Chapter 77 Chapter 77
Chapter 77
When Celine arrived home, the first thing she noticed was the smell of food.
Not just any food. Her food.
Ariana had cooked her favorite meal—the one she always made whenever she sensed Celine had something on her mind. The rice was still warm, the sauce rich, the table neatly set like it was a quiet celebration no one had announced out loud.
Celine dropped her bag by the couch and stood there for a second, shoes still on, heart oddly light.
“Hey,” Ariana said from the kitchen, peeking out. “You’re home early.”
Celine nodded. “Yeah.”
Her voice sounded normal. Too normal, actually.
She washed her hands and joined Ariana at the dining table. They ate together like they always did, facing each other, comfortable in the silence that only people who truly knew each other could share.
But tonight, the silence wasn’t empty.
Celine barely tasted her food. She chewed slowly, eyes unfocused, thoughts drifting back to the office. To the way Ethan had stood there, awkward and unsure. To how he had cleared his throat before asking for her Instagram like it was the hardest negotiation of his life.
Her lips curved without permission.
What does Ethan Castellan even want with my Instagram? she thought, stabbing her rice a little too hard. Is he bored? Curious? Or just… polite?
Ariana watched her closely, pretending to focus on her own plate.
“You okay?” Ariana finally asked. “You look like you just won something.”
Celine blinked. “What? No.”
Ariana tilted her head. “You’re smiling.”
Celine quickly wiped her mouth with a napkin, as if that would erase it. “I’m not.”
Ariana smirked. “You are. And you’ve been quiet since you sat down. That only happens when something—or someone—is on your mind.”
Celine rolled her eyes. “Don’t start.”
“Oh, I will,” Ariana said calmly. “So. Who is he?”
“There is no he,” Celine replied a little too fast.
Ariana hummed, slow and teasing. “That’s interesting. I didn’t say ‘he.’”
Celine froze.
Then she sighed, defeated. “You’re impossible.”
Ariana leaned back in her chair. “Come on. You never hide things from me. Did something happen at work?”
Celine hesitated. She usually told Ariana everything. The good, the bad, the embarrassing. Ariana was her safe place.
But this felt… fragile. New. Like if she said it out loud, it might turn into something real too fast.
“It’s nothing,” she said instead.
Ariana raised an eyebrow. “Nothing doesn’t make you blush.”
“I’m not blushing.”
“You are.”
Celine shook her head, laughing nervously. “Stop.”
“So?” Ariana pressed. “Is it someone you’re already in love with?”
“No, Ariana,” Celine said quickly, her cheeks betraying her words.
Ariana chuckled, clearly not convinced. “Sure.”
She didn’t push further. Just went back to her food, still smiling to herself.
They finished dinner quietly.
“Good night, Ariana,” Celine said, standing up and clearing her plate.
“Good night,” Ariana replied. “And whatever it is… enjoy it.”
Celine paused, then walked toward her room without responding.
Inside her room, she locked the door out of habit and leaned against it for a moment. Her heart felt restless, like it didn’t know where to settle.
She showered, letting the water run longer than usual, trying to wash away the day. She changed into simple nightwear, nothing fancy. Just soft fabric and bare comfort.
She was tying her hair up when her phone beeped.
Once.
Her heart jumped.
She picked it up slowly, like it might burn her fingers.
Ethan Castellan
Hi.
That was it.
Just one word.
She stared at the screen.
Her first instinct was to open it immediately. Her second was to pretend she hadn’t seen it. Her third was to scream into her pillow.
Why is he texting me?
Why does one word feel like this?
She placed the phone face-down on the bed and walked to the mirror, pressing her palms to her cheeks.
“Get a grip,” she whispered to herself.
She paced the room, then came back, then paced again. Her phone beeped again—not a new message, just her imagination playing tricks on her.
She picked it up.
Still unopened.
Don’t overthink it, she told herself. It’s just a greeting.
But she couldn’t bring herself to tap the screen.
\---
Across the city, Ethan lay on his bed, staring at his ceiling like it had personally offended him.
His phone rested on his chest.
He had typed hi after two hours of typing and deleting different versions of it.
Hello, Celine.
Too formal.
Hey.
Too casual.
Good evening.
Sounded like an email.
So he had settled on hi.
And now he regretted it.
“What are you doing?” he muttered to himself.
He unlocked his phone again, watching the screen like it might move on its own.
Seen.
Not yet.
He typed something else.
I hope you got home safe.
Deleted.
I didn’t mean to make things awkward earlier.
Deleted.
Just wanted to say…
Deleted.
He locked the phone and dropped it beside him, then picked it up again seconds later.
He hated this feeling. This uncertainty. He was used to control. Used to knowing what to say and when to say it.
But with her, everything felt unplanned.
The typing dots appeared.
Then disappeared.
He sat up immediately.
Then nothing.
Ethan let out a breath, running a hand through his hair.
“Say something,” he told himself. “Anything.”
\---
Back in her room, Celine stared at the screen as the typing dots appeared.
Then stopped.
Appeared again.
Then stopped.
Her smile grew despite herself.
“What is he trying to say?” she whispered, eyes glued to his name.
She hugged her pillow to her chest, feeling strangely giddy.
He’s nervous, she realized. Ethan Castellan is actually nervous.
The thought made her smile wider.
She wanted to type. She really did.
But her fingers trembled slightly as she held the phone. Her heart beat faster than it should have for such a small thing.
Just reply, she told herself. Be normal.
She took a breath and typed slowly, carefully.
Good evening, Mr. Castellan.
She stared at it for a full minute before sending.
Then she hit send.
Almost instantly, it showed seen.
Her eyes widened.
“Oh my God.”
She tossed the phone onto the bed like it had betrayed her and jumped back, hands flying to her face.
“What did I just do?” she groaned, laughing at herself.
Her heart raced, her thoughts scattered.
She climbed onto the bed, staring at the ceiling, waiting.
Waiting for whatever came next.
And right there—
She stopped.