Chapter 4: The Crack That No Longer Closed

The rain had been falling since dawn. Its gentle patter soaked the windowpanes, wrapping the town in a gray mist. The morning was so quiet even the birds refused to sing. But the clinking of spoons and plates from the small kitchen brought the morning to life in the simplest way.

Nora stood there, still in her sleepwear with her hair hastily tied back. No makeup adorned her face, nor did a smile. Yet strangely, she remained elegant in her silence. When Julian walked in, drenched, she sighed immediately.

"No umbrella, or do you just enjoy being punished by the weather?"

Julian chuckled softly. "I didn't know you'd be cooking. Figured I might as well take a rain shower."

Nora set a plate on the table. "If you get sick, I won't nurse you."

"I know. But I also know… you'd still worry about me."

Nora only looked at him briefly. Then sat. "Breakfast."

They ate in silence, accompanied only by the sound of rain. But within that quiet, something slowly grew. Indefinable—not love, not quite affection. Just a small space beginning to open, where two lonely souls had finally met.

---

A few days later, Julian came home later than usual. He'd stayed for theater club at school—an activity he'd joined not out of interest, but to have an excuse not to return too soon. Not because he was uncomfortable at Nora's. On the contrary, it was because he was too comfortable.

Because he feared that if he stayed too often, he'd grow too attached.

But that night, when he opened the door, the house was dark.

"Mom?"

No answer.

The living room lights were off. The kitchen, dark. Only a sliver of light seeped from under Nora's bedroom door.

Julian knocked softly. "Mom? Are you asleep?"

Silence.

He waited a moment, then knocked again—this time, a little louder. "Nora?"

The door opened from within. Nora's face was pale, and she stood unsteadily.

"Are you… sick?" Julian asked, his eyes scanning her face.

"Fever. It's nothing."

Julian stepped inside immediately. "Lie down. I'll make tea and get medicine."

"I don't need you—"

"Shhh…" Julian pressed a finger gently but firmly to her lips. "You once said I could learn from you. Now, let me learn… how to care for someone."

Nora didn't argue further. She simply returned to bed, allowing Julian to do something she'd never permitted anyone before—to take care of her.

He made tea, fetched medicine from the small cabinet, and sat by the bed reading a book, just to ensure she wasn't alone.

Hours later, when her fever had subsided, Nora opened her eyes.

"You're still here?"

Julian glanced up. "Yeah. Haven't washed the teacup yet."

"Julian."

"Hm?"

"You're not a child anymore, are you?"

Julian smiled. "Haven't felt like one in a long time. But… with you, I don't mind being one again."

Nora closed her eyes. She didn't reply. But at the corner of her lips, something faint flickered—not quite a smile, but not flat either.

Something had changed that night.

Not just because Julian had begun to care, but because for the first time, Nora had allowed herself to be cared for.

---

The next day, the house felt different. Quieter. Warmer. And when Julian left for school, he left a note on the dining table:

*"Breakfast is ready. I know you don't like burnt toast, but I'm not an expert yet. Sorry if it's too hard to chew. – Julian"*

Nora stared at the note for a long time. She didn't laugh. But she took the toast, ate it slowly, then tucked Julian's note into the drawer where she kept things she never threw away—letters from her mother, childhood photos, and the ticket stub from the first concert she'd ever attended alone.

Because somewhere along the way, the boy's presence… had begun filling a void she'd long kept sealed.

---

That afternoon, the rain still hadn't let up. The wind rustled the leaves on the sidewalk, carrying a whispering sound. Julian came home earlier than usual. No particular reason, except that he missed the warmth of the house… and the stern woman he'd come to respect as more than just a savior.

His steps halted in front of a small bookstore at the corner. His gaze landed on an old novel displayed in the window—its title faint, but the author's name unmistakable: Nora's favorite, mentioned once in passing. With the last of his pocket money, he bought it.

The book went into his bag, damp from the rain. He didn't overthink it. He just ran to the bus stop, breathless, staring at the wet pavement while imagining Nora's expression when she received it.

When he got home, Julian didn't speak immediately. He found Nora in the kitchen, standing as composed as ever, slicing onions without hurry.

"You're back early."

"Practice was canceled."

"Hm."

He approached, set his bag down, then leaned against the doorframe. "I brought you something."

Nora glanced over. "What is it?"

"A book."

He handed her the slightly damp novel. "You said you liked this author."

Nora took it, studied the cover, then opened to the first page. Her fingers paused at the inscription:

*"For you. Because even in the cold, someone like you could teach me what warmth feels like." – Julian*

She stared at the words for several seconds. Then closed the book slowly.

"You think this will soften me toward you?"

Julian smiled faintly. "No. I just wanted you to stop feeling alone."

The words hung in the air. Then silence.

Nora set the book on the table and returned to the kitchen. But when she spoke again, her voice was softer.

"You get attached too quickly."

Julian stepped closer, stopping beside her. "Maybe. But… not because I need people. I just know that when someone makes me feel safe, I want to cherish them."

Nora didn't reply. She kept slicing onions. But her eyes… stung. She let the onions take the blame, not the ache deeper within.

---

That night, for the first time, they sat together in the living room. No TV, no music. Just the two of them. Julian lay on the floor reading, while Nora sat on the sofa with Julian's gift in her hands.

No grand conversations. Just small remarks—what page they were on, or a character Julian found annoying.

But from that night on, something in the house shifted.

From a place that was once just a stopover… it became a home.

---

Days later, while organizing books on the shelf, Julian found an old photo. On its back was a full name… and a date.

He walked slowly to the kitchen, holding it out. "Who's this?"

Nora studied the photo for a few seconds before answering quietly. "My sister."

"You have a sibling?"

"Had. She overdosed."

Julian fell silent. He didn't know what to say.

Nora continued, her voice calmer than the story she shared. "After that, I hated many things. Noise, excessive joy, forced closeness. Everything that seemed joyful… but could bring ruin."

Julian lowered his head. "Have I been bothering you all this time?"

Nora shook her head. "No. It's because of you… I can see the small crack I'd sealed."

Julian nodded slowly. Then, in a whisper, he said, "Then… let me stay in that crack."

Nora looked at him—long and hard. Then gave the faintest nod.

It wasn't a confession. Nor absolute permission. But for Julian, it was enough.

---

And that night, for the first time, Nora made hot chocolate.

Julian sipped it slowly with a small laugh. "First time you've made me a drink."

Nora sat across from him, holding an identical cup.

"Don't get used to it. I don't like spoiling people."

"Too late. I already am."

He said it lightly, but the weight behind it was undeniable.

And between warm cups and the slowly quieting night, they sat. Two people of different ages, different wounds, yet gradually filling each other's gaps.

Without saying it aloud… the house had truly become a home.