"Lien, cease this stubbornness." My father cast a reprimanding glance toward my tearful mother, whose emotions were unraveling at the fringes.
The day of my departure had finally dawned, and we stood within a secluded private airport, the awaiting jet courtesy of Uncle Michael stationed nearby.
"Stubborn? And what if Lei falls ill? What if I want to see him?" My mother's icy glares pierced my father's patience, who in response merely rolled his eyes at her implausible demands.
"Mom, when you visit, you're more than welcome to stay with me," I soothed, directing my words toward my weeping mother, endeavoring to quell her turmoil.
Initially, I possessed two condos. I had intended to retain the one in Shanghai and rent the Singaporean unit out. Fate, however, had other designs, leading me to retain the latter for my studies at Arden University.
"I want a home !" My mother's declaration reverberated in the air, a heartfelt plea that echoed through our farewells and embraces. Amidst tearful partings, I embraced my parents and pressed kisses upon my sisters' foreheads. Stepping onto the jet, I cast a final wave of farewell before embarking on this new journey.
By nearly eight in the morning, we touched down in Singapore. Uncle Michael had orchestrated a pre-class relaxation rendezvous over a meal. In addition, he graciously offered to oversee the transportation of my belongings to my new condo—a gesture I deeply appreciated.
An ebony MG Gloster fetched me from his private aviation facility, delivering me to a grandiloquent five-star establishment: Lost City Palace. While its exterior was flanked by remnants of mythical tribal civilizations, the interior burgeoned into a realm befitting royalty—an ornate palace frozen in time. Lavishness permeated every facet, and the sensation of traversing through an ancient city enshrouded me.
Upon entering the restaurant, I encountered a congregation of distinguished figures—individuals of considerable influence and renown. Their collective elegance and opulence were palpable.
Guided toward the farthest table, I found myself adjacent to a towering window, facing a table set for four. Occupying one of the seats was an elderly man, exuding an air of unapologetic dignity as he intermittently savored his wine. A smile tugged at my lips.
Sensing a presence approaching, the man shifted his gaze toward me. His countenance remained stern and unyielding, yet his eyes betrayed a concealed gentleness—a silent greeting communicated through his gaze.
"Seems that the fashion designer worked her magic," Uncle Michael quipped, his smile bordering on a mischievous grin.
I settled into my seat across from him, a perpetually pleasant expression adorning my features. "I thought I should look the part."
Before landing, within the confines of the jet, I had been attired in a simple t-shirt and jeans ensemble, coupled with sneakers. Yet, when summoned for dinner, I hastily showered and donned an ensemble curated by Lilith. My attire comprised a creamy turtleneck with lengthy sleeves, matched with flowing black trousers and glossy black-and-white patent leather loafers. An ash-grey cashmere overcoat provided an additional layer of refinement.
The ensemble was meticulously chosen to accentuate my height and complement my lean physique. Judging from Uncle Michael's reaction, I deduced it had met his standards. Upon my sisters' suggestion, I had permitted my hair to grow longer. To complete the ensemble, I allowed it to cascade naturally down my back.
Under Lilith's influence, I had grown fond of neutral hues and monotone colors. Black, however, remained my favorite, and I adorned myself with a single accessory—an everyday gold watch that added a touch of elegance.
Uncle Michael and I delved into an extended conversation, engrossed in our discussion. However, my attention was momentarily diverted by the appearance of additional cutlery and an extra place setting adjacent to him.
Before I could inquire, I glimpsed a figure approaching from my peripheral vision—a young man of inscrutable hazel eyes and an aura of indifference. As much as I wished to scrutinize him further, I refrained from prolonged stares.
Taking his place beside Uncle Michael, the young man's gaze momentarily intersected with mine. I absorbed as much of his demeanor as possible during that fleeting instant. Imprinting his features into my memory, I committed his appearance to my mind.
Dark brown hair and a sun-kissed complexion lent him a rugged allure. His tranquil hazel eyes were adorned with thick lashes, while a proud nose and understated nude lips framed his visage. His entire presence exuded an aura of detachment and regal aloofness, as if he were an emperor and the rest mere subjects.
Uncle Michael displayed no concern, relishing his wine in placid enjoyment. Amidst a drawn-out silence, I completed my meal.
"Not bad," I finally commented, my attention once more on Uncle Michael, who appeared eager to share something.
Uncle Michael placed his wineglass on the table and leaned slightly forward. "Allow me to introduce you to my grandson, Zayn."
Meeting Zayn's gaze, I offered a slight smile and a nod of acknowledgment. Yet, his response was an unflinching stare, a dispassionate gaze that left me slightly unnerved. I took a sip of water, affording him a few more seconds to scrutinize me. While I longed to return his gaze, I instead focused on the water glass to my right.
"What do you mean by 'not bad'?" Zayn's voice resonated with clarity and depth, a voice that could induce shivers of excitement.
I turned my gaze back to him, offering a small smile. "A reference for painting."
"..."
On the periphery of my vision, I detected Uncle Michael suppressing a laugh, his lips curled in evident amusement.
"Khun Pû, you're a choking hazard!" Zayn's gaze lingered on me, his intensity subsiding somewhat, replaced by a different aura.
"Shall we proceed?" Uncle Michael waved his hand, and almost instantly, the appetizers materialized before us.
Our attention converged on our meals, absorbed in the culinary offerings. Content to focus on my plate, I remained rather taciturn, paying little heed to the intermittent glances exchanged between the two males.
"Does his presence disconcert you?" Uncle Michael inquired, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass before he took a sip. My apparent unease was more transparent than I had anticipated.
Savoring the last morsel of my meal and dabbing my lips with a napkin, I responded, "Encountering new individuals tends to evoke some discomfort."
Without a glance, I sensed Uncle Michael's contemplation—his thoughts woven into the gaze he directed at me. It was as if I were an alien creature he was studying rather than a human being. A flicker of doubt shadowed Zayn's countenance, his brows twitching as he queried, "Discomfort?"
Meeting his gaze head-on, I affirmed, "Indeed."
"It appears you two have hit it off," Uncle Michael's tone was laden with undertones, hinting at more than what his words conveyed.
"Tomorrow, show him around," he continued, his expression gravely intent. Returning my focus to Zayn, I observed him pulling out his phone.
"May I have your number?" Although I regarded him for a prolonged moment, I refrained from providing my number.
"..."
What he sought was something beyond mere contact details; a connection that ran deeper than digits on a screen. And Uncle Michael, perceptive as ever, seemed privy to this unspoken dimension.
Amid Zayn's conflicted expression and a hesitant look cast towards Uncle Michael who gave him a nod in return, a bundle of papers materialized before me in a matter of seconds.
Zaven Cove