Zain returned home as usual that evening, jogging down the quiet streets under the soft glow of the streetlights. Elena stayed the night at her father's house. But as Zain passed by, Elena's mother happened to see him from the porch.
"Why is that young man walking home at this hour?" she murmured.
Elena, sitting inside with a book, overheard her mother and stood up quickly. "He always walks home after jogging, Mom. It's just how he is."
Her mother raised a brow. "Call him back. Tell him to stay the night. It's not safe this late."
Elena grinned and dialed Zain's number.
"Hello?" Zain answered, slightly out of breath.
"Turn around," she said sweetly.
"Huh?"
"My mom wants you to stay the night here. She's worried about you walking back this late."
Zain chuckled. "Alright, I'm turning back."
Moments later, he was at the front door again. Elena opened it with a smile, and her mother peeked behind her.
"Come in, Zain. Stay the night. No arguments."
"Yes, ma'am."
But instead of going to rest, Zain walked straight to the kitchen.
"Eh? Where's he going?" her mother whispered, following behind curiously.
In the kitchen, Zain opened the fridge and pulled out a few ingredients. With sleeves rolled up and a confident gaze, he moved with surprising finesse — chopping, sautéing, seasoning like a seasoned professional chef.
Elena's mother stood at the doorway, stunned. Zain worked like he belonged in a five-star restaurant. He even flipped an omelette in the pan with one hand, like a showman.
"You… cook?" she finally managed to ask.
Zain turned with a boyish grin. "Every day. Cooking is... a little therapy of mine."
When he finally plated the dish — grilled chicken with roasted vegetables and a delicate butter herb sauce — Elena's mother clapped her hands like she was watching a cooking show.
"Zain," she said warmly, "I approve of you."
Zain laughed. "Thank you, Aunty."
That night, the three of them — Zain, Elena, and her mother — sat down at the dining table. They ate together, laughing and talking like a real family.
Elena's father, who had been silently watching from a distance, finally came and joined them. He sat beside Zain, observing him carefully. After a few minutes, he let out a soft sigh and spoke.
"You're a good man, Zain."
Elena looked at her father, surprised.
"You've got something money can't buy. Heart."
Zain only smiled and bowed his head in gratitude.
As they continued eating, their eyes met — Elena and Zain — across the table.
A spark.
A silent exchange.
Her eyes sparkled, and his gaze lingered a little longer than usual.
In that simple moment, amidst laughter and warmth, something deeper bloomed.
Love — quiet, but unmistakably there.