I stood in my art room, running my fingers over the canvases, pencils, and colored pencils. All of this was mine. I felt like I finally belonged somewhere. Slowly, I inhaled the scent of paint and paper, my eyes filled with excitement as I looked at Chak, who was watching me with a cold expression. His presence always had a strange effect on me.
He turned as if to leave, but I stepped toward him and softly said:
"This is one of the most beautiful things that has ever happened to me."
His step faltered, and then he turned back to me. Before I even realized it, I wrapped my arms around his neck. It was instinctive, as if I needed him to understand how grateful I was. His scent surrounded me, his skin was soft under my fingers. I felt the tension in his body, but he didn't move.
"Thank you," I whispered into his ear.
I let go and looked into his eyes. They were slightly widened, as if he couldn't comprehend what had just happened. He took a deep breath, but his expression remained composed.
"I see you like it," he said in a controlled voice.
"I really do," I smiled at him.
Without another word, he turned and closed the door behind him. I was left alone. Slowly, I walked to the desk, took a sheet of paper, and started drawing. I let my imagination flow. At first, the lines were random, but after a few minutes, the image took shape. To my surprise, I had drawn Chak's house.
"Does his house really mean that much to me?" I whispered to myself.
I put the drawing in a drawer, stood up, and went to my room. I took my pajamas out of my suitcase and headed to the bathroom. As I took off my shirt, I suddenly remembered—I didn't have a towel. I looked around the bathroom, but there wasn't one.
"I need to ask Chak… I just hope he's still awake," I murmured.
I left my room and knocked on Chak's door.
"Sir?" I called softly.
No response. Maybe he was asleep. I pressed my ear to the door to listen when, suddenly, it opened. Losing my balance, I fell straight onto his chest.
The warmth of his body enveloped me. My heart pounded wildly, and a rush of heat spread across my face in embarrassment. In the silence, I could hear his heartbeat as well. His skin was slightly damp, wrapped in a luxurious black silk robe that had slightly parted at his chest.
"Niran, what are you doing?" he asked in a cold voice.
I quickly stepped back and straightened up.
"I'm sorry," I mumbled.
"Do you need something?" he asked icily.
"Yes…" I admitted quietly. "I don't have a towel and don't know where they are."
Chak observed me for a moment before stepping out of his room. "Follow me."
I followed him down the hallway, past the door to my art room. He opened the door to the utility room, a place I had never been before. The room was cool and minimalistic, lit by bright white light reflecting off the tiles. On one side stood a washing machine and a dryer, next to them a large black cabinet with glass doors. The shelves were neatly stocked with cleaning supplies, while on the opposite side, an ironing board stood with a pile of freshly washed shirts that smelled faintly of softener. In the corner, there were four separate laundry bins, each marked with a different color.
Chak opened the cabinet and took out a black towel, then handed it to me.
"Thank you," I said.
"Tomorrow, wash the black clothes and iron them. When I return from work, they should be ready," he said without a hint of emotion.
"Understood, sir," I replied.
Without another word, he walked past me. I closed the door and returned to the bathroom. After showering, I put on my pajamas and went to the kitchen for a glass of water. As I passed the living room, I noticed Chak sitting calmly on the couch, watching the news. Not wanting to disturb him, I quietly continued to the kitchen.
I took a glass from the drawer, filled it with water, and drank it. After putting the glass away, I headed back to my room.
"Good night, sir," I said before climbing the stairs.