C H A P T E R 5 — Love?
939 Words
The days slipped by in quiet rhythm.
Each morning, Genie found herself in the kitchen with Lina, learning how to prepare small meals. At first it had been clumsy—burned eggs, overcooked rice, too much salt. Yet Lina never scolded her. She only smiled softly, guiding Genie’s hand, whispering, “It’s the thought that counts, Madam.”
And every evening, when the house hushed into silence, Genie would leave something waiting for Jairus. A neatly covered plate. A packed lunchbox. A simple bowl of soup.
He never asked who made it. He never mentioned it.
But the food always disappeared.
That alone was enough to keep her going.
Sometimes, late at night, she would pause outside the west wing where his study light burned faintly. She would stare at the thin line of brightness beneath the door, whispering, “Even if you never notice, at least I tried.”
She told herself it was nothing. Just habit. Just kindness.
But deep inside, a dangerous warmth had begun to grow.
———
One evening, Genie set the dining table early, her heart strangely restless. Two bowls. Two glasses. She poured soup into one, then carefully lit the lamp, its glow softening the vast room.
Lina lingered at the doorway, hesitant, as though weighing her words.
“Madam, forgive me, but…” She lowered her voice. “You mustn’t hope too much.”
Genie glanced up. “What do you mean?”
“The young master…” Lina’s hands twisted in her apron. “He is not a cruel man, but he is… distant. Closed off. He will not see what you are trying to do. He refuses to.”
Genie forced a small smile, though her chest tightened. “Even so, he’ll eat. At least he won’t eat alone.”
Lina stepped closer, her voice soft with worry. “I’ve served this household for years. I’ve seen women admire him before, try to get close. He never lets them in, Madam, don’t let your heart be wounded.”
Genie looked down at the steaming bowl before her, her hands tightening around the ladle. She spoke quietly, "Anyways I have nothing to do, I just like cooking!"
Lina looked at Genie suspiciously but then chose to not say anything.
Genie turned around and did what she was doing, while letting out a sigh of sadness, why is it always likethis, am I so insignificant?
why can't I be special? I want to be special too.
———
Jairus’s POV
The study smelled faintly of ink and paper, the documents on his desk stacked high. His eyes burned from hours of reading contracts, but his hands didn’t stop.
When the clock struck eleven, a maid slipped in with a quiet bow.
“Sir, Madam has set the table for you.”
He didn’t look up. “Clear it. She doesn’t need to wait.”
“But, sir—”
“I said clear it.”
The maid bowed again, her voice hesitant as she left. For a brief moment, Jairus leaned back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. His jaw clenched.
She doesn’t understand… this marriage isn’t what she thinks it is, why is she so stubborn
He shoved the thought away, eyes returning to the paper.
———
Back in the dining hall, Genie sat alone, unaware of the words spoken upstairs. The soup had gone cold, but she still waited, chin resting on her palm.
The ticking of the clock filled the silence. Each second stretched like an eternity. Her heart whispered maybe he’ll come this time.
Finally—footsteps.
Her heart skipped, rising in her chest like a fragile flame. She sat straighter, smoothing her skirt, every part of her alive with nervous hope.
The door opened.
Jairus entered, his coat draped carelessly over one arm, his presence heavy with fatigue. He didn’t glance at her—his gaze went straight to the table.
He sat, wordless, and lifted the spoon.
Genie’s lips parted. Say it… just say it.
Her throat tightened. She wanted to whisper, Welcome home.
But the words stuck, fragile and trembling.
So she stayed silent.
Instead, she watched. Every small movement—the way he ate quickly, without savoring; the way his shoulders sagged under the weight of exhaustion—pressed painfully against her chest.
She dared to imagine he tasted the soup and noticed it was warmer, softer, carefully seasoned just for him.
But when he finished, he pushed the bowl aside, rose without a word, and left.
His shadow disappeared into the corridor, leaving Genie alone at the empty table.
———
Later that night, she lay in her bed, her palms pressed against her chest as if to hold her heart still. But it beat harder, warmer, aching in a way she couldn’t deny.
Lina’s words returned to her, sharp as knives: “Don’t let your heart be wounded.”
But it was already too late.
“This isn’t supposed to happen,” she whispered. “I don’t want this…”
Yet the more she denied it, the clearer it became.
Her heart was no longer hers.
It had chosen him—the cold, distant man who would never return her gaze.
A bitter laugh slipped from her lips. “So this is love?”
A quiet suffering, hidden behind smiles and simple meals.
A feeling that blooms even when unwelcome, even when hopeless.
Her vision blurred as tears prickled at the edges of her eyes.
She had been invisible all her life.
And now, even in marriage, her love would remain invisible, too.
- Writer
