It was still early in the day when Ethan found himself standing in front of a modest real estate agency tucked between an old pharmacy and a secondhand electronics store. The signboard read: Maple Nest Properties.It's paint slightly chipped, the letters faded by time and sunlight. Compared to the towering glass-fronted real estate firms across the city, this one felt quieter, almost forgotten.
That was exactly why he chose it.
Ethan pushed the glass door open. A small bell above it rang softly. Inside, the air was cool, faintly scented with coffee and printer toner. The office space was simple functional desks, low partitions, and a few potted plants that looked half-alive. Two employees were tapping away on their keyboards while a third seemed to be flipping through files absently. None of them looked up immediately.
Three employees were inside the office. One man sat at a desk half-heartedly spinning a pen between his fingers, while another woman clicked through tabs on a dusty desktop computer, occasionally sighing. A third person was halfway through eating a sandwich at their desk.
All of them paused and looked up when Ethan entered.
It wasn't just the sound of the bell. It was the fact that someone had walked in at all.
Clients didn't come often.
The woman at the front desk blinked in surprise before putting on a practiced smile.
"Good morning. Welcome to Maple Nest Properties. How can I help you?"
"I'd like to buy a house." Ethan said, his voice steady.
The room stilled.
The woman hesitated for a split second, then stood up, smoothing her skirt. "I'm Emily. Could I ask who you're buying for?"
"Myself," Ethan said.
Emily glanced at the others. None of them said a word, but their faces held the same quiet disbelief.
She glanced at his uniform, then at his face. For a second, her smile faltered. "You're… here for yourself?"
"Yes."
There was a pause, but to her credit, she didn't question it aloud. Instead, she gestured gently.
"Please, come this way."
She led him through a glass-paneled door into a small consultation room. There was a round table with a few chairs, a laptop on a stand, and some neatly arranged brochures on a shelf. It was quiet. Professional.
Ethan sat down, waiting as she opened her laptop.
"May I know your full name, and what kind of property you're looking for?"
"Ethan Bond. I'm looking for a residential property. A standalone house, ideally. Not too large, but enough for a family. Three bedrooms minimum. Quiet neighborhood. Nothing extravagant."
She typed while he spoke, nodding slowly.
"Do you have a location in mind?"
"Somewhere near central transit lines. Preferably in a district with parks or schools nearby.Good neighborhood, preferably with a garden or some greenery. Safety and peace are more important than anything else."
"And your budget?"
"Around one million. I'll be paying in full."
Her hands froze over the keyboard.
She looked at him, carefully, trying to read between the lines. But his face was composed, with the kind of maturity she didn't often see in someone his age.
Emily nodded, not pressing further.
"Alright," she said, recovering. "Give me a moment."
For the next half hour, she guided him through listings. Most were decent,some slightly worn, some newly built, others recently vacated. Ethan looked through them patiently, asking the occasional question, but mostly listening.
Then one listing caught his attention.
Emily noticed that.
"This one just came on the market," she said. "The price is $985,000. Three-bedroom, two-and-a-half-bath, backyard, attached garage. Quiet street, older neighborhood. Not newly built, but very well maintained."
"I want to see this one," Ethan said.
Emily nodded and made a call. A few minutes later. A man in his early thirties arrived at the door, shirt slightly wrinkled, hair ruffled like he hadn't expected to do a showing today. A junior agent, mild in manner.
"This is Mark," she said. "He'll take you to see the property."
"I'll take you there now," he said politely.
They drove in a company car, simple and quiet to the property.
As they pulled up to the house, Ethan stared at it in silence.
It sat at the corner of a tree-lined street. A two-story house with a soft beige exterior and charcoal-gray shutters. The front yard was neatly kept, with trimmed hedges and a few garden beds waiting to bloom. A stone path led to a covered porch with space for chairs.
Inside, the house smelled faintly of lemon polish. The hardwood floors were a warm maple tone, stretching across an open living room that connected to a dining space and a clean, modernized kitchen. White cabinets. Marble countertops. Nothing extravagant, but everything was high quality and thoughtfully arranged.
Upstairs, the master bedroom had a vaulted ceiling and wide windows facing a quiet backyard with a wooden deck and a tall oak providing shade. Two more bedrooms were painted in neutral tones, and a small study room overlooked the street.
Ethan took his time walking through it. He didn't say much. Just took in the space quietly, nodding at small details. The layout. The calm. The way the house seemed to breathe.More importantly, it felt right.
Ethan walked through the house slowly. He pictured his mother setting plates down at the kitchen table. His father reading quietly near the window. He imagined laughter, arguments, silence, warmth.
It wasn't extravagant. But it was safe. It was stable. And more than anything,they wouldn't feel like it was charity.
"This one," Ethan said softly. "Let's go back."
When they returned to the office, Emily was already preparing a short list of documents.
"So, what did you think?Did it meet your expectations?" she asked.
"Yes."
She pulled out the preliminary documents. "We can begin with the purchase process. I'll also arrange for inspection clearances."
But Ethan shook his head.
"Before we proceed, I want to speak with the person in charge. The manager, owner, whoever handles final decisions."
Emily looked a bit surprised. "Is there an issue?"
"No issue. Just a request."
She excused herself.
A few minutes later, a man in a gray shirt and glasses entered the consultation room. He looked to be in his late thirties, polite but cautious.
"I'm Greg Hawthorne, the manager and also the owner here. You asked to speak with me?"
Ethan stood, nodded, and shook his hand.
"Yes. I want to buy that property. But I'll need your help to do it in a very particular way."