Chapter 8
It's been two days since I'm working secretly as a part timer.
I don’t know what pushed me to do this exactly maybe the way she smiled when I made her laugh, maybe the way her fingers brushed mine when she handed me a plate, or maybe just the way she said my name like it meant something. But I knew one thing clearly.
I wanted to give her something. Not just anything. Something that could stay with her even if one day… I didn’t.
A ring.
It sounded stupid, even to me. Romantic in a very outdated way.
But that didn’t stop me from sneaking out early in the mornings and coming back just before she did smelling like espresso and tiredness from the café I worked at.
Then again, I wasn’t tired. Not when I thought of the sparkle that might light up her eyes when I’d slide it on her finger.
She had no idea.
Ruhi thought I spent my day reading or watching TV at home.
And sometimes I did. But the other half of it I spent wiping down counters, stacking dishes, cleaning tables…
anything I could get my hands on for extra pay.
The manager didn’t ask too many questions.
Just raised an eyebrow when I applied with no ID, no background, and no clue how to even operate a coffee machine. But he let me stay.
And I stayed.
Every coin I earned, I saved in a small tin box under the loose tile in the room she gave me. I’d count it at night, long after she fell asleep, her soft breathing the only sound in the quiet apartment.
She didn’t know.
I didn’t want her to know. Not until I had something to show for it. Something that said I might not remember my name, but I know this. I want you.
She’d probably scold me for overworking. Maybe even call me stupid for doing this behind her back.
But I didn’t care.
I’ve never wanted anything more than I want to see her wearing that ring.
My ring.
Mine.
Today, I took a half-day at the bakery and rushed home by 2 PM. I had barely an hour to set everything up before she returned. My hands were a mess from kneading dough all morning, but my heart was racing for an entirely different reason.
By 3:15 PM, the tiny apartment was glowing with soft golden light.
I’d pulled the curtains open to let the sunlight in.
Her favorite candle the lavender one she never lit flickered quietly on the dining table.
The table was set. A simple white cloth.
Two plates. Fresh pasta I had made, sauce simmered with actual effort, and garlic bread wrapped in foil to keep warm.
I checked the ring box in my pocket for the tenth time. It was still there. Safe. Hidden.
At 3:32 PM, the door clicked open.
I stood near the counter, pretending to pour water like I wasn’t about to lose my mind.
“Lorenzo?” her voice rang through the air soft, confused, curious.
She stepped inside, her bag slipping off her shoulder as her eyes scanned the scene. “What… is all this?”
I turned slowly, trying not to smile like a maniac. “You’re home early.”
“It’s literally the usual time,” she narrowed her eyes, amused. “Wait, did I forget something? Is today my birthday?”
“No,” I said, walking closer. “But it’s a day I’ll remember. So that counts.”
She blinked. “Lorenzo…”
I gently pulled the chair out for her. “Sit. You had a long day.”
She hesitated, then walked forward, sitting down slowly, suspiciously. “Okay… what’s going on?”
I served her plate, carefully, then sat across from her. She stared at the food, then back at me.
“Is this… did you cook?”
“Mostly. Let’s just say the garlic bread got help from the bakery,” I said with a grin.
She giggled. And god, that sound if I could bottle it, I’d carry it with me everywhere.
We ate. She loved it. Or pretended to. Either way, I didn’t care.
After she finished her last bite, I stood up, heart pounding. “I have… one more surprise.”
She tilted her head, her fingers brushing the corner of her lips. “What now?”
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the small velvet box.
Her smile froze. Her eyes dropped to the box, wide and stunned.
“Lorenzo…”
I walked to her side and knelt not because it was a proposal. But because she deserved that kind of reverence.
“I didn’t tell you, but I’ve been working part-time these past few days. To get this. For you,” I said softly, opening the box.
A delicate silver ring with a soft pink stone shimmered under the light.
“It’s not fancy. But it’s yours. If you’ll take it,” I added.
She didn’t say a word. Her hands trembled as she reached out, brushing the ring gently with her fingertip like she couldn’t believe it was real.
I slid it onto her finger.
It fit.
Perfectly.
Still, she didn’t speak just leaned forward and wrapped her arms around me, pulling me into the softest, warmest hug I’ve ever known.
“I love it,” she whispered against my neck.
I held her tighter. “Good. Because you’re mine.”
And in that quiet moment wrapped in the warmth of food, sunlight, and soft hearts I knew.
I’d give her everything.
Even if I had to work ten more part-time jobs to do it.
I stared at the ring on my finger delicate, silver, and shimmering softly like a secret only the two of us shared. My heart felt heavy and warm at once. I looked at Lorenzo, still kneeling beside me, his face glowing with something so pure, so earnest, it made my chest ache.
How could someone care so much… when he didn’t even know me?
He stood up and pressed a soft kiss on my forehead, holding me like I was his entire world. And in that moment wrapped in his arms, the air still fragrant with garlic and lavender I wanted to believe it. I really did.
But reality doesn’t care about warm hugs and perfect rings.
Because the truth?
The truth is that this love… it’s built on a lie.
My eyes fluttered shut as I held him tighter not because I was in love, but because I was terrified I might start falling.
He dozed off not long after lunch. His head against the couch, one arm thrown lazily over a pillow, hair slightly messy he looked… peaceful. Innocent. The kind of peaceful you don’t find in this world anymore.
I walked quietly to the kitchen and began tidying up the plates, each clink of ceramic making me feel guiltier than the last. Every time he looked at me with those soft brown eyes, I wanted to scream:
But I couldn’t.
Because the doctor told me not to. Told me to keep him happy, to avoid stress, to not trigger any more episodes. And how could I not listen not when the man who risked everything for me was now clinging to a version of me that didn’t even exist?
I wiped my hands on the kitchen towel and leaned against the counter, the ring catching the sunlight again.
He thinks we’re married.
He believes it.
And I’m just… playing along.
“I feel horrible,” I whispered to myself.
But I didn’t stop.
Because even though it was wrong, even though we were strangers stitched together by circumstance, I knew something else too
He made me feel… safe.
And that, after everything I’d been through, was a dangerous kind of comfort.
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