Chapter 8
945 Words
Chapter 8: The Man He Used to Be
The rain poured that morning, soft and relentless like a lullaby to a broken soul. Ela watched it streak down the windows of the breakfast nook, cup of masala tea cooling in her hands. Stuart hadn’t come to bed last night. But she hadn’t felt abandoned. In fact, she hadn’t felt alone. Something about that brief touch the night before, his hand in hers, lingered like warmth against her skin.
It wasn’t love—not yet.
But it wasn’t nothing.
She was still sipping her tea when Stuart entered, hair damp from a walk or maybe just from standing in the garden. He wore no tie, no coat. Just a pale blue shirt that clung slightly to his chest. His eyes looked softer, a little tired.
“I didn’t sleep,” he said, as if it were a confession.
“Because of me?”
He gave a faint smile. “Because of me.”
Ela gestured to the seat across from her. “Then sit. Talk.”
To her surprise, he did.
He took a long breath. “I used to love the rain.”
“Used to?”
“It reminded me of beginnings. New quarters. New ambitions. First kisses… even my first company was started in a rainy season. Then… things changed.”
Ela nodded, waiting.
“Olivia lost our child on a stormy night. It was raining when she bled out in the bathroom. I was stuck in traffic. By the time I got there…” He paused. “The ambulance was already gone.”
Her breath caught in her throat. “I’m so sorry.”
“She blamed me. I think part of me blamed myself too.”
He didn’t look at her, but his hand slowly closed into a fist. “When she left, I shut down. No more chances. No more hope. Only work. Efficiency. Results.”
“And now?”
He glanced at her, his eyes unreadable. “Now I’m married to a woman who makes me feel guilty for not falling in love with her.”
Ela stared at him. “I never asked for love.”
“No. But I see it in your eyes. You’re learning to love me… and it scares me more than anything.”
She stood, suddenly unable to sit still. “Because it makes you feel something again?”
“Because it makes me weak.”
“No,” she whispered. “It makes you human.”
---
That evening, Victoria came into Ela’s room without knocking. She held a photo album. Old, leather-bound, slightly torn at the corners.
“He won’t show you these. But you should know who he used to be.”
Ela took the album with cautious hands.
The first page showed a young Stuart, barely out of college, smiling beside a stall with a handwritten board that said “Edwards Innovations – The Future Starts Small.”
He was laughing. Not the polite kind she was used to, but full-bellied joy.
More pictures followed. Stuart and his father. Stuart in New York, holding a trophy. Stuart and Olivia at a masquerade ball, their masks pushed up, her hand on his chest.
They looked happy.
Then the later photos changed. Less color. More suits. More boardrooms. His eyes began to harden. The last page was blank.
Victoria touched her shoulder. “He’s still in there. The boy with the ideas. The man who once smiled.”
“I saw him this morning,” Ela whispered. “For a second.”
“Then hold on to that second, Ela. That’s where healing begins.”
---
The next day, Stuart surprised her by asking her out.
“Out?” she echoed. “Like… a date?”
He shrugged. “There’s an art exhibit at Blackwell Gallery. You mentioned liking abstract art. I thought we could… go.”
She agreed, heart fluttering like a schoolgirl.
He picked her up himself, in a simple black car. No chauffeurs. No PR.
The gallery was quiet, intimate. Walls lined with canvases that seemed to scream emotion in color.
Ela stood before a red-and-blue piece that looked like chaos.
“What does this make you feel?” he asked, his voice near her ear.
“Confusion,” she said. “But also… wonder. Like the artist didn’t want to explain, just wanted to be understood.”
He looked at her then, eyes lingering. “That’s how I feel most days.”
They walked together slowly, pausing before each painting. No phones. No interruptions. Just two people learning each other’s shapes through silence and brushstrokes.
When they stepped out, it had started to rain again.
This time, Stuart didn’t flinch. He didn’t call for the car. Instead, he looked up at the sky.
“I used to kiss Olivia in the rain,” he said.
Ela didn’t move.
“But I never kissed her like this.”
Before she could speak, Stuart leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips.
It wasn’t desperate. It wasn’t staged.
It was real.
Warm.
Breaking.
And when he pulled back, he looked like a man rediscovering sunlight.
“You’re not her,” he said. “And thank God for that.”
Ela couldn’t stop the tears. Not because he’d kissed her. But because he’d finally seen her.
Not as a contract. Not as a replacement.
But as Ela.
And she had seen him too.
Not the CEO.
Not the broken man.
But the boy who once built dreams in the rain.
(End of Chapter 8)
Shall we move on to Chapter 9: “Storms Behind Closed Doors”?
- Writer
