CHAPTER TWO—QUIET BATTLES.

Arina’s POV

The sun was bright today, and the patterns that it cast on the floor were very beautiful.

I was mostly awake when my alarm went off.

There was, however, a mixture of nervousness and determination inside me.

The first full day with Kael as the new nanny was just beginning.

I was well aware of how difficult the day would be.

The note left behind by Maria was still fresh in my mind:

“Be patient. He is introverted, but he sees and hears everything.”

I dressed in the skirt and blouse that was given to me, quickly smoothed my hair, and took a deep breath.

I could handle this. I must handle this. For my father, for Ayla, and for the little hope that I might win Kael’s silent trust.

I went down the grand staircase and right away I saw Kael in the living room, sitting in his corner where he always sat.

He was still absorbed in the book that he had, and from the look of the whole thing he was not really reading at all.

The way he was holding it, so precise yet almost like a machine, gave all the clues.

He was careful, he was measured, and he was very much aware of me.

“Good morning, Kael,” I said softly, making an effort to keep my tone casual.

There was no answer.

He didn't even give a slight movement to indicate that he had heard me.

I felt a tightness in my chest.

I knew that there would be silence, but somehow each second of it was heavier than the last one.

I went down on my knee a bit, which had the effect of making me nearer to his line of sight.

“I’m going to be with you.” I said.

Break-fast is coming soon, and after that, we can get on with your studies, all right?”

Kael’s gaze moved to me for a fraction of a second—just to show that he saw me—and then it was back to his book.

On my part, I made an effort to smile softly, and I refused to let the feeling of irritability take over me.

Patience, I told myself once more.

He sees everything. He will be friendly in due course.

The atmosphere during breakfast was such that it was really no different from if Kael had been alone.

He was sitting at the table like a picture of good manners—a manner which had been drilled into him, but he would not use it unless absolutely necessary.

He remained silent, only with great care did he gradually pick at his food.

“Do you... like cereal?” I asked very carefully, wanting to start some talk.

He gave me a sharp look, almost weighing my words, and then answered one-word:

“Yes.”

“Yes,” I echoed softly and with a smile.

I viewed it as progress, even if it was the most minor flicker of acknowledgment.

I proposed a small activity—coloring or arranging his books—after breakfast.

As usual, Kael did not say a word, but I could see how his eyes were watching me, determining, judging.

Each time I moved a book or gave him a crayon, he would make a little move, quietly directing me with no words.

I quickly came to the conclusion that his silence was not impoliteness—it was studying, a way of keeping dominion over his place in a world that probably was already ruled by adults who made decisions for him every single time at every corner.

“Kael, would you like… to read together?” I asked while holding a vividly illustrated book.

The boy bent his head and gave me a piercing look. At last, a little nod. No speech, no grin, just a narrow waft that I took as an invite.

On the floor we got our seats and I started reading very quietly, turning the pages slowly.

Initially he did not react, only looked at me, his fingers sliding along the page as if he was learning where it was every corner.

I tried to captivate him with the story; I did so by just changing my voice a bit, and gesturing a lot.

Very slowly, though hardly noticeable at first, he gradually started to imitate me—he was turning the pages together with me, visually following the story, and even whispering a word here and there, but so softly that I could not hear it.

By the middle of the morning, I could feel a tiny victory growing inside me.

Kael had permitted me a little bit into his world.

His trust was weak and mute, but it was there.

And for the first time, I risked thinking that I might be able to establish a connection with him.

The usual silence was brought about by lunch, however I caught a hint of a change—Kael was looking at me while I was pouring juice into a glass.

He wasn’t judging me but his curiosity was evident.

He was analyzing me just like I was analyzing him.

“Kael, I will try not to interfere significantly,” I softly reassured him.

“I will abide by your routines, your rules… I just want to soften the day for you.”

He didn’t say a word but let me assist him with his lunch.

That was sufficient.

Later on, words would be spoken—or maybe not at all—but the gesture itself was significant.

We had some free time after lunch. I proposed a garden walk, believing that the fresh air and greenery might help to draw out a small smile or even a word.

He followed me in silence, each step carefully calculated, and I walked a bit behind him, giving him room but being ready to step in if necessary.

The garden was a heaven of beauty, neat and fragrant, with birds singing and fountains gurgling softly.

I tried to create some sort of interaction between us, showing him the flowers or a squirrel that was running across the lawn.

“Kael, do you like roses?” I asked softly.

He stopped, looking at a light pink flower. Then, very softly, he replied, “Yes.”

I experienced a feeling of quiet victory that filled up my chest.

That one word was stronger than any applause.

He was starting to trust me.

As we made our way back into the building, I became conscious of the staff members who were watching us from a distance.

Maria slightly smiled, as if to say good job, keep going.

I caught a momentary view of Mrs. Bruce at the top of the stairs. She said nothing but her gaze was upon me, weighing.

I felt as if she was silently judging my skills and perhaps, my character too.

Dinner was still another quiet, silent thing.

Kael continued to say little, however, we had built up a rhythm of silent communication—gestures, glances, and occasional whispers.

It was tiring, but at the same time, it was fulfilling in a way that amazed me.

I got the idea that taking care of him was not just feeding or teaching; it was patience, understanding, and the ability to read the unspoken part.

When darkness came, I took Kael to his room.

He hadn’t talked much still, but he let me settle him in, I read him a bedtime story, and even—very briefly—he let me hold his hand as he closed his eyes.

“Goodnight, Kael,” I said softly as I tucked a piece of hair behind his forehead.

He didn’t answer but his hand remained still.

That little, wordless acceptance was enough to me.

Afterward, leaving his room, I went back to my room, falling onto the bed with mixed feelings of exhaustion and quiet satisfaction.

It was hard, yes, but day one. Kael was a puzzle, complex and mute, but I was already putting together the first pieces.

I thought about my dad and Ayla, pictured their faces, and I grinned even though I was tired.

This job was not only a source of income, but also love, responsibility, and the proof to myself that I was able to make a difference, even in a person's silent, withdrawn world.

I made a vow to myself as I fell asleep: I won’t quit.

Kael might be quiet, aloof, and hard to handle, but I will be slow and patient with him.

He will never trust me, never let me come close…until one day, perhaps.

Because some starters are quiet, fragile, and almost invisible. Yet, they have the strength to transform everything.