Threads of Destiny

16

Sunday morning came bright and slow, the city quieter than the day before. Appie was already restless by the time she sent a message to Baron, suggesting they head out again—this time by car, through the rest of the city and maybe beyond.

When they met near the dorms, her eyes sparkled with the same eagerness as yesterday. “One day wasn’t enough. There’s still so much to see. We could cover the hills, the outer markets, maybe even the vineyards. What do you say?”

Baron listened, letting her spill out her list of possibilities. Then he shook his head gently, though not unkindly.

“Not today.”

Appie blinked. “Why not? It’s Sunday! Perfect for a road trip.”

“Because,” he said, voice steady, “yesterday was good. If we do it all at once, it won’t mean as much. Another weekend. We’ll go then.”

Her lips parted, ready to argue, but then she laughed, her protest dissolving. “You’re impossible. But… you’re right.” She tilted her head, smiling. “Another weekend, then.”

Baron gave the smallest nod, and that was enough.

The plan didn’t vanish; it settled between them, a promise carried forward.

---

When Marc Maret asked Baron to join them for lunch on Sunday, Baron expected their usual café or one of the smaller bistros near the market. Instead, Marc guided them into a fine restaurant overlooking the river, all crystal glasses and velvet chairs.

“For lunch?” Baron murmured, puzzled, as the maître d’ led them to a table already waiting.

Clara only smiled, her eyes alight with mischief. “Just wait.”

It wasn’t long before Élise arrived, her expression curious. She had clearly not been told either. Marc rose, lifting a glass as soon as she sat down.

“To Élise,” he said proudly, his voice ringing warm and strong. “For finishing her studies early, and for beginning a career that will take her further than we dreamed. We’re so proud of you.”

Élise gasped, her hand flying to her mouth, laughter breaking through the tears gathering in her eyes. “Papa… you made this a whole celebration?”

“Of course,” Clara said, her tone tender and firm. “This is a moment worth remembering.”

Only then did Baron fully understand—this wasn’t an ordinary lunch. It was a surprise not just for him, but for Élise as well. A celebration of her achievement, and quietly, a moment to tell him that soon, the Marets would be leaving Étoilemont to follow her future.

The lunch was warm, filled with laughter, proud stories, and plates that carried the rich flavors of the city. Baron congratulated Élise sincerely, raising his glass with the others. “You deserve it,” he said. “And I wish you every success.”

She looked at him across the table, her smile steady. “And you, Baron—you’ll be back at the piano, on the stage where you belong. When that happens, I’ll be there. At your first concert after recovery.”

For a moment, Baron couldn’t answer. Then he gave a small nod, quiet but certain. “I’ll hold you to that.”

And the table glowed brighter, warmed by both promise and pride.

---

A week later, the station was crowded with the usual clamor of travelers, the air sharp with the scent of coal and the murmur of departures. Baron stood with the Marets on the platform, luggage stacked beside them, the sound of whistles and announcements echoing overhead.

Élise was radiant with excitement, her eyes bright as she adjusted the strap of her bag. “I told them I wanted to take the train,” she said with a grin, “because it feels like a journey, not just a trip. A family holiday across borders before the next chapter begins.”

Clara fussed over the bags, Marc checked the tickets, and Baron stood a step apart, watching them with a quiet steadiness.

When the final call came, there was a rush of embraces. Clara pulled him into her arms as though he were her own son, Marc clapped him firmly on the shoulder with promises to write, and Élise lingered a moment longer.

“Don’t forget,” she said, her voice warm but firm. “When you’re back on stage, I’ll be there. Promise me you’ll let me know.”

Baron’s lips curved into the faintest smile. “I promise.”

Then the Marets boarded, waving from the carriage window as the train hissed to life. Baron raised a hand in farewell, standing still until the train shrank into the horizon.

Only when the platform quieted did he turn back, the absence of their presence settling over him. He walked home through the city streets, alone but steady, carrying their warmth like an echo.

---

Baron didn’t go straight home. His feet carried him instead to the familiar café, the one that had begun to feel like a refuge. He ordered his usual and slipped into a quiet corner.

No books this time, no assignments, no partner across the table. Only his coffee. He sat with it, unmoving, letting the stillness settle around him.

The bell over the door rang. Lea stepped in, brushing the cold from her coat. She scanned the room—and her eyes fell on him at once.

Something about him was different. Not his posture, not his silence—those were familiar—but a weight, invisible yet unmistakable, seemed to hang over him.

She didn’t pause to think. She crossed the room, set her cup on the table, and pulled out the chair opposite him.

Baron looked up only then, startled, as if surfacing from somewhere far away. She didn’t speak, only offered a small, steady look before taking her seat.

And so, they sat together. No questions, no chatter. Just two cups of coffee between them, the warmth of the café, and the quiet company that needed no explanation.

Baron lifted his cup again, slower this time. The stillness no longer felt like it belonged to him alone.