CHAPTER 154: THE SMILE SHE WAITED FOR

Noel set his phone aside, ears still buzzing with Luca’s laugh on the other end.

He rose quickly, almost too quickly, and reached for the tray in his mother’s hands.

"Mom—I’ll take that." His voice came softer than usual, carrying a shade of guilt he couldn’t hide.

She let him take the tray, but her eyes lingered on him, calm yet unreadable. "You" He seemed... happy. She said softly

Noel froze a little at the word, lowering the tray onto his desk.

He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing anywhere but at her. "I—didn’t mean to—"

She cut him off gently. "Noel." Just his name, steady, grounding.

He finally looked at her.

The worry in his chest swelled, bracing for the silence that always spoke louder than words.

But his mother only sighed softly, stepping closer. "You’ve been so quiet for so long. Always in your own world. I used to lie awake at night thinking—what if my son grows old and... has no one by his side?" Her voice wavered slightly, not with judgment, but with a mother’s ache.

Noel swallowed hard, his throat tightening. "Mom..."

She reached out, brushing his arm with a hand that had carried every weight for him when he couldn’t. "It doesn’t matter who it is, Noel. As long as they bring that smile back—the one I just saw—it’s enough for me."

The words hit deeper than he expected. His chest eased, though his eyes shone with a quiet burn. "You’re not... disappointed?"

Her lips curved, not in laughter, but in something steadier. "How could I be disappointed in my son finding happiness?"

Noel’s gaze dropped, unable to hold hers too long. He murmured, almost like a confession, "He makes it... easy to breathe again."

Her hand lingered on his shoulder, warm and reassuring. "Then let him. Don’t push it away."

For once, Noel let himself stand there, tray forgotten, and breathe in her acceptance like it was the thing he never dared to hope for.

Come here she said, arm open.

Noel lingered in the hug a second longer than usual, his cheek pressed against her shoulder.

When he finally drew back, he kept his eyes low, fiddling with the hem of his sleeve.

"Mom... there’s something I want to tell you."

She tilted her head, reading the weight in his tone, then sat down on the edge of his bed. She patted the space beside her. "Alright. Sit."

He sat slowly, knees brushing hers, words locked in his throat.

His fingers tapped against his thigh before he finally whispered, "I... I want to go back soon."

Her brows knitted, but she didn’t rush him. She waited.

Noel glanced at her, then back down again. "You know... internship is starting soon. And—" He paused, swallowing hard. "I don’t want to stay in the dorm anymore. I want to... look for an apartment."

Her silence filled the room, soft but weighty, like she was measuring every word he’d left unsaid. Noel’s chest tightened.

He feared disappointment in her eyes, that look she sometimes wore when she thought he was being reckless.

"When?" she asked finally, her voice calm, even.

He wet his lips. "In two days."

Her breath caught—just a flicker, but Noel noticed.

He braced himself, waiting for protest, for the long lecture.

Instead, she only leaned back slightly, studying him with that quiet mother’s gaze that always saw deeper than he wanted.

His mother smoothed her palm across the blanket, eyes following the weave as if she were reading something hidden there.

She let the silence sit between them for a while before finally lifting her gaze to him.

"You’ve grown so quiet these past years, Noel," she said softly. "Sometimes I wondered if you even carried your own voice anymore." Her lips curved, not in reproach, but in a tired sort of relief. "But just now... seeing you laugh, seeing your eyes brighten—I realized maybe I don’t need to worry the same way."

Noel lowered his head, guilt threading through him. "I didn’t mean to make you worry, Mom."

She reached over, brushing his hair like she used to when he was a boy. "You’ve always carried too much alone. If going back early helps you stand where you belong, then go." She paused, studying him carefully. "Just promise me you won’t keep everything shut inside. Whether it’s school, or work... or even this boy who makes you smile on a screen."

Noel’s throat tightened. He searched her face for doubt, for judgment, but found only warmth.

"You’re really okay with it?" His voice cracked lower than he meant.

Her smile deepened, quiet and sure.

Relief broke over Noel so swiftly it left his throat raw. ’I don’t care where you stay, Noel...Dorm, apartment, or even under the moon. What matters to me is that you aren’t lonely. That you’ve found something—someone—that makes you light up again."

For the first time in years, Noel leaned into her shoulder without hesitation.

She held him steady, as if she’d been waiting for this exact moment all along.

She finally eased her hands from his face, though her eyes searched him like she was memorizing every line.

"So," she said carefully, "where will you stay? Have you already found a place?"

Noel lowered his gaze, rubbing his palms together. "Not yet. I’ve been checking, but I’m hoping for somewhere close—near campus, not too far from the firm. Easier to balance both."

Her lips pressed into a thin line. "And if you don’t find? What then?"

"I’ll keep looking until I do." His voice carried a quiet stubbornness, the kind she recognized from his father. "I don’t want to waste hours on buses. I need to use that time for studying—and for the internship."

She studied him a long moment, as though weighing if this was just another passing determination or something rooted deeper.

Finally, she sighed, brushing back a strand of hair that had fallen across his forehead.

"You sound just like your father," she murmured. "Always certain, even when the ground under your feet is still wet."

A small, uncertain smile tugged at Noel’s lips. "Is that... a bad thing?"

Her sternness cracked into a faint chuckle. "It was what I loved most about him." She squeezed his hand, her tone firm again. "Fine. Look. Search until you find the right place. But promise me one thing—don’t take the first cheap corner just because you’re eager to leave here. I want it safe. Understand?"

"I promise," he said softly, the weight of her condition settling warmly rather than heavily.

She held his hand tighter. "Then go. Try. I won’t hold you back anymore. Just... don’t forget where you’re coming from."

Noel swallowed hard, feeling her words land deeper than he expected. "I won’t, Mom."

His mother patted his knee once more before rising. "Now, come and eat your breakfast before it gets cold. Your dad already left earlier."

Noel managed a faint smile, though his chest still carried the weight of their talk. "I’ll just change first... I’ll be down in a minute."

"Don’t take too long," she said, her tone half stern, half tender.

Then she stepped out of his room, the soft click of the door leaving behind a stillness that felt both heavy and light.

Noel sat for a moment, staring at the folded lines of his blanket, then drew in a quiet breath.

He stood, tugged on a fresh shirt, and smoothed his hair with his fingers.

By the time he stepped downstairs, the smell of warm rice and tea drifted from the kitchen.

The morning light spilled across the table, catching on the rising steam of rice and fried egg his mother had set out, waiting for him.

The chair scraped lightly against the floor as Noel sat.

His mother slid the plate closer, steam curling up from the rice and fried egg.

"You always rush," she muttered, though her eyes softened. "If I didn’t remind you, you’d leave without eating at all."

Noel gave a small chuckle, spooning rice into his mouth. "Maybe I just don’t like eating alone."

She arched a brow, feigning disapproval, but her lips curved at the edges. "So now I’m your excuse?"

"Always," he said, a little grin tugging at him.

She shook her head but didn’t press further.

For a few quiet minutes, it was just the clink of utensils, the warmth of food, the comfort of routine.

Then her glance flicked to her watch. "Ah—look at the time." She pushed back her chair, standing quickly. "I’ll be late."

Noel looked up as she smoothed her hair, gathering her things in a hurry. "You didn’t even finish your tea," he said.

"I’ll survive," she replied with a faint laugh, bending to kiss his forehead. "Don’t leave the dishes, hm?"

He smiled up at her. "I won’t."

And just like that, she was out the door, footsteps fading down the hall.

The house settled into silence, sunlight spilling through the window.

For once, the quiet didn’t feel heavy—it carried the taste of his mother’s care, lingering as steady as the morning light.