end of the hall and began working my way along the baseboards and the edges of the frames. The motion was familiar. Automatic. It quieted the restless feeling better than sitting ever could. I lost track of time the way I always did when my hands were busy.

I was kneeling near the corner, wiping a scuff mark from the lower part of the wall, when a voice spoke behind me.

"Aria."

I turned.

Lila stood a few feet away, arms crossed, expression caught between exasperation and disbelief.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Cleaning."

"I can see that." She stepped closer and lowered her voice. "Remember what Julian said? You're supposed to rest. Not crawl around the hallway with a rag."

"I know," I said. "But it's hard. Sitting still makes everything feel louder."

Lila studied me for a moment, then exhaled. "Fine. If you can't stay in that room, at least go outside. Walk the garden. Get some air. Just don't work."

"I'm not working. I'm-"

"You're cleaning a hallway you're not supposed to be in while recovering from a concussion." She pointed toward the back stairs. "Garden. Now. Before I tell him myself."

I hesitated.

She raised an eyebrow.

"I'm not joking."

I put the cloth away, more out of reluctance than obedience, and followed her down the staff stairs. She walked me as far as the side door that opened onto the rear grounds, then gave me a look that clearly said she would check later.

"Stay on the paths," she said. "And don't pick up a single tool."

"I won't."

"You will if I leave you alone too long. I know you."

She shut the door behind me.

The garden was quieter than the house. The air was cool and carried the faint scent of damp earth and the last of the late-season flowers. Gravel paths wound between low hedges and carefully arranged beds. I walked slowly at first, hands tucked into the sleeves of the soft sweater someone had left for me. The headache remained a dull presence, but the open air helped.

I stayed on the main path for a while. Then I noticed the weeds.

They were small, stubborn things pushing up between the stones near the edge of one of the flower beds. A few had already begun to crowd the base of a rose bush. Without really deciding to, I crouched and pulled the first one free. Then the next. The soil was soft from recent rain. The work was quiet and precise. My hands remembered the rhythm easily.

I moved along the edge of the bed, pulling weeds as I went. The restlessness eased. The quiet of the garden settled around me. For a short while I forgot about the house, the rules, and the fact that I was supposed to be resting.

I didn't hear him approach until his shadow fell across the stones beside me.

"Aria."

I looked up.

Julian stood a few feet away,expression unreadable. His eyes moved from my dirt-streaked hands to the small pile of weeds I had already pulled, then back to my face.

"You're supposed to be resting."

I sat back on my heels. "I was. Then I came outside."

"And started working."

"It's just weeds."

"It's still work." His voice was calm, but there was a firmness underneath it that left little room for argument. "The doctor said no strain. I said no work. You're doing both."

"I'm fine."

"That's not the point."

He held out a hand. After a brief hesitation, I took it and let him help me stand. He didn't release my hand immediately. His fingers were warm against the chill that had settled into mine from the soil.

"Come sit," he said.

There was a stone bench a short distance away, half-shaded by a low tree. He guided me there and sat beside me, leaving a careful amount of space between us. For a moment neither of us spoke. A light breeze moved through the garden, carrying the scent of wet leaves.

I rested my hands in my lap. After a while they began to tap against my knee, small, rapid, restless movements I didn't fully notice until Julian glanced down at them.

"You're restless," he said quietly.

I stilled my hands. "I'm not used to doing nothing."

"I can see that."

Silence settled again, but it wasn't uncomfortable. The kind of quiet that felt like it was waiting for something real to be said.

"I don't like sitting still," I admitted after a moment. "When I'm not moving, my mind gets too loud."

Julian leaned forward slightly, forearms resting on his knees. "What does it say?"

I looked out at the garden instead of at him. "Mostly that I shouldn't be here. That this job, this house... none of it was supposed to last. That the second things get difficult, it all disappears."

"Has it disappeared so far?"

"No. But that doesn't mean it won't."

He was quiet for a few seconds. When he spoke again, his voice was lower.

"I'm not in the habit of offering things I plan to take back."

I turned my head to look at him. His expression was serious, the usual distance in his features softened by something more open.

"You barely know me," I said.

"I know enough." He met my eyes. "I know you gave blood to a stranger without asking for anything. I know you work until you collapse rather than admit you're not fine. I know you'd rather pull weeds with a concussion than sit still and let someone take care of you."

A faint heat rose to my face. "That last one isn't exactly a compliment."

"It wasn't meant to be." The corner of his mouth twitched. "It was an observation."

I looked down at my hands again. The dirt under my nails suddenly felt more noticeable.

"Your family doesn't want me here," I said. "Not really."

"I know."

"Sienna made that very clear."

Julian's jaw tightened slightly. "Sienna makes a lot of things clear that don't need to be."

"She's not wrong about the difference between us."

"She's wrong about what matters."

The words settled between us. I didn't know what to do with them, so I stayed quiet.

Julian exhaled and leaned back against the bench. "I leave for New York again in three days. Short trip this time. A week at most. While I'm gone, the same rules stand. No work until the doctor clears you. If anyone tries to push that, you tell Lila. She'll reach me."

"You don't have to keep doing this."

"I know." He glanced at me. "I'm doing it anyway."

The honesty in his voice made something shift in my chest. 

We sat there a while longer. The breeze moved through the garden. Somewhere beyond the wall, the city continued without us. For the first time since I had entered this house, the silence didn't feel like something I needed to fill or escape.

Eventually Julian stood.

"Come on," he said. "I'll walk you back. And this time, you're staying inside."

I rose with him. My hands still carried traces of soil. He noticed, but he didn't comment. He simply waited until I was steady, then walked beside me toward the side door.

At the threshold he paused.

"Aria."

I looked up.

"You're allowed to rest," he said. "It doesn't make you weak. It just means you're human."

I didn't have an answer for that.

He opened the door and waited for me to step through first. As I did, I felt the weight of the morning settle differently across my shoulders, not heavier, but changed.

Lila was waiting in the staff hallway with her arms crossed and an expression that clearly said she had been proven right.

"Garden," she said. "And yet somehow you still found a way to work."

Julian glanced at her. "She's done for the day."

Lila's eyebrows rose slightly, but she only nodded. "Understood."

Julian looked at me once more. "Rest. I'll check in later."

Then he left, his footsteps fading toward the main part of the house.

Lila watched him go, then turned to me with a long, assessing look.

"You're in trouble," she said quietly.

"I didn't do anything."

"That's not the kind of trouble I meant."

She didn't explain further. She only steered me back toward my room, made sure I sat down, and pointed at the bed.

"Stay. This time I mean it."

I stayed.

But long after she left, and long after the quiet of the room settled around me again, I could still feel the weight of Julian's words from the garden.

You're allowed to rest. It doesn't make you weak. It just means you're human.