The Cold Dinner

The next morning, sunlight tried to sneak through the tall glass windows of the mansion, but the air still felt cold — like the warmth had forgotten this place.

Yasmeen sat quietly at the dining table, her tiny hands folded neatly on her lap. She had woken up early, afraid of doing something wrong again. The mansion was too big, too quiet, and she still didn’t know where most of the doors led.

On the table were silver plates and fancy food she didn’t even recognize. There were maids standing far behind her, waiting for orders, but Yasmeen didn’t move. She didn’t dare to touch anything.

Then came the sound of footsteps — calm, slow, powerful.

Soobin entered the room, wearing a black shirt and his usual unreadable expression. His eyes met hers for just a second before he sat down at the opposite end of the long table.

It felt like miles between them.

“G-good morning…” Yasmeen said softly.

He didn’t reply. He simply picked up his coffee cup and took a sip, his gaze fixed on nothing.

Yasmeen bit her lip. Maybe he didn’t hear her. Or maybe… he didn’t want to.

The silence was heavy until she finally whispered, “Do… do you want sugar? I can add it…”

“No,” he said, short and sharp.

“Oh…” she blinked, lowering her head. “Okay…”

Her voice trembled. She wished she could disappear, wished she could go back to the small orphanage where mornings smelled like bread, not fear.

Soobin noticed her shrinking into her chair, but he didn’t say anything. He wasn’t used to this — a girl sitting quietly instead of screaming or begging. Every person in his world was loud, dangerous, or fake. But this girl… she was none of those things.

The maid placed breakfast in front of her. Yasmeen stared at it — eggs, bread, fruits — but her stomach refused to move. She pushed the spoon slightly, afraid to make noise.

“You don’t eat?” Soobin asked suddenly, his deep voice cutting through the silence.

Her eyes widened. “Ah— I-I will! I just… it’s too pretty to eat…”

He almost smiled. Almost. “It’s food, not decoration.”

Yasmeen quickly picked up her fork. “Y-yes, sir!”

She took a small bite, chewing slowly. She looked up once, hoping he wasn’t angry anymore, but his face was still cold.

After breakfast, he stood up and grabbed his jacket. “Don’t wander around the house. Some rooms are off limits.”

“Off… limits?” she repeated.

He sighed. “It means don’t go there.”

“Oh… okay…” she said softly, playing with her fingers.

As he turned to leave, she whispered, “Will… will you come back soon?”

Soobin paused at the door but didn’t look at her. “Don’t wait for me.”

The door closed. Yasmeen stared at it for a long time. Her heart felt heavy — not because of fear, but something else. Something she couldn’t name yet.

---

That evening, the mansion looked even bigger. The rain had returned, tapping softly on the windows. Yasmeen sat on the couch, hugging her small pillow, watching the raindrops race each other down the glass.

She started humming quietly, a little tune she used to sing to the orphans. It was soft, almost like a lullaby.

From upstairs, Soobin stopped walking when he heard it. The melody was light, pure, almost glowing in the darkness of his world. For the first time, the mansion didn’t feel empty.

He frowned and went down, curious. Yasmeen didn’t notice him standing behind the corner, watching her. She had her eyes closed, smiling faintly as she sang. Her voice was small, but it was filled with warmth — the kind he thought didn’t exist anymore.

When she finished, she noticed him.

“Oh! M-Mr. Soobin— I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to be loud!” she said quickly, standing up.

He blinked. “That was… singing?”

She nodded shyly. “I used to sing for the little kids at the orphanage… when they were sad.”

He said nothing. His eyes, though cold, softened for just a second. “Don’t do it at night. This isn’t a playground.”

“O-oh… okay,” she said, bowing her head again.

He turned to leave but paused. “What was that song?”

Yasmeen’s face lit up a little. “It’s called ‘Little Light.’ It’s about not being afraid of the dark.”

He didn’t respond, but something in him stirred. He walked away without another word, but the melody stayed in his mind long after he went upstairs.

---

Later that night, Yasmeen peeked out of her small bedroom. She saw a light still on in Soobin’s study. She hesitated, then quietly carried a small tray with tea.

When she knocked gently and entered, Soobin looked up from his papers.

“What are you doing here?”

“I-I made tea,” she said nervously. “It helps… when you can’t sleep.”

He stared at her for a moment before sighing. “You don’t have to do that.”

“But… I want to,” she whispered.

She placed the tray down, careful not to spill anything. When she turned to leave, he said quietly, “Thank you.”

Her eyes widened. “You’re welcome!”

He noticed the small smile that appeared on her face — soft and innocent, like morning sunlight. For some reason, it made his chest tighten.

When she left, he looked at the tea and whispered to himself, “You’re really not from my world, are you?”

---

That night, Yasmeen lay on her bed, hugging her pillow. The rain had stopped, but she couldn’t sleep. She thought of Soobin — his eyes, his voice, his sadness.

She whispered softly into the dark room,

> “I think… I want to make him smile one day.”

And upstairs, Soobin sat at his desk, staring at the untouched tea — still warm — and for the first time in years, he didn’t feel alone.

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