Chapter7: What You Leave Unopened
1199 Words
The house had quieted again.
Not empty—just… distant.
Kiana stepped back into the living hall, slower this time, like she was testing whether the air had changed.
It hadn’t.
But that wasn’t because nothing had happened.
It was because no one was there to fill it.
Everyone was out—scattered across the estate, pulled into whatever activity had been planned for the afternoon.
Laughter echoed faintly from somewhere far outside.
Distant.
Disconnected.
Like it didn’t belong to her.
The Christmas tree still stood where it had been that morning.
Lights dim.
Soft.
Unbothered.
And beneath it—
the gifts.
Most gone.
Most opened.
Except one.
Her steps slowed.
Then stopped.
Ray’s.
Still exactly where she had left it.
Untouched.
Just like he said last night didn’t matter.
Her jaw tightened slightly.
She walked past it.
Didn’t pick it up.
Didn’t even bend.
Because if it didn’t matter—
then neither did this.
“Still not opening it?”
His voice came from behind her.
Low.
Controlled.
Too controlled.
Kiana stilled for half a second before turning.
Ray stood a few feet away, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable.
But his eyes—
weren’t.
“It’s just a gift,” she said lightly.
His gaze flickered—sharp, quick.
“Is it?”
She shrugged. “That’s what you said, right? Things don’t have to mean anything.”
A pause.
Something shifted.
Not visible.
But there.
“Open it,” he said.
Not a suggestion.
Kiana held his gaze for a moment.
Then—
“No.”
Simple.
Calm.
Final.
That did it.
Something in him snapped—not loudly, but clean.
Like control cutting itself loose.
“It’s been sitting there all day,” he said, his voice tightening just slightly. “You didn’t even look at it.”
“You told me last night didn’t matter.”
“This isn’t about last night.”
“It is to me.”
That landed.
Harder than she expected.
Because for a second—
he didn’t respond.
Didn’t deflect.
Just looked at her.
Like he was trying to decide something.
“You’re being dramatic,” he said finally, but it lacked weight.
Kiana let out a quiet, humorless laugh. “Right.”
Ray stepped closer.
Not enough to touch.
Enough to feel.
“You think leaving it there proves something?”
“No,” she said, meeting his gaze evenly. “I just don’t see the point.”
His jaw tightened.
“You didn’t have a problem accepting everyone else’s.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
She tilted her head slightly, her voice quieter now—but sharper.
“They didn’t walk into my room and pretend nothing happened.”
Silence.
Thick.
Heavy.
Unavoidable.
For a moment—
there it was again.
That same tension from last night.
Unspoken.
Unresolved.
Burning just beneath the surface.
Ray’s gaze dropped for half a second.
To her.
Then back up.
Controlled.
Again.
“Open the gift, Kiana.”
“No.”
This time—
softer.
But more final.
And that—
that hit harder than defiance.
Because it wasn’t anger.
It was distance.
Something in his expression shifted again.
Sharper now.
Colder.
“Fine,” he said.
A beat.
Then—
“Do whatever you want.”
Kiana didn’t respond.
Didn’t move.
And after a second—
he turned.
Walked away.
Leaving the gift exactly where it was.
Still unopened.
Still sitting there—
between them.
Later that night—
the house wasn’t empty anymore.
Voices filled it again.
Laughter.
Movement.
The low hum of something playing from the home theater down the hall.
Everyone had gathered there.
Movie night.
Holiday routine.
“Kiana, come on,” someone had called earlier.
“You’re missing out.”
She had shaken her head lightly. “I’m good.”
“Just for a bit,” another voice insisted.
“No,” she said again, softer—but firm.
Even Nish had paused near the doorway, watching her for a second longer than usual.
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
And that had been the end of it.
The door closed.
The sound dimmed.
And she stayed.
Alone.
She found herself back in the living hall again.
She hadn’t meant to come.
But she did.
Because it was still there.
Under the tree.
Ray’s gift.
Unopened.
Exactly where she had left it.
Her jaw tightened slightly.
“You didn’t even look at it.”
His voice echoed in her head—sharp, controlled, frustratingly steady.
Kiana exhaled slowly.
He had said it didn’t matter.
So why did this feel like it did?
Her gaze lingered on the box.
Longer this time.
Long enough for doubt to creep in.
Long enough for last night—and this afternoon—to blur into something harder to ignore.
“You’re reading too much into it.”
“Last night didn’t matter.”
Her fingers curled slightly at her sides.
Maybe he was right.
Maybe she had made something out of nothing.
And this—
this was just a gift.
Nothing more.
Nothing that meant anything.
That thought should’ve made it easier.
It didn’t.
Slowly—
she stepped forward.
Stopped just in front of it.
Stared down at it like it might give her an answer.
It didn’t.
Of course it didn’t.
Her hand moved.
Paused.
Then finally—
she picked it up.
It felt normal.
Too normal.
Like it wasn’t carrying the weight she had put on it all day.
Kiana turned it over once in her hands.
Then again.
Her grip tightened slightly.
This was stupid.
It was just a box.
Just a gift.
Just—
him.
Her fingers slid under the edge of the wrapping.
She stilled.
Closed her eyes for half a second.
Then—
opened them again.
No.
Not like this.
Not after—
everything.
Her hand dropped.
The paper remained untouched.
A sharp breath left her.
Almost a laugh.
But not quite.
“Right,” she murmured under her breath.
Carefully—
she bent again.
Placed the gift back exactly where it had been.
Not moved.
Not opened.
Not acknowledged.
Just… there.
Like it didn’t matter.
Like he said.
Kiana straightened, her expression settling into something quieter.
Colder.
More controlled.
And this time—
when she turned away—
she didn’t look back.
Morning came too quickly.
It was like the farmhouse never slept—voices, movement, the easy chaos of too many people under one roof with nowhere else to be.
Holidays.
No schedules.
No reason to leave.
Kiana walked into the dining area slower than usual.
Composed.
Controlled.
Like nothing had shifted.
Like nothing had stayed with her.
Nish was already there, leaning back in his chair, half-focused on a conversation.
Ray sat across the table.
Quiet.
Unreadable.
But the moment she stepped in—
his gaze lifted.
Found her.
Held.
For a second too long.
Kiana didn’t stop.
Didn’t react.
Just moved to her seat like it didn’t matter.
Like he didn’t matter.
And somewhere between them—
unseen but very much there—
sat a small, unopened box.
Still under the tree.
Still exactly where it had been.
Still saying everything, neither of them would.
- Writer
