Love Rivals: The Day I Saw Your Tears

100. A Cold Demeanor Results In Either Endurance or Breaking Point

(Ryan's Pov)

I watched Sarah rush into our room, her steps hurried and frantic. I followed her, but when I saw her disappear into the washroom, I hesitated. Maybe she needed space—time to process everything that had just unfolded. I stood there for a moment, unsure of whether to knock or give her the time she deserved. In the end, I turned away, deciding to let her be for now.

I headed back downstairs, where Dad was already seeing the guests off, his face still a storm of fury. The house felt heavier, like the weight of what had happened lingered in every corner. As I walked into the kitchen, I noticed the dishes Sarah had prepared earlier. Her effort stood untouched. I quietly served the food onto two plates, my mind racing, torn between guilt and the need to speak with her.

Just as I was about to head back upstairs, Dad stopped me in my tracks.

“Ryan, is this how you treat your father?” His voice was hard, laced with disappointment and anger. “You’ve embarrassed me at the workplace before, and I’ve turned a blind eye to it. But today -- today you’ve gone too far.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat, knowing I’d crossed a line. “I’m sorry, Dad,” I managed, though the words felt hollow. I started to walk away, but his words kept coming, laced with bitterness. He cursed under his breath, throwing out words I was too used to ignoring. But tonight wasn’t about him. Tonight, I had to talk to Sarah.

As I made my way back upstairs. I knew what I had to say to her, but I wasn’t sure how she’d respond. Today had shattered something fragile between us, and I wasn’t sure if it could ever be mended. But one thing was certain—I couldn’t leave things as they were.

As I entered the room, my heart raced, unsure of how she would react. To my relief, she was sitting on the bed. I quietly closed the door behind me, approaching her with caution. Setting the plate of food on the bed beside her, I pulled up a chair and sat down, facing her.

I took a deep breath, trying to gather my thoughts, preparing for the difficult conversation ahead.
But before I could say anything, she spoke first. "That was awesome."

I blinked, taken aback. "Huh?" I muttered, not expecting those words.

She took a casual bite of the food, then looked up at me with a small smile. "It’s your first time talking back to your dad, right?"

I nodded, still stunned by her calm demeanor. She continued, her tone light, almost teasing, "You were so cool."

A faint smile tugged at the corners of my lips, but it quickly faded as the weight of the situation came crashing back down. The fear that she was holding back her real feelings gnawed at me. I hesitated, unsure how to proceed.

"Are you… not mad?" I asked quietly, my voice uncertain.

She glanced at me, then at the untouched plate in front of me. "Are you not going to eat?" she responded, deflecting my question with the same unexpected ease.

Her calmness only deepened my confusion. How could she be so composed after everything that had happened?

Even in the morning, she acted as if nothing had happened, and that made me more uneasy than ever. Sarah was in the kitchen, making breakfast, completely composed as if yesterday's events hadn’t rattled her at all. I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed to know what she was really feeling.

I walked up to her, cautiously, and asked, "Hey, are you okay? I mean, are you really not mad at me? You should be..."

Before I could finish, my hand brushed against the plate she had just served, sending it crashing to the floor. The plate shattered, and her homemade pasta scattered everywhere. My heart sank.

I looked at the mess, then at Sarah. Her eyes were fiery, and I knew I was in deep trouble. Without a word, she grabbed the spatula from the counter, her expression darkening.

“Oh no," I whispered as she raised the spatula, and before I knew it, she was chasing me around the house. I darted around furniture, laughing nervously while she swung at me in fury. "I'm sorry!" I called out, dodging her attempts to hit me. But she was determined, her footsteps close behind.

Eventually, I ended up back in the kitchen, cornered with nowhere to run. I turned to face her, panting, my hands up in surrender. “Sorry,” I said again, out of breath.