The streets of the town had settled into a gentle hush by the time Arin and Evelyne reached the small yet well-kept inn. The lanterns hanging from the wooden beams flickered with a warm glow, casting elongated shadows along the cobbled path. A sign above the entrance read The Hearth & Haven, its name evoking an unspoken promise of rest and respite.
Evelyne, still clutching the remnants of laughter from their earlier banter, glanced toward Arin as they stepped inside. The scent of freshly baked bread and simmering spices greeted them, mingling with the faint traces of burning wood from the hearth. The innkeeper, a stout middle-aged man with kind eyes, looked up from his ledger as the bell above the door chimed.
"Ah, travelers! Welcome!" The innkeeper beamed, wiping his hands on his apron before stepping forward. "Looking for a place to stay?"
Arin stepped forward with a nod. "Yes, we'd like two rooms for three nights, if possible."
The innkeeper furrowed his brow, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "Ah, now that's a bit tricky, lad. Seems we've only got one room left."
Evelyne raised a delicate brow. "Only one?" she echoed, glancing at Arin.
The innkeeper let out an apologetic chuckle. "Aye, a couple checked in just an hour before you arrived and took the last of our vacant rooms. All that remains is our couple's suite. Quite spacious, comfortable, and well—" He trailed off, looking between them with an amused twinkle in his eyes. "It should suit you two well enough."
Arin blinked. Evelyne stiffened. An awkward silence stretched between them before the weight of the assumption settled in. Heat rushed to Evelyne's face as she turned to protest, but the innkeeper, upon seeing their synchronized reaction—wide eyes, slightly parted lips, and a blush creeping up their cheeks—let out a hearty laugh.
"Ahh, young love! I knew it! You two must be newlyweds!"
Arin coughed, quickly waving his hands. "No, we're not—"
"I-It's not like that!" Evelyne cut in, her voice an octave higher than usual. She rarely found herself flustered, yet here she was, standing beside Arin as an elderly innkeeper mistakenly confirmed them as a couple.
"Oh, nonsense! Look at the both of you, all red and shy! Happens all the time with new couples." The innkeeper chuckled heartily before wiping a tear from his eye. "A lovely pair you make! Well, I won't press the matter. The couple's suite is yours for the stay."
Arin and Evelyne exchanged a glance. It wasn't as though they had much choice—the town was unfamiliar, the night deepened, and the thought of searching for another inn, only to face the same situation, seemed absurd. Begrudgingly, Evelyne let out a soft sigh and nodded. "Fine. We'll take it."
The innkeeper grinned ear to ear. "Wonderful! And to celebrate your first night here, I'll prepare a special couple's dish for your dinner. Consider it my apology for the mix-up!"
Arin pinched the bridge of his nose, unable to find a way to decline without seeming rude. Evelyne, on the other hand, had resigned herself to fate. It wasn't worth arguing over a single meal.
A short while later, they found themselves seated at a quiet corner of the dining hall, an elegant yet modestly set table before them. The air carried the comforting aroma of slow-cooked curry, fragrant rice, and freshly baked naan. The dish that was placed before them was a beautifully arranged thali—an assortment of delicacies meant to be shared. The symbolism wasn't lost on them.
"I suppose there's no harm in trying it," Evelyne murmured, studying the meal with mild intrigue. The naan was soft, warm, and inviting, the variety of curries rich in spices. She had sampled foreign cuisines before, but this felt intimate—like an experience rather than just food.
Arin, still shaking his head at the absurdity of their predicament, finally let a chuckle escape. "Might as well make the best of it."
They ate in relative silence at first, savoring each bite, but gradually, the atmosphere shifted. What had started as an awkward situation melted into something almost enjoyable. The food acted as a bridge, nudging them into conversation about tastes, textures, and the stories behind the spices.
"This reminds me of a dish from my childhood," Arin mused, dipping a piece of naan into the lentil stew. "It's strange how flavors can bring back memories you didn't even know you had."
Evelyne tilted her head slightly. "What kind of childhood did you have?"
He paused, his gaze softening. "One filled with expectations, rules, and responsibilities. But moments like these… they were rare."
Evelyne studied him for a moment, then glanced down at her plate. "I never had moments like these either," she admitted. "Food was a formality at noble gatherings. A necessary act, but never something to be enjoyed."
Arin smiled slightly. "Then I suppose this is a first for both of us."
A comfortable silence settled between them. The warmth of the meal, the soft candlelight, and the gentle hum of the inn around them created an atmosphere neither had expected. They were supposed to be running away from their burdens, yet here they were—finding comfort in something as simple as a shared meal.
Evelyne sighed, leaning back slightly in her chair. "I suppose… this hasn't been entirely terrible."
Arin smirked. "High praise from you."
She rolled her eyes, but there was no malice in the gesture. "Don't get used to it."
The night stretched on, and as they finished their meal, the weight of the day settled upon them. Tomorrow, the journey continued. But for tonight, in this quiet corner of the world, they allowed themselves this small respite—a stolen moment of peace in a world that rarely granted them such luxuries.