It was evening when I returned to the villa. I went to the kitchen to find something to eat and saw Ben-Oni at the stove.
"Hey, what are you cooking?" I asked, sinking onto a barstool.
He glanced over his shoulder, a smirk playing on his lips. "Something to give us a break from that awful pasta."
"Stop!" I laughed. "I tried my best."
"I'm kidding," he said, sliding a plate in front of me. The aroma was divine. I took a bite, and my eyes widened. It was heavenly.
"Wow, this is... delicious," I said, my mouth full.
"You like it?"
"Yes! But," I added playfully, "not even close to what your girlfriend made this morning."
He paused, a smile on his face. "Which girlfriend? Are we talking about Elsa?"
"Yes. Isn't she your girlfriend?" I asked, my eyes wide with feigned innocence.
"She's my oldest friend," he said, his smile turning gentle. "Now stop talking and eat." I stuck my tongue out at him.
After we finished, we sat on the couch, watching a movie in comfortable silence. "Where did you go today?" he asked after a while.
"To see my mom."
"Is she still alive?"
"Yes."
"It hurts, doesn't it?" he said quietly. "To see them, but they can't see you. To want to talk, but they can't hear you."
"Seeing my mom cry was the hardest part," I admitted. A thought struck me. "You said you lived the life your mom wanted for you. What did you mean?"
He was silent for a long time, his gaze fixed on the blank screen of the TV. "My dad was from a wealthy, respected family," he began, his voice low. "He fell for a beautiful woman from a poor family. His father forced them apart. My dad chose his career over his love. He became a brilliant doctor, but by the time he was strong enough to go back for her, she was married with children. He was heartbroken."
"His parents arranged his marriage to my mother. She was from a rich family. She loved him so much, but he never loved her back. Not once. She thought having a child would change things, but it didn't. She suffered. She even had an affair, thinking it would make him jealous, but he just ignored it. As a kid, seeing her kiss another man... It made me hate her. I was so angry that she was doing to me what my grandfather had done to my dad—forcing me into a life I didn't choose, instead of fighting for me."
"My dad," he continued, "was a world-renowned neurologist. A blessing to his patients. He was a good man, and he loved me, but he was a terrible husband. Imagine seeing your spouse treat you like a sibling. So I grew up in a house full of money and completely devoid of love. In high school, my father finally divorced my mother. That's when she told me that if I wasn't the top student, she would have nothing left to live for. So I studied. I became what she wanted."
That's when I met Elsa, back in high school. A top student too, and so we grew close. She was different. She taught me what it felt like to have a sibling, a real family in a life where I never had one. But I could see the way she looked at me... and I knew she felt something more. I couldn't hurt her the way my dad hurt my mom. I couldn't let her love me when all I could ever see her as was a sister. So, I pushed her away. I became cold. It was the only way I knew how to protect her." My dream... My dream was to be an artist. To draw. But my mom wanted a neurosurgeon to show up my dad. When he heard, he was so proud. We started to connect, finally. And then... he was diagnosed with FAP—Familial Adenomatous Polyposis. It's a genetic disease, a flaw in the code passed down through generations. He always thought it was a curse for what he'd done. And then he died. Seeing my mom at his funeral, crying so deeply for the man who never loved her... I pitied her. She had never lived for herself."
He finally looked at me, his hazel eyes swimming with unshed tears. "I used to believe there was no such thing as unconditional love. That everyone loves you for what you can give them. But then I saw my mom's grief, and I started seeing the mothers in the hospital wards. Mothers with children facing the most awful diseases, children who would never grow up to be doctors or artists. And their mothers weren't praying for success or for glory. They were just praying for one more day, for a moment without pain. That was unconditional love. Raw, fierce, and real."
He took a steadying breath, his gaze becoming clear and intense. "And that's when I finally understood. I used to think ambition or legacy was the center of the world, but I was wrong. It's the heart.
Everything comes from the heart—the love that builds us, and the sorrow that breaks us. After my father was gone, I looked at the wreckage of my family. All of it—the affairs, the pressure, the grief—it all came from one place: a broken heart. My father's broken heart. That's when I made a decision for myself, for the very first time. I wouldn't follow in his footsteps as a neurologist. I would try to fix the one thing he never could. I became a cardiologist. I decided I would spend my life mending hearts."
He offered a broken smile. "Don't pity me. I don't blame any of them. They all just did what they thought was right. They were all just chasing love."
I could see the fractured pieces of his heart, glittering like broken glass in his eyes. I didn't think. I just acted.
I leaned forward, closing the distance between us. His breath hitched. My eyes fluttered shut as my lips met his. They were warm, soft, and tasted of a sorrow so profound it felt like it could swallow the world. It was a kiss that felt like a confession, a prayer.
I pulled back slightly and opened my eyes. He was staring at me, stunned, as if trying to process what had just happened. My heart hammered, my chest tight. A blush crept up my neck, and for a moment, I hesitated, wondering if I'd just crossed a line—or finally built a bridge between us.
But then, his hand came up to cup the back of my neck, his fingers tangling in my hair. He leaned in and kissed me back. This time, it wasn't hesitant or sorrowful. It was deep and searching, a question and an answer all at once, a kiss that promised to stitch two broken souls together.