Love Was Never Enough

Elaris's POV I woke to the familiar clang of the old radiator knocking against the wall. Monday. The most ordinary day of the week, yet somehow the hardest. My apartment in Brookhaven wasn't much to look at. One small bedroom. A kitchenette that still carried the faint smell of the noodles I'd made the night before. Windows that rattled whenever the morning bus rolled past. It wasn't pretty, but it was mine. After growing up in an orphanage, having a place I could call my own even one this small felt like a blessing. I climbed out of bed at 6:40 a.m., rubbing the sleep from my eyes. The bathroom mirror had a crack running through one corner. I avoided looking at my reflection for too long. Cold water woke me up better than coffee ever could. I tied my hair into a neat low bun before slipping into my work uniform, a pair of black trousers, a crisp white blouse, and the name tag I had worn almost every day for the past three years. Elaris. Just Elaris. No surname. I'd never had one. The coffee tasted slightly burnt, and the toast had gone cold before I finished half of it, but breakfast was breakfast. By seven-thirty, I locked my apartment and started the familiar ten-minute walk to the bus stop on Clover Lane. Brookhaven was slowly waking up. The café on the corner had just opened its doors, and Mrs. Patel was arranging fresh loaves of bread in the display window. A group of children in oversized school uniforms hurried past, laughing about something that made one of them nearly trip over his own feet. It was simple. Quiet and comforting. My phone buzzed just as I reached the bus stop. I smiled before I even looked at the screen. "Morning," I answered. "Morning love." Evren's voice drifted through the speaker, warm enough to chase away the chill in the morning air. "Are you heading to work?" "I just got to the bus stop," I said. "The bus should be here any minute." Evren Arden. The man I'd loved for the last three years. The man I was going to marry. Sometimes it still amazes me that someone like him had chosen someone like me. We met when I was twenty-four, only a few months after I started working at Blush. He'd accidentally walked into the salon looking for the auto garage next door, asking if we fixed tires. I laughed. He didn't. He simply looked at me with an expression I'd never seen before, as though I were someone worth remembering. Two weeks later, he asked me out for coffee. Three years later, he was still calling me every morning just to make sure I'd made it safely to work. "You sound tired," he said. "I am." I laughed softly. "Mondays are always busy. Mrs. Delaney booked the first appointment again, and she's bringing her friends." He chuckled. "Don't let them wear you out." "I'll try." "And call me later?" "I will." The bus pulled to the curb with a loud squeal of brakes. "I should go." "Have a good day, Lari." "You too." The call ended as I stepped onto the bus. Blush was a small neighborhood salon tucked between a laundromat and a family-owned bakery on Brookhaven's main street. It wasn't fancy by any means, but people loved it. We had four styling chairs, a single nail station, a tiny staff room, and the front desk I'd called my workspace for the last three years. I unlocked the front door at exactly 8:15 and flipped the sign from Closed to Open. "Morning, Lari." I looked up to see Nessa walking in, a coffee cup in one hand and her makeup kit slung over her shoulder. Nessa was our senior makeup artist. Calm, patient, and incredibly talented. I'd never seen her lose her temper, not even with the most annoying clients. "You already had coffee?" she asked. "I did," I replied, booting up the appointment system. "But I won't say no if you're offering another." She laughed softly. "I knew you'd say that." A minute later, the front door opened again. Tia breezed in, adjusting the strap of her handbag with an exaggerated sigh. "Why do Mondays even exist?" she groaned. "It's too early to be making people look ten years younger." "That's literally your job," I said without looking up. She pointed at me. "See? This is why receptionists shouldn't be allowed to speak before nine." Before I could answer, Dora walked out from the staff room with a clipboard tucked beneath her arm. Unlike the rest of us, Dora always looked as though she'd been awake for hours. "Morning, everyone," she said briskly. "Mrs. Delaney and her friends will be here in ten minutes. Nessa, Chair One. Tia, Chair Two. Mara will take walk-ins. Let's have a smooth day." She glanced at me. "Lari, print another copy of today's schedule. Mrs. Delaney called twice yesterday to make sure we hadn't forgotten." "I already did." "I knew you would." That was Dora. She rarely handed out compliments, but when she did, they meant something. Mara arrived just before opening, setting her bag down with more force than necessary. She'd worked at Blush for two years and was one of our junior hairstylists. She wasn't unfriendly exactly... She just wasn't particularly fond of me. Her gaze landed on my phone resting beside the appointment book. "Your fiancé called again?" "He did." "Checking if you got to work safely?" I nodded. "He always does." "Hm." She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Must be nice." I simply smiled back. I'd learned that not every comment deserved a response. At exactly 8:30, the front door chimed. Our first clients had arrived. Mrs. Delaney entered first, wearing her usual floral perfume, followed closely by her two friends. "Lari, darling," she greeted warmly as I stood to welcome them. "Good morning, Mrs. Delaney." "I'll need another appointment this Friday. Oh…and don't let me forget to book my niece's bridal trial." I pulled up the schedule. "Of course. Tia has an opening at eleven if you'd like her to do the trial." "Perfect. You always remember everything." I smiled. "It's part of the job." The morning disappeared faster than I expected. Appointments were rescheduled. Walk-ins squeezed between bookings. The phone barely stopped ringing. "Blush Salon, this is Elaris speaking." "Good morning! How may I help you?" "Yes, we can definitely move your appointment." "I'll reserve that slot for you." By midmorning, the salon buzzed with the familiar sounds I'd grown used to over the years. Hairdryers hummed in the background. Scissors snipped rhythmically. Clients chatted about weddings, birthdays, office gossip, and television dramas while the scent of shampoo, hairspray, and fresh pastries from the bakery next door drifted through the air. Around a quarter to eleven, a man came in to wait for his wife. He leaned casually against the front desk while I printed her receipt. "You must know everyone around here by now," he remarked. I laughed. "Most of them." "That's what three years in one place does, I suppose." "I guess so." He paid the bill, thanked me, and settled into one of the waiting chairs with a magazine. By lunchtime, my feet ached from running back and forth between the reception desk, the printer, and the storage room. The salon had finally quieted enough for everyone to take turns grabbing lunch. I glanced at the stack of appointment cards that needed restocking. "I'll be right back," I said, standing. Dora nodded without looking up from the schedule. "The tissues too, if we're running low." "Got it." I headed toward the staff room.I stepped into the staff room to grab another pack of appointment cards and a box of tissues. The room wasn't much bigger than a storage closet. There was a small table in the corner, an old kettle that took forever to boil, and a refrigerator that hummed louder than it cooled. The door never closed properly. As I reached for the cupboard, voices drifted through the narrow gap. "...I'm telling you," Mara said. "She doesn't even try to hide it." I listened. "Walking around like she's better than everyone else just because she's engaged to some rich guy." Tia laughed softly as she stirred sugar into her tea. "Please. She's a receptionist." There was a brief pause before she continued. "No family. No connections. No degree. The only reason a man like that would look twice at her is because she's available to open her legs anytime." Mara snorted. "Exactly. Girls like her don't get chosen forever. They get chosen until someone better comes along." The words settled heavily in my chest. I stood there without moving, my fingers tightening around the edge of the cupboard. "She really believes she's going to marry him," Tia said with a shake of her head. "Has she ever looked at herself? She's an orphan. She doesn't even have a surname." "His mother will never accept her." "Neither would I." There was another laugh. Quieter this time. Crueler. I lowered my eyes. It wasn't the first time I'd heard people talk about me like that. It probably wouldn't be the last. Still... Some words always found the same old wounds. I quietly picked up the tissues and appointment cards before taking a slow step backward. They never knew I was there. I returned to the reception desk as if nothing had happened, setting the box beneath the counter before taking my seat. My hands were trembling. I slipped them beneath the desk, pressing my palms together until the shaking eased. A client smiled at me as she walked past. I smiled back. Three years of practice had taught me how to do that. The computer screen glowed in front of me, displaying the day's appointments, but the names blurred together. Instead, another memory surfaced. A year earlier... It was the first and only time Evren had taken me to meet his parents. I remembered how nervous I'd been that evening. I'd spent nearly an hour deciding what to wear before settling on a simple cream dress. It wasn't expensive, but it was the nicest thing I owned. Evren had told me not to worry. "They'll come around," he'd said, squeezing my hand. "Just be yourself." I wanted to believe him. I really did. The Arden estate had been nothing like I'd imagined. It was even grander. The marble floors gleamed beneath the chandeliers, every piece of furniture looked as though it belonged in a museum, and I couldn't stop wondering if I was going to break something simply by standing too close. I had never felt so out of place. Dinner had barely begun before Mrs. Arden spoke. She placed her wineglass down with quiet elegance and looked at me across the table. "Miss... Elaris." She hesitated just long enough to remind me there was nothing after my first name. "You seem like a pleasant young woman." Her smile never reached her eyes. "But surely you understand that affection and suitability are not the same thing." The room fell silent. "Our son is an Arden," she continued. "His future has never belonged to him alone. He carries the responsibility of generations." Her gaze swept over me calmly. "You have no family name. No background. No connections." Every word landed with careful precision. "I don't say this to insult you. I say it because someone should." I couldn't find my voice. Across the table, Mr. Arden continued cutting his steak as though the conversation were not of his concern. When he finally spoke, he never looked at me. "This relationship has no future." That was all. There was no anger. No raised voices. Just quiet certainty. I remembered the sting in my eyes as I lowered my gaze to my untouched dinner. Then I felt Evren's hand close around mine beneath the table. "I love her," he said firmly. "And I'm going to marry her." For the first time that evening, Mr. Arden looked up. His expression didn't change. "Love," he said evenly, "has never been enough." No one spoke after that. The drive home was painfully quiet. Evren apologized more than once. He promised they would eventually accept me. I wanted to believe him. Maybe that was my greatest flaw. The ringing telephone pulled me back to the present. I blinked, forcing the memory away before answering with the same polite smile I wore every day. "Blush Salon," I said. "This is Elaris speaking. How may I help you?”