The Kitchen was warm and dimly lit, the soft crackle of the fire blending with the smell of fresh bread and hearty stew. The wooden table was long the air inside the room carried a heavy stillness, like the house itself was holding its breath. Mr. Lovely sat stiffly at the table, wearing his white shirt, feeling the heat of the stove at his back. Across from him where sat the family father, his wife, their young son, and a teenage daughter- all dressed plainly, their faces unreadable in the flickering light. The boy, maybe ten years old, leaned forward eagerly, resting his elbows on the table despite a glance of warning from his father.
"Is it true," the boy asked, voice filling with wonder, " that in the city, buildings touch the sky?" Mr.Lovely allowed a small chuckle to escape, glancing out the window where the mist thickened against the glass. " Yeah, he said. " Some of them do. Steel and glass, so tall you can't see the tops on cloudy days." The daughter, who had been silent, spoke next. Her voice was quieter, more cautious. " And cars? Light? People everywhere?"
He nodded, shifting slightly in his chair. " Everything you look at," he said. "Day and night. Always moving. Always loud." There was a pause. The boy, emboldened, pressed on. " Were you someone important out there?" Mr.Lovely's smile tightened a fraction. He lowered his gaze to the table, tracing a knot in the wood with his fingertip.
"No, he said. "Wrong crowd. mostly. Wrong choices. That's why I'm here now." The father's chair scraped back slightly as he shifted his weight. He looked at his children with a hard stare. "Enough talk," he said firmly, " Be quiet and eat your food." The boy immediately pulled back, sitting up straight. The daughter lowered her gaze to her plate. The mother, still smiling with a politeness that felt just a little too rehearsed, set a steaming plate of stew and fresh bread in front of Mr. Lovely.
" The food looks good. Thank you, "Mr. Lovely said, offering a polite nod. She nodded in return, her hands folding neatly in her lap as she returned to her seat. Mr. Lovely picked up his spoon, feeling the eyes of the family pressing down on him like invisible hands. He took a careful bite. The stew was hearty and rich, bread soft and dense- but as he swallowed , a strange tightness curled deeper inside him.
The family watched him as he ate-not in an unfriendly way, but with a quiet, studying intensity. The only sound beyond the clink of his spoon was the wind scraping against the wooden walls, whispering through unseen cracks. For a moment, Mr. Lovely thought he heard something else- a faint hum riding just beneath the wind. But when he glanced around, the family sat silent, unmoving, their faces calm.
He forced a smile, set his spoon down, and leaned back slightly in his chair. Outside, the mist thickened against the windows, blurring the world beyond into shapeless gray. Inside, the fire snapped and hissed- but no real warmth seemed to reach the heavy shadow gathering in the corners of the room.