Chapter 21: Reunion
The night wind cut bitterly cold, slapping against his face like the edge of a blade, sharp enough to slice through skin and straight into bone.
The dim yellow glow of the streetlights lit up an alley that stretched off into darkness. Everything around him was deathly quiet, the handful of flickering lights looking fragile and tiny, like they could be swallowed whole by the night at any second.
Julian Hayes tugged his hoodie up, clutching the takeout container that had long since gone lukewarm, and hurried toward home. The eerie yowling of cats echoed in his ears the whole way, setting his teeth on edge.
The familiar old building loomed ahead, rundown and sagging with age like an elderly man with one foot already in the grave. It stubbornly held on to some faint hope, refusing to collapse, as if it were still waiting for someone who would never come back.
Julian lifted his head and found the unlit windows of his own place. A wave of emptiness washed over him. He kept telling himself things would turn around eventually, that fate would have to give him a break someday. But standing there staring at the dark apartment always snuffed out those hopes bit by bit.
His footsteps disappeared into the building's entrance, which felt as menacing as the mouth of a cave. He climbed the stairs under the weak, dying lights. At the landing, Julian glanced up and noticed the door across the hall was slightly open, a sliver of dim light leaking out.
His heart suddenly hammered in his chest. His steps faltered even as his face stayed composed. He continued up slowly, pushed the door wider, and stepped inside without thinking.
His mind seemed to blank out. He forgot to knock. Forgot that walking into someone's home uninvited was crossing a line. Forgot they were just neighbors who hadn't seen each other in years. Driven by a rush of desperate hope, he moved deeper in, searching for her.
The rich aroma of cooking filled the air. The apartment was spotlessly clean, the floor still showing faint damp streaks from a recent mop. Two oversized black trash bags sat by the door, and a pair of blue women's sneakers had been kicked off in the entryway.
In the kitchen stood a slender, tall figure with her back to him. Her long hair cascaded down before being gathered neatly at the nape of her neck. She wore a simple apron, her movements fluid and confident as she worked the pan.
"Aww, look at that. The little glutton smelled dinner and came straight over."
Isabella Lowell turned around, her vivid red lips curved in a warm, captivating smile. The corners of her eyes tilted up gently, framing elegant, willow-shaped eyes full of allure. Her skin glowed pale and flawless, stunning in its perfection.
"Long time no see, Jules."
The shabby surroundings did nothing to dim her beauty. Julian froze in place as the hazy memory from years ago sharpened and overlapped with the woman standing there. She was still every bit as gentle and graceful, elegant in a way that pulled at something deep inside him.
"It's... it's been a long time, Isabella."
"What's with that look? Did your big sister get so pretty that she left you speechless?" Isabella watched his awkward, boyish reaction, her expression softening as if she were seeing the small child who used to trail after her calling her name.
"No... it's not..."
"Hmm? Your sister isn't pretty anymore?"
"That's not it. Isabella, you're really beautiful..." Julian shifted uncomfortably. After all this time apart, he had barged into her place without a second thought, and now he had no idea what kind of attitude he was supposed to take with this woman who wasn't even family.
She still looked incredibly beautiful, carrying a mature charm in every smile and glance. She didn't seem to have aged much at all, almost like she had just finished college and was in the full bloom of her best years.
Julian remembered she was five years older than him.
"Heh, I'm only teasing. Have you eaten yet? Why don't you have dinner with me? I made plenty and it's almost ready."
"I haven't... they gave me a box from my shift at the diner..." Julian answered, stumbling over his words.
"But I cooked way too much. It'd be such a waste if I have to throw it out."
"Okay."
Julian pulled out a chair and sat, setting his takeout aside. The table was already laid out with several dishes—some meat, some vegetables—all colorful, fragrant, and mouthwatering. It had been ages since he'd sat down to anything this nice.
"Here, try it and tell me if your sister's lost her touch."
Isabella brought over the final plate: tender pork belly with the perfect balance of lean and fat, glistening in a rich, dark sauce that smelled incredible. She set a bowl of steaming white rice in front of him too.
He picked up his fork and took a bite. The flavor he had nearly forgotten came rushing back, perfectly seasoned and satisfying. Isabella's cooking was still outstanding.
"It's really good. You haven't lost your touch at all, Isabella."
"As long as Jules likes it, that's what matters."
Isabella slipped off her apron and sat down across from him. The soft yellow light stretched their shadows across the clean white walls. Her delicate features were lit with a gentle smile that made it hard to stay guarded.
She ate in small, graceful bites, her movements refined and elegant. Her eyes stayed on Julian the whole time, taking in how hungry he clearly was yet how restrained he acted.
Isabella stayed quiet, simply watching as he finished everything in his bowl. Then she smiled softly. "Full already? Want me to get you another bowl?"
His stomach still felt empty, but nerves and pride made him shake his head. "No thanks. I'm good."
Noticing his hesitation, Isabella reached over and took the bowl from him with effortless care. "I'll serve you another one. I made too much rice anyway. No point letting it go to waste."
"Uh... thanks."
She filled the bowl and placed it in front of him again, watching as he sat up straight, head lowered, eating with careful, polite movements like he was trying to remember every bit of manners he had.
Isabella lowered her voice, warm and intimate. "Jules."
"Yeah?" Julian lifted his head, meeting her gaze that looked down at him with that same smiling expression.
She asked gently, "What did you call me just now?"
He didn't quite follow, answering blankly, "Isabella?"
"That's right. I'm still your big sister, Jules. Nothing about our relationship has changed, has it?"
Isabella reached out and stroked his hair. Her long, pale fingers rested lightly on his short, dry strands, the gesture encouraging like she was comforting a shy younger brother.
"Yeah... that's true." Julian paused, finally understanding what she wanted.
He had been too distant. She had changed in some ways, but she was still that same gentle sister who would always treat him kindly.
"Got it."
"Good boy."
Isabella sat back as the boy across from her finally relaxed and started eating with real appetite, taking big bites as if he had been starving for far too long and hadn't had a decent meal in ages.
The light fell across his hair. Isabella studied his grown-up features—handsome and lean, with those familiar soft yet striking eyes and brows. His skin was still pale and smooth like fine porcelain. The bone structure she remembered so clearly hadn't changed at all. It was still him.
After finishing the second bowl, Julian's stomach, empty since right after school, still had a little room left. The tempting dishes on the table kept calling to him. He glanced at Isabella, who was already reaching for his bowl again. She spoke carefully, protecting his pride. "Have one more. There's still so much left."
Julian watched her take his bowl and lifted a hand to stop her. "I can get it myself, you don't have to..."
"It's fine. I used to serve you all the time, remember?"
"Thank you, Isabella. Just half a bowl though. I'm almost full."
"Alright."
Isabella glanced down at the half-full bowl in front of her. She had hardly eaten anything, and barely any food had made it into her rice. The grains still looked perfectly white and fluffy.
"Perfect timing. I can't finish this one anyway. You can have mine." She slid her own bowl across the table to him.
Julian stared at the rice now sitting in front of him. It was spotlessly clean compared to his own oil-smeared bowl. The gesture... it felt like she wasn't bothering with any sense of distance at all.