Finding light in the darkest places—through love-Chapter 92 – The Unspoken House

Silence in Familiar Places

Her bedroom was clean. Too clean. Like it had been scrubbed of signs that anyone ever lived there.

The shelves were still lined with her old academic trophies, her childhood piano books. But it all felt... curated. Like a museum version of Evelyn.

She sat on the bed and stared at the neatly folded quilt at the foot.

A knock interrupted her thoughts.

Her mom peeked in. "Just checking if you need extra towels."

"I'm good."

A pause.

"You've lost weight."

Evelyn blinked. "I've... been busy."

Her mother's lips thinned. "You know I worry when you get too thin. You should eat more. I'll make you something extra."

It wasn't really a question.

Evelyn nodded politely. "Sure. Thanks."

Her mother lingered by the door.

"I've seen your photos. On social media," she added. "That boy you're always with—is he your boyfriend?"

Evelyn's heart skipped once.

"Adrian?" she said, too casually. "He's just... someone I'm close with."

"Be careful," her mother said, a little too quickly. "People talk. And you know how hard it is for women to be taken seriously when they seem... distracted."

Evelyn stared at her.

"I'm not distracted," she said, voice calm. "I'm just happy."

Her mother's eyes flickered.

"Well. Just don't let it interfere with your future."

And then she was gone.

Dinner Table Diplomacy

Dinner was tofu, stir-fried greens, and thin soup. The food was good. Familiar. It should've been comforting.

But every bite tasted like a test.

Her father made small talk about campus life, her brother commented on a drama they both used to watch and her mother asked veiled questions wrapped in concern.

"Have you applied to any internships yet?"

"Yes," Evelyn replied. "Three so far. One's already replied."

"Not the ones that require relocation, I hope?"

"I'd move if I had to," Evelyn said evenly. "It depends on the opportunity."

Her mother frowned faintly, as though relocation was a personal betrayal.

"I just hope you're not rushing into things without thinking about long-term consequences."

Evelyn met her eyes. "I've been thinking about consequences since I was twelve."

The table went quiet.

Her brother coughed awkwardly. "So, uh, Evelyn—how's that film class going?"

Grateful, she pivoted. "It's amazing. We've been doing a short project, and it's the first time I've felt excited to stay up late working."

Her mother looked unimpressed.

And Evelyn didn't care.

Not this time.

A Moment Alone, A Message Sent

Back in her room after dinner, Evelyn sat by the window, phone in her lap. The streetlight outside flickered softly, casting orange shadows on her desk.

She typed, paused, deleted, and typed again.

Evelyn: I forgot how loud the silence is here.

Adrian's reply came after a minute.

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Adrian: Want to talk?

She hesitated. Then called.

His voice came through, warm and steady. "Hey."

Evelyn closed her eyes. "I feel like I'm constantly auditioning for a role I never asked for."

Adrian didn't rush to answer.

"Your mom still wants you to be the 'perfect daughter' version of you, huh?" he asked gently.

"Yeah," she murmured. "But I'm not her anymore. And every time I speak, I can feel her flinch at who I've become."

"She's not flinching at you," Adrian said. "She's flinching at losing control."

Evelyn's throat tightened.

"I keep wondering if it would just be easier to play along," she whispered. "Just for a few days."

"Maybe it would be," he said honestly. "But would it make you feel okay after?"

She didn't answer. She didn't need to.

Adrian continued, softer now. "You're not wrong for growing. For changing. She just doesn't know how to see you yet."

A pause. Then:

"And I do. Just so you know."

Evelyn pressed her knuckles to her lips, blinking hard.

"Can you stay on the line a bit?" she asked.

"I've got nowhere else to be."

They sat like that—breathing through the quiet together. Her in her childhood room, him somewhere far but somehow closer than anyone else in the house.

It wasn't the loud kind of comfort. It didn't need to be.

It was the kind that told her she wasn't alone anymore.