THE LINE WE WEREN'T MEANT TO CROSS

*Chapter 15: Dinner*

He showed up with groceries.

Two bags, one in each hand, and the sheepish look of a man who didn’t want to show up empty-handed to the first real dinner he’d ever cooked for someone who used to call him Professor Reed.

“I didn’t know what you liked,” he said as I opened the gate. “So I got everything.”

“You got plantain,” I said, peeking into the bag. “You’re forgiven.”

He laughed, and for a second it felt surreal—Elias, in my tiny kitchen, rolling up his sleeves like he belonged there.

We cooked together. Messy, slow, with too much talking and not enough stirring.

He told me about the first time he taught, how he spilled coffee on his notes and just read from the board instead.

I told him about the night I almost quit the program, and how his comment on my draft was the only thing that made me stay.

“No office doors,” I said, stirring the stew.

“No office doors,” he agreed, handing me the salt.

When we sat down to eat, it was quiet in a different way than it had been in his office.

Comfortable.

“You’re good at this,” I said, pointing at his plate.

“So are you,” he replied. “At everything.”

I set my fork down.

“Elias,” I said.

“Yeah?”

“Are you scared?”

He didn’t pretend not to know what I meant.

“Every day,” he said. “But not of you. Never of you.”

I reached across the table and took his hand.

“Good,” I said. “Me neither.”

Outside, the night was quiet.

Inside, for the first time in months, it felt like we weren’t waiting for something to go wrong.

It felt like we were finally starting.