"She used to say there are two things every man should know: how to cook for the woman he loves, and how to love her so fiercely that she’d want to cook for him in return."
His words light a spark in the atmosphere.Love.
I feel my chest tighten and my cheeks warm, but I push the feeling aside. It’s just a story about his mother, not about me.
"She sounds like a wise woman," I say softly.
Casper chuckles under his breath, glancing toward the woods beyond us. I follow his line of sight, letting the silence settle before speaking again.
"I never knew my mother," I admit, hesitant. The words feel strange, like opening a door that’s been locked for too long. "I’ve always wondered what she looked like, who she was. Sometimes Ithink I see her in the corners of my mind, but it’s like trying to hold smoke."
Casper’s gaze shifts back to me, and I notice the way he hesitates, his brows pulling together slightly. His silence makes my own uncertainty deepen. I shake my head, forcing a small laugh.
"Anyway… I’m glad you had time with your mother."
He sighs deeply, as though a hidden burden sits on his shoulders.
"Not enough time," he murmurs, his jaw tightening.
I bite the inside of my cheek, unsure if I should press further. But the question slips out before I can stop it.
"What happened to her?"
He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he looks at me.
"She was killed."
I nod slowly, unsure of what to say but knowing all too well the ache of losing someone who should still be here.
"It was a long time ago," he adds, his voice steadier now, though I can sense the pain lingering at the edges.
He takes a sip of wine as if it might dull the memory. I pause, searching for the words that might soothe his deep-seated ache.
"Just because she feels like a shadow of the past does not lessen her influence on you," I say, watching as his gaze softens. “Perhaps it’s in the way you smile, or that dimple you try to hide.”
He laughs softly, the mood lightening for a brief moment.
“We often become so lost in the world’s demands that we forget to remember the past that shaped us. The hands that guided us to this moment.”
He studies me.
"And you? Do you think about the past?"
I hesitate, the question tugging at something deep inside me.
“It is the one thing that carries me,” I confess at last, my voice soft. “The only thing that has never faltered. Memories, tales—they are like old companions, even those I wish to leave behind. And for someone like me... that is a rare comfort.”
He tilts his head slightly, watching me as I laugh softly, shaking my head.
"It’s strange, isn’t it? To have all this power and yet no ability to rewrite the past. It’s the one thing I can’t touch, no matter how much I might want to."
Casper gaze lingers on me as though he’s trying to see past my words.
“I understand,” he says after a pause. “The past has driven me for so long. But with you…” His voice lowers, trailing off as he grasps for his next words. “You make me question if I should keep carrying it at all.” He tilts his head, pausing. “Maybe it’s time to leave it behind and start something new.”
The suggestion hit me like a stone dropped into deep water, sending ripples of surprise through me. I force myself to meet his gaze, searching his eyes for the truth.
"You say that," I scoff, my voice trembling, "but the past clings to us. It doesn’t let go, no matter how much we want it to. I know that better than anyone."
