multi-dimentional librarian

The dining room was thick with an awkward tension, the clink of cutlery against plates the only sound breaking the silence. Carol, Clara, and Liam sat around the table, the remnants of dinner—roast chicken, mashed potatoes, and green beans—scattered across their plates. Carol, her face alight with an amused smirk, leaned forward, her eyes glinting mischievously.

"How's your mum, Clara?" she asked, her tone light but laced with a teasing edge, as if she knew the question might stir something.

Clara, idly pushing a green bean across her plate, looked up. "She's fine, Aunt Carol," she replied, her voice polite but clipped, a flicker of unease in her eyes. She glanced at Liam, who was focused on his chicken, seemingly acting oblivious to the undercurrent, but his jaw tightened slightly.

The conversation limped along, with Carol tossing out casual, probing questions and Clara responding with short, careful answers. Liam stayed mostly silent, offering only the occasional grunt or one-word reply, his attention fixed on his food. The trio finished their meal, the awkwardness lingering like a fog.

As they cleared their plates, Clara stood, smoothing her jacket. "I should get going," she said, glancing at her phone. "Thanks for dinner, Aunt Carol, Liam."

"I'll walk you out," Liam said, pushing his chair back with a scrape. Carol's eyebrow arched, her smirk deepening, but she said nothing, turning to stack dishes.

Outside, the evening air was cool, the street quiet under the soft glow of streetlights. Liam and Clara walked to her car, parked just down the road. The silence between them was heavy, charged with something unspoken.

"You okay?" Liam asked, his voice low, hands shoved in his pockets as he glanced at her.

Clara nodded, unlocking her car. "Yeah, just… family dinners, you know?" She gave a small, strained smile, then hesitated, her fingers lingering on the door handle. "You meant what you said earlier, didn't you?"

Liam's eyes flicked to hers, a brief flash of something—nervousness, maybe—crossing his face. He shrugged, looking away. "Yeah, well… you know I'm not good with words." He didn't elaborate, but the weight of their earlier, private conversation hung between them, its details left unsaid—something about feelings, about timing, about what might be.

Clara studied him for a moment, then nodded. "Right. Just… checking." She slid into the driver's seat, her expression unreadable. "See you, Liam."

"Take care," he said, stepping back as she started the car. She waved once, her taillights fading into the night as she drove off.

Back in the house, Liam returned to the dining room, where Carol was wiping down the table, her sly grin still in place. She glanced up, catching his eye.

"You should get her before someone else does," she said, her voice low and pointed, the words landing like a well-aimed dart.

Liam froze, then snorted, shaking his head. "Come on, Carol, it's Clara." But as he grabbed a dish to help clean up, her words—and the memory of his earlier, vague confession to Clara—stirred something in him, a quiet mix of doubt and possibility that he couldn't quite shake.