Chapter- 23 (Day 4)

Sleeping day in the duvet of a twilight, delivering an aroma of violin stroking Lyra's nose, Mrs. Lyra Miller, sits hunched, trekking a stack of t-shirts. Her husband, with one distant expression, stands by Lyra's side, their hands automatically matching folding rhythms— neatly folding mound of laundered fabrics.

Lyra hears, is hearing the gentle strains of Ryan's violin being played,

"We made Ryan nearly sacrifice his love, didn't we, honey?"

"Lyra, we were thinking about Ryan's future," Mr. David Miller, is a soft rumble. Lyra's attention returns to the half folded jeans in her hands, "We bought this pair of jeans when Ryan used to be sixteen. You remember it, David? It was larger in size when we bought it, but Ryan thought it was so pretty…we thought he could wear it when he grows up."

David nods knowingly, "Of course, I remember," understanding the complexities webbing in Lyra's experience, "Ryan has barely ever worn it, Lyra."

"He has never worn it, David. . .he does not even remember," it is not uncommon to lose herself for Mrs. Lyra Miller, she thinks, thinks thoroughly, "We live so much in the future, that we forget to live in the present. David, we made his skills for playing the violin numb. We ourselves only are responsible David, somewhere we are. Maybe everywhere we are! We have not trusted our son enough to plop the burdens of our fears on that poor little boy."

The music, though beautiful, brings forth a bittersweet tide with it— so many confrontations about 'Why didn't you let me be who I wanted to be?' Happy, painful, and accusing; Lyra and David have to stop, ere it becomes 'Why didn't you let me live how I wanted to?'

"Is it too late, Lyra? To redeem our mistakes?" David continues folding his t-shirts, the shuffle of threads punctuating quietness, "We have always only talked about redeeming ourselves, have we acted on it? That boy…he only wants to love, he only wants to be loved."

The repetitive motions of folding clothes feel grounding, a necessary physical act— Lyra lays the folded jeans, "Do you think we should tell Ryan the truth now?"

"No!" Sometimes something as simple and as difficult as a 'no' proves normalcy, respite, "We haven't succeeded in becoming Ryan's parents in its truest sense," David says, "He may not think of us as his foster parents. All we are to him is…his guardians. "

"But for us, Ryan isn't just our foster son, Dave. He was a bliss, when we had nothing, he came to us, he can never be only an adopted child," hidden, carefully tucked away, swings regrets— years of regret; why were they nothing more than 'uncle' and 'aunt' to Ryan?

"That's exactly why we should not tell Ryan the truth. He has already suffered enough. Don't tell him the truth about Ethan…yet."

Renewed beats breathe in heart, Lyra wants to offer Ryan the love and stability he so deserves, "Very soon, Ryan will find his sky. I believe so."

Drifting in the sky, with a melancholic performance a canary flies…bridging valley between the water and fire, supining on Ethan's starry floor-to-ceiling draped window, kindling the hearth— warble! warble!

-

Normally one to favour more muted colours, Ryan's choice of attire is opposed to Ethan, surprising to say the least. Ryan stands in front of their kitchen counter, a new day is stirring awake, yawning, lethargic to face business hours blues. Heretofore, a newborn day has come to give Ryan its hug, staining the brunette's purple hoodie with its rainbow, matching in crisp white trousers. The combination is unconventional, yes, undeniably charming too, all the same.

Their own kitchen, a space foreign to him, is a home on this day— Ryan throws in the fragrant rose petals he had carefully prepared the night before, in boiling water.

Donned in vivid paints, preparing a fragrant, intricate rose tea is an eye candy for Mr. David Miller, a pleasant surprise. David, a man of few words, watches quietly, not wanting to disturb his son, zooming out as he stands at their kitchen doorsill.

Ryan, with immense care, gently muddles the petals releasing its intoxicating fragrance, their vibrant pink infusing in Ryan's magic. The tea keeps steeping.

"Hey, there, sweetie," David wishes, smiling, "Good morning. I see you're a little colourful today? Feels so damn good to see you like this, do you know that?"

Ryan grins, by the way he talks, Ryan knows who it is, "Good morning, uncle! I thought I would switch things up a bit. Gotta keep things interesting, you know?"

Finally, Ryan's rose tea brews to perfection. He barters a grinning look with his…'uncle', "Excuse me, uncle. I will now have to serve this tea."

"Absolutely, son. I won't keep you. Just wanted to grab a quick snack before heading out."

Continuing to bustle in the boundaries of his kitchen, Ryan absorbs in his task. Smell of roses races to outshine others.

"I'll go on then," Ryan emerges from the kitchen, holding a pottery tea cup in one hand, a tray in the other, two packs of cookies and a cartridge involving. Ryan's choice of white trousers remarkably make his fashion statement all the more noticeable.

"Lillian, good morning. Fancy a cup of rose tea before wherever you're heading out?"

Ryan's brother, dressed sharply in a chestnut suit and polished boots, with bemused expression at his mercy, takes a moment to appreciate his brother's audacious fashion choice— what's going on with Ryan? When had he become so confident? "Wow!! Ryan, you're really spicing things up. You look so beautiful, brother!!"

"Gotta keep them guessing," Ryan places the tray on a nightstand, "Anyway, where are you heading to get all dressed up?" Handing Lillian the cup with fragrant tea.

"Big meeting downtown. You know how it is. The corporate ladder awaits."

"Stop making things up," of all other absurd things, Lillian mentioning anything about business is the funniest, "No one knows better than me how much you hate to be in the business world. Where are you really going, speak up now," Ryan crackles with soft laughter.

Lillian smoothen his tie, "Would you believe it? My documentary is bought by a channel. They wanted to meet, true crime documentary!! I'm so happy today, I've poured my blood, sweat and tears in it."

"Oh? Good luck, Lily! I'm proud of you. You've got this, I'm so happy to hear that," Ryan loves his brother, he does, of course he does— that doesn't necessarily mean he cannot be jealous; not the kind where you envy others' success, want them to fail, but the kind where you feel like you're behind everyone, you're too old to do anything now, everyone is so progressive, you want to keep up the pace…you want to do something, to achieve the same level of what can be called a barest of minimum 'success'. You don't want to, but you will end up comparing, "What about your freelancing?"

"I've decided to take a break, big bro."

"I wish you all the luck," dust of Ryan's delicious magic added to the two brothers' room, Ryan excuses from their room, "I- I'll have to leave for office now."

"Ryan…" Lillian never targeted to make his sibling feel bad about his own worth, "I believe in you, Ryan. I have never doubted you for once. You move to your own speed, but you're moving, Ryan. Be proud of it."

"Lillian, was it you who sent that email to Ethan?" On his back, the brunette throws on the cartridge containing warm, refreshing rose tea— he has to get rid from these garbage emotions.

"I didn't want to take the credit, Ryan," Guilty as charged. Lillian feels guilty, but all he wanted to do was help, "Did I get you in trouble, brother? I'm– I'm so sorry. I only wanted to help you…I know you were hopeful about this job. I'm sorry…"

"No, Lillian. You didn't get me in trouble," the elder sibling exposes to view the cartridge, "Thank you, Lillian."

"What's…that?"

Ryan becomes a grinning Cheshire cat.

-

"Rose tea, Sir!"

Fallen in the web of Ryan's enterprise, the CEO gains knowledge of how deep he has fallen, God forbid it becomes impossible to unassemble— "Beautiful…"

Did Ryan hear it right? Ethan Smith is now known to compliment? "Yes, Sir?"