Chapter 3: Sparks and Shadows

Ethan woke up to the sound of muffled music drifting through the house. He rolled over, squinting at the clock on his nightstand—10:47 a.m. It was the earliest he'd been up in days. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, and listened. The melody was soft, a gentle strum of acoustic guitar layered with a soothing voice.

Curiosity pulled him from bed. He threw on a hoodie and padded barefoot down the hallway, following the sound. It led him to the kitchen, where he found Sarah standing on a step stool, reaching for the top shelf of a cabinet.

Her phone sat on the counter, the source of the music. She hummed along, her voice a quiet thread weaving through the air. She didn't notice him at first, and he stood in the doorway, arms crossed, watching.

She wore a loose gray sweatshirt and black leggings, her hair pulled into a messy bun. It was the most relaxed he'd seen her—no apron, no wary expression. Just a girl in a kitchen, lost in the rhythm of her morning.

"Nice voice," he said.

Sarah startled, the jar in her hand slipping. Ethan darted forward, catching it just before it hit the floor. His fingers brushed hers, warm and steady.

Her cheeks flushed. "I didn't hear you."

"I noticed." He handed her the jar, his lips curving into a half-smile. "If you wanted to redecorate, you could've just asked."

She stepped down from the stool, setting the jar on the counter. "I was reorganizing the pantry. It's a mess."

Ethan leaned against the counter, crossing his arms. "I thought it was perfect."

Sarah's lips twitched. "Touché."

They stood in the golden morning light, an unspoken truce between them. The music played on, filling the silence.

"Who's the artist?" he asked, nodding toward her phone.

"It's an indie band. A friend recommended them."

"It's nice. Different."

Sarah continued sorting items, but he noticed the subtle shift in her posture—more at ease, less guarded. "Do you always listen to sad music?"

"It's not sad. It's... honest."

Ethan opened a box of crackers from the counter and popped one into his mouth. "Honest, huh? What else do you listen to?"

"A bit of everything. I like music that tells a story."

"Stories, huh? So you're a romantic?"

Sarah's hands stilled. "Not really."

"Why not?"

She turned to him, her expression unreadable. "Because real life isn't like the movies."

"Maybe not, but it doesn't have to be all bad."

Her eyes searched his face, as if trying to decipher the truth behind his words. "You really believe that?"

Ethan hesitated, his usual bravado faltering. "I don't know. I think... I'd like to."

A beat passed, heavy with meaning. Sarah opened her mouth to respond, but a loud crash interrupted them.

"What the—" Ethan spun around, his eyes landing on the source of the noise. The cat.

A sleek, gray tabby sat atop the shattered remains of a ceramic bowl, its green eyes wide and unrepentant.

"Luna!" Sarah scolded, rushing over. "You scared me half to death!"

Ethan knelt, helping her gather the broken pieces. "I didn't know we had a cat."

"She's mine. Mrs. Miller let me bring her when I moved in."

Luna rubbed against Sarah's leg, purring. Sarah's stern expression melted, and she scooped the cat into her arms.

Ethan chuckled. "So, even the mighty Sarah Brooks has a soft spot."

Her lips quirked. "She's trouble, but she keeps me company."

"Better company than me?"

Sarah looked at him, a spark of mischief in her eyes. "Definitely."

He laughed, a sound that felt strange and good. It had been a while since he'd found humor in anything. Since he'd felt... light.

They finished cleaning up, and Sarah set Luna down, the cat slinking off with her tail held high.

Ethan leaned against the counter, his expression thoughtful. "You know, I've been here my whole life, but I don't think I've ever felt at home."

Sarah paused, wiping her hands on a towel. "Maybe because this house is more like a museum than a home."

He nodded, her words striking a chord. "It's always so perfect. So... staged."

"My house growing up was messy. Loud. My brothers fought over everything, and my mom always had music playing. I used to hate the chaos, but now... I miss it."

Ethan imagined it—a small house, warm and lived-in. The kind of place where love filled the corners, where even the messes felt like part of something real.

"It sounds nice," he said quietly.

Sarah gave him a soft smile. "It was."

For a moment, the walls between them thinned, the space filled with something fragile and real. But then Sarah straightened, her expression shifting. The moment slipped through his fingers like sand.

"I should finish this," she said, nodding toward the pantry.

"Yeah. Sure."

Ethan pushed off the counter, the sudden distance between them a stark reminder of how easily connection could be lost.

He left the kitchen, his mind buzzing. She was a puzzle—pieces he couldn't quite fit together, a story he wanted to understand. And for the first time in a long while, he felt the stirrings of something more than boredom.

In the quiet of the hallway, he made a promise to himself. He would learn her story, find the truth behind her guarded eyes. Because beneath the layers of routine and responsibility, he sensed a spark—and he wasn't ready to let it fade.