Chapter 116: A Neighbor's Celebration Gift

Clara Whitmore stared blankly at the celebration cookie in her palm. She remembered clearly—Elias Mercer rarely ate sweets.

* * *

At ten o'clock in the silent night, snowflakes drifted down.

Elias closed his black umbrella, letting the accumulated snow slide off before melting into puddles on the steps.

Abnormal lab data had forced him to pull three consecutive all-nighters. Even for someone of his caliber, the exhaustion was undeniable.

With the New Year approaching, lanterns lined the streets.

He massaged his temples. Finally, he'd managed to contain the margin of error within safe limits, so he'd given the team two days off.

Just as his key turned in the lock, a door creaked open behind him.

Warm yellow light spilled through the gap, illuminating the dim hallway. Clara's voice carried an unusual warmth for winter: "Professor Mercer, you're back early today. The lady on the third floor just had a granddaughter and sent over some celebration cookies..."

Elias's mind was still tangled in lab data. By the time he snapped back to reality, a bamboo basket had been pressed into his hands—filled with red eggs and steaming beef bone soup.

"Thanks." His voice was hoarse.

A draft swept through the corridor, making Clara hunch her shoulders. "The soup was just reheated. You should—"

"Got it."

The light switched off, plunging the hallway back into silence.

Standing in the foyer, Elias suddenly noticed how much emptier his apartment felt. He unscrewed the thermos—tender radishes swam in rich broth.

His gaze lingered on the cookies. After a brief hesitation, he tried one. Paired with hot soup, it went down surprisingly easily.

* * *

Warmth spread from his stomach to his limbs. Sinking into the couch, his tightly wound nerves finally relaxed.

His phone buzzed on the coffee table. The family group chat, no doubt.

Working abroad in previous years had spared him these gatherings. Now that he'd returned, there was no escaping them.

His mother's concern, his siblings' greetings, his father's terse reminders. He replied to each, promising to visit soon.

As he drained the thermos, a thought struck him.

The next time they met would likely be after the New Year.

Would she stay in the city for the holidays?

* * *

Elias found himself at Clara's door for the third time, idly spinning the empty thermos in his hand.

The apartment was silent.

At that very moment, Clara was wheeling her suitcase toward the train station. For the first time in six years, she'd bought a ticket home.

Her finger had hovered over the confirmation button, the booking page opened and closed repeatedly—until she finally pressed it.

Some knots could only be untangled in person.