Bela's POV
The silence in the house was deafening, so heavy it felt suffocating. The rain falling outside made everything seem even more isolated, as if the entire world had stopped.
Clara was sitting on the couch, her head tilted back, her eyes closed. Her blonde hair fell in loose waves over her shoulders, and the wine glass in her hand was nearly empty. For a moment, she seemed vulnerable, less composed, as she rarely did.
My mother used to sit in that same spot. Always with a smile, always with a cup of tea in her hand. Remembering her there, so full of life, made the emptiness left by her absence all the more palpable.
“Are you okay?” I asked, breaking the silence. My voice came out low, but Clara opened her eyes and looked at me.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she replied, her voice as soft as the murmur of the rain outside. “And it seems you couldn’t either.”
“It’s hard,” I admitted, sitting in the armchair beside her. “Sometimes it feels like she’s still here. Like she’s about to walk in, laughing, telling us we’re being too serious.”
Clara smiled, a small, sad smile. “She always knew how to bring lightness to any situation.”
The mention of my mother made the air between us heavier. It was still hard to talk about her without feeling that ache in my chest, but there was something comforting in remembering. Even if it hurt, it was a pain that connected me to her.
“You miss her,” Clara said, more a statement than a question.
“Every day,” I admitted. “And you?”
Clara hesitated, as if the question had caught her off guard. “Yes,” she finally said. “She was... everything to me. She had this way of making you feel special, like nothing else in the world mattered more than the moment she was sharing with you.”
There was silence between us, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was a silence full of shared memories, of a longing that united us, even if for different reasons.
“She liked you,” I said, my voice a bit steadier now. “She always said you had this calmness that helped her stay grounded.”
Clara laughed softly, a bitter sound. “She saved me, Bela. More times than I can count.”
There was something in the tone of her voice that made me look at her more closely. There was vulnerability there, something she rarely let show. She looked down at her wine glass, as if the red liquid might hold answers she was searching for.
“Sometimes I wonder how she would have handled this,” Clara said finally. “With us. With what we’re feeling.”
My breath hitched, and the air in the room seemed heavier. “Clara...” I began, but my voice faltered.
“Don’t say anything,” she murmured, looking directly at me now. “I know what you feel. And I know I feel the same.”
Her words were a blow to the chest, both terrifying and comforting at the same time. Finally, someone had said out loud what we had avoided for so long.
“This is wrong,” she continued, her voice quieter now. “But I can’t ignore it.”
What followed was a charged silence, so dense it felt tangible. I knew I should say something, but every word that came to mind felt inadequate.
“She believed in you,” I said finally, my voice barely above a whisper. “She trusted you to take care of me.”
Clara closed her eyes, as if my words were an additional weight she wasn’t ready to bear. “And that’s what makes this worse,” she said, her voice trembling. “I feel like I’m betraying everything she expected of me.”
I stood abruptly, my head spinning with a mix of frustration and confusion. “Do you think she expected me to be happy?” I asked, my voice louder than I intended. “Because I think she did. And Clara, this... what we’re feeling... is the only thing that makes me feel something other than empty.”
Clara stood as well, but she kept a careful distance. Her eyes were filled with tears, but she didn’t let any of them fall. “I can’t hurt you, Bela,” she said firmly. “And I can’t dishonor her.”
“You think this is dishonoring her?” I asked, my frustration boiling over. “Or is it easier to hide behind that than to face what you really feel?”
She didn’t answer. She just stood there, looking at me, as if she was trying to decide whether to run or stay.
“I don’t know how to handle this,” she said finally, her voice barely a whisper.
“Then stop trying to handle it,” I said, my voice softer now. “Stop thinking about how it’s supposed to be and just... let it be.”
Clara stared at me for a long moment, and for the first time, I felt like something in her resistance was breaking. But then she shook her head, retreating once more.
“Good night, Bela,” she said, turning and leaving the room before I could respond.
I stayed there for a while, trying to process what had just happened. Every word, every look from her replayed in my head, creating a knot in my chest I didn’t know how to untangle.
Eventually, I went back to my room, but sleep didn’t come. I lay there, staring at the ceiling as the house settled into silence. My body was exhausted, but my mind kept running in circles, pulling up every memory of Clara, every moment we’d shared since my mother’s death.
I no longer knew what was right or wrong. All I knew was that something inside me was changing, and there was no going back.