Ava tapped her pen against the edge of her notebook, barely hearing a word of the lecturer's droning voice. Diagrams sprawled across the board, economics terms danced through the air, but all she could see was the way Elian looked in the water—still, powerful, and painfully distant.
The tranquility of him in that moment haunted her, like a song stuck on repeat.
She flipped to a blank page and wrote one word: Stillness.
Then another: Isolation.
Her brows furrowed as she jotted more, not for the class, not even for herself—but for Elian. She was supposed to be working on the quarterly profile he needed for Storm Global's innovation division. A clean, professional piece. Facts. Numbers.
But all she could think about was him.
The man who looked like marble carved by sorrow.
She scribbled a sentence:
> "To understand power, you must first understand silence—the kind that settles like dust after a storm."
A chill crept down her spine. She wasn't sure if she was writing about Elian… or herself.
She shook her head and packed her notes quickly. The lecture was ending anyway.
---
Meanwhile, in a sunlit boardroom framed with glass and sleek wooden panels, Elian leaned back in his chair, fingers laced behind his head. Across from him, his grandfather sipped tea like a man with no urgency—like a billion-dollar empire didn't rest on their shoulders.
"You've been quiet lately," the old man said, not unkindly.
"I'm always quiet," Elian replied.
His grandfather's gaze narrowed. "Not like this."
There was a beat of silence before Elian said, "I'm fine. I'm working."
"I'm not asking about your workload," he said. "I'm asking about you."
Elian said nothing.
The old man sighed and stood, moving to the windows overlooking the grounds. "You know, when I hired Ava, I didn't just see potential. I saw fight. The kind you used to have."
Elian's jaw clenched. "This again?"
"You don't have to like her," his grandfather said, turning back to him. "But you'd be a fool not to notice how well she sees you."
Elian didn't answer. Couldn't.Perfect!
....
Ava stepped out of the lecture hall, the sun high and angry overhead, but her thoughts remained cloudy. She should be focused—her midterms were creeping in like shadows—but all she could think about was elian
Not him, she corrected herself quickly. Just… the image.
She pulled her phone from her bag and opened the email draft she'd been working on.
> Attached is the draft proposal for the innovation profile. Let me know if you'd like to add your own words—
She paused. Her thumbs hovered.
"Add your own words?" she muttered aloud. "He probably doesn't use words unless forced."
Still, she hit send.
---
Back at the Storm estate, Elian's screen lit up with a notification.
He didn't open it immediately. Instead, he stared at it. As if the sender's name—Ava Jamiel —might flicker and vanish if he blinked.
Across the room, his grandfather was still pacing, talking with someone on the phone in low tones.
Elian finally opened the draft.
The words were clean. Structured. Impressive. But something about them felt... off.
Too polished.
Too distant.
Like the mask he wore every day.
He scrolled down, eyes snagging on a paragraph at the very end—unnecessary, uncommissioned, and completely unprofessional:
There's a kind of silence that doesn't scream. It just lingers. And sometimes, it's the only thing honest enough to tell the truth.
He stared at it for a long time.
Then he typed a response:
Ava stared at the screen.
> Rewrite the final paragraph.
No greeting. No signature. No warmth.
Classic Elian Storm.
She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Part of her wanted to delete the draft entirely and tell him to write it himself. But the job mattered—more than she let on.
Especially now.
Her phone vibrated, screen lighting up with a name she didn't want to see: Mum Calling.
She silenced it without thinking. She knew what the call would be about—hospital bills, missed appointments, her younger brother acting out again.
Ava pressed her hands against her temples and exhaled slowly.
One more day, she told herself. Just hold it together for one more day.
She clicked open a new document and started rewriting.
---
Back at the estate, Elian tapped a pen against the glass tabletop.
He hadn't expected her to respond so quickly—or at all.
He didn't particularly care.
Or that's what he told himself.
The truth was harder to define.
She was efficient, talented, annoyingly persistent… and not afraid to look him in the eye. Most people avoided that. Even Red, sometimes. Even Kian before
He shut that door in his mind before it could swing fully open.
His phone vibrated again.
Ava Jamiel has shared a new document.
No unnecessary commentary. No unnecessary warmth. She was learning.
He opened it. Read it twice. Closed it.
This time, he didn't reply.
Not because it wasn't good. It was.
But because some silences weren't meant to be replied