Diary 5: Movie Night

The gentle patter of rain tapped against the window—a soft, rhythmic whisper that filled the quiet space. Weekend mornings always carried a certain air of leisure, and on a rainy day like this, it felt as if the entire world had slowed down.

I sat at the dining table, cradling a bowl of restorative soup—perfect for a morning like this. The light yet flavorful broth warmed me from the inside out, easing the remnants of last night's headache bit by bit.

Across from me, Adrian sat in silence, his head slightly lowered as he sipped his soup. Occasionally, his gaze flickered toward me, but it never lingered long. The warm yellow light overhead softened the sharp lines of his jaw, lending his features a quiet gentleness. Yet, the air between us felt delicate, fragile—neither of us spoke, the only sounds the occasional clink of a spoon against ceramic.

Clearing my throat, I decided to break the silence. "The soup is really good."

He looked up, his eyes flickering briefly before a faint smile touched his lips. "Thanks. I used to make it for my mom a lot."

I paused, caught off guard. I wanted to ask why—had she been sick? Did she drink often? But the question lingered unspoken on my tongue. His tone was calm, yet there was a distance in it, something that made me hesitate to pry.

"What was the occasion yesterday?" he asked suddenly, his voice low and smooth.

"Oh, my design proposal finally got approved." A small smile tugged at my lips. "The company gave the green light for my new collection."

His eyes lit up instantly, his lips curving into a genuine smile. "That's amazing. Congratulations."

There was something so sincere, so effortlessly warm in the way he said it.

But neither of us brought up last night—it was easier to let it fade into the background, like a dream that didn't quite need revisiting.

...

That afternoon, I had planned to watch a movie. But as I stepped into the living room, I spotted Adrian on the couch, his gaze fixed on his laptop screen, fingers moving swiftly over the keyboard. His brows were slightly furrowed, his posture focused—clearly in the middle of something important. I hesitated at the door, not wanting to disturb him. Just as I was about to turn back, his voice drifted over.

"It's fine. You can sit."

He didn't even glance up, but his tone was gentle.

A little surprised, I walked over and sat beside him. His laptop screen displayed a series of photographs—mostly animals and people, their backdrops a mix of Australia's vast grasslands and stunning blue coastlines.

"Did you take all these?" I asked, unable to hide the admiration in my voice.

"Yeah." He nodded, his voice even softer now. "I took them back when I was in Australia."

I continued scrolling through the images. Every shot captured more than just a scene—there was emotion, a story in each frame. It felt as if the people and animals weren't just subjects but living moments frozen in time.

"These are incredible," I murmured, genuinely awed. "Each one feels like it has a story—like they're alive."

Adrian's ears turned slightly red, but he only smiled—a bright, open expression that made my breath catch for a moment. There was something in his gaze that made my heart stutter, and I quickly looked away, embarrassed. He, however, seemed completely at ease, casually shifting his attention back to his laptop.

"I'm almost done. Once I finish, do you want to watch a movie together?"

I nodded, warmth settling in my chest as I quietly looked forward to the rest of the evening.

By the time he finally closed his laptop, the day had shifted into evening. The clouds had cleared, revealing streaks of orange and red across the horizon. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, scattering golden light across the wooden floor—a stark contrast to the earlier rain.

Adrian leaned back against the couch, more relaxed now. "Alright, I'm done. What do you want to watch?"

I had been idly scrolling through movie options on my phone, but at his words, I hesitated before glancing up at him. "Would you… be okay with a romance movie?"

He blinked, as if caught off guard by my choice, but didn't question it. "Sure."

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding and scrolled through the list again. After a moment, I stopped on One Day—a movie a friend had recommended a long time ago.

As the film began, the story of Emma and Dexter unfolded—their first meeting on the night of their college graduation, the way their lives intertwined over the next twenty years, full of missed chances and fleeting moments. They clearly loved each other, yet life kept pulling them in different directions. Through heartbreak and growth, they drifted apart and found their way back—until, at last, they had the chance to truly be together.

At first, Adrian and I exchanged occasional comments—lighthearted remarks about Dexter's immaturity, amused chuckles at Emma's sharp wit.

But as the movie progressed, our conversation dwindled. The weight of Emma and Dexter's years of missed opportunities settled over the room. The story grew heavier, and beside me, Adrian had gone completely quiet.

When tragedy struck—when Dexter lost Emma—I stole a glance at him.

The glow from the screen cast soft shadows across his face. His expression was unreadable—eyes dark, lips pressed together, fingers absently tracing patterns on the couch's armrest. It was as if the movie had stirred something deep within him, pulling him into a place of thought he hadn't expected to go.

I found myself watching him longer than I should have, drawn in by the quiet intensity of his gaze. It wasn't until he suddenly turned toward me that I snapped out of it.

Our eyes met.

For a moment, I forgot to breathe. My heart skipped a beat. Then, startled, I quickly looked away, pretending to take a sip of water to steady myself.

Adrian didn't say anything, but I heard him chuckle softly before turning back to the screen.

When the movie ended, I let out a quiet sigh, as if finally surfacing from its emotional pull. "They… really didn't get enough time together."

Adrian didn't respond immediately. His eyes remained on the rolling credits, his expression thoughtful. After a few seconds, he finally murmured, "Yeah."

His voice was low, carrying something unspoken within it—something that lingered in the air between us.

For a long moment, neither of us moved. The only sound was the soft hum of the movie's ending score.