Noted with Reservations

CHAPTER 8: Dinner

Dinner wasn't at some fancy restaurant with white tablecloths, but at a quiet bistro by the lake.

There weren't many people around, just the sound of crickets and the soft lapping of water against the shore.

"I thought this was your 'treat'? Why are we here?" I asked, eyeing the industrial lights hanging from the ceiling.

"I thought you'd appreciate the ventilation and the site orientation,"

Waeren replied while looking at the menu.

"Besides, it's not too stiff here. You might choke if I took you to fine dining."

"Unbelievable. I actually know how to use a fork and spoon at the same time, you know," I shot back, but I couldn't help but smile.

He chose a place where he knew I’d be comfortable.

When the food arrived, the table went quiet for a moment. But it wasn't an awkward silence. It was like two people finally catching their breath after a long week of chasing lines that needed to meet.

"Xy," he called out. That was the second time he used my nickname.

"About what Celine said earlier... about you not being prepared."

"Just let it go. I'm used to that," I said, sipping my iced tea.

"I know most people here just see me as an assistant."

"But that's not how I see you."

I stopped drinking. I looked at him, and under the dim lights, Waeren’s eyes seemed deeper than usual. The coldness was gone. The robotic tone was gone.

"You have something that most students in our batch don't have, Xyloise. You have a soul in your designs. I can draw the most structurally sound building in the world, but it will stay cold without the life you put into it."

"Waeren..."

"I'm not just saying this to be nice. I'm stating a fact. A calculation," he said, returning to his usual composed self, but his gaze remained fixed on mine.

"You're not just an assistant. You're the missing perspective in my work."

I looked down to hide my blushing face. Who wouldn't soften up at a line like that from Architect Waeren?

"You're just flattering me now, Boss. Maybe you want me to deduct something from my debt to you, that's why you're being like this," I joked, even though butterflies were practically somersaulting in my stomach.

"Maybe," he whispered, a rare, genuine chuckle escaping his lips.

"Or maybe I just want you to stay."

We didn't say anything more. We let the night finish the story for us. As we headed home, one thing became clear to me: architecture isn't just about the walls we build to protect us. Sometimes, it’s also about the walls we slowly lower to let someone else in.

When he stopped the car in front of my house, he didn't let go of the steering wheel right away.

"See you tomorrow, Xy. 7:00 a.m. No excuses."

"Yes, Architect. Noted with... reservations," I answered before getting out.

As I walked inside, I knew my steps felt heavier now. Not because of exhaustion, but because of the truth that my heart was slowly becoming part of a blueprint I never intended to draft. And Waeren? He was the foundation I never expected to lean on.