“Sovarin Biomedical,” Kiren answers. “I run it.”
Ethan nods, processing. “That’s… a lot of responsibility.”
“Yes.”
“And risk.”
“Yes.”
“And people depending on you.”
Kiren meets his gaze evenly. “That’s the part that matters.”
The tension doesn’t spike. It eases into a manageable rhythm again. Then Mom asks the question that freezes me in place.
“And your family?”
My fork pauses halfway to my mouth. My pulse ticks louder in my ears. But Kiren doesn’t flinch.
“I lost some of them,” he says calmly. “The rest… I learned how to protect what remains.”
Mom listens the way she always does with softness that doesn’t ask for more than someone is willing to give.
“I’m sorry,” she says simply.
He inclines his head. “Thank you.”
As I watch this unfold, something clicks into place inside me. This isn’t attraction, but integration, and I let it happen. I tell myself to take a breath and keep chewing like a normal person, but my body isn’t interested in pretending nothing happened. Because my mother just asked Kiren about his family. And he answered. Not with a polished deflection or something corporate and vague. He offered her the truth in small pieces that imply there’s more beneath it, but he’s trusting her with what he can.
My throat feels tight as I set my fork down and reach for my water glass. The rim is cool against my fingertips. I take a sip I don’t need, just to have something to do with my hands.
Mom’s gaze stays on him, not probing or suspicious, just calm in the way that used to make me confess things as a teenager, even when she hadn’t asked the real question yet.
“You must miss them,” she murmurs.
Kiren’s jaw moves once, a small flex at the hinge, as if he’s testing how much honesty he can allow without losing control of it. He doesn’t look away.
“Yes,” he answers simply. “But missing doesn’t change what’s required.”
Ethan makes a quiet sound, not quite a scoff, and not quite approval. It’s something in between. He leans back in his chair, one arm hooked over the backrest, his posture pretending casual while his eyes stay alert. I know him too well. He’s still evaluating Kiren. Not because he wants a reason to hate him. Because he wants a reason to trust him.
Mom nods slowly, as if she understands that kind of loss. Maybe she does. She lost my father, but she also lost the version of her life that existed before it. She had to become someone else overnight, a transformation that doesn’t look dramatic from the outside but changes everything inside the walls of a home.
“You’re welcome here,” she says quietly. “For what it’s worth.”
My lungs pause for half a heartbeat.
Kiren doesn’t react the way men usually do when my mother offers something sincere. There’s no charming smile or obvious gratitude. He acknowledges it the way he acknowledges a vow.
“For me, it’s worth a great deal,” he replies.
My skin prickles, heat rising along my neck even though the room is warm. I glance down at the table, at the faint nicks in the wood where I once dragged a fork too hard, and Mom scolded me for it. At the simple plates. The folded cloth napkins. The everyday normalcy of this space.
And Kiren is sitting in it like he belongs. That is the part that makes my pulse pick up. Not because it’s romantic, but because it’s dangerous. If you let someone stand inside your life long enough, they become real in a way that can’t be undone.
Ethan reaches for the bread basket and breaks a roll in half with his hands, crumbs scattering across his plate. He doesn’t look at Kiren right away.
“So,” he says, like he’s easing into safer territory, “running something that size… you don’t really get to clock out, do you?”
