Held in Silence

I didn't expect the email.

Not from Layla, and definitely not with that subject line:

"Meeting Confirmed — With Calein Innovations."

My heart stopped for a second.

I opened it, hands tense.

The email was short:

Hey sis — we got a meeting with Calein Innovations next week. Their assistant said a committee member liked our pitch from the board. Is this weird? Should I still go? Tell me fast before I panic.

P.S. The startup lives if this goes well. Send luck or coffee.

— Layla

I stared at the screen for a long time.

It had nothing to do with Richard directly — Calein Innovations was one of the dozens of departments buried beneath the larger umbrella of Calein International.

But still.

It felt like something had cracked. Two parallel worlds I was trying to balance were finally colliding.

And I had no idea how to feel about it.

I waited until evening to bring it up to Richard.

We were both in the kitchen — an unfamiliar thing in itself — eating takeout at the island counter like we were roommates.

Not lovers. Not husband and wife. Just two people sharing silence and warm noodles.

"Layla's startup got shortlisted for a meeting with Calein Innovations," I said carefully.

He looked up, chopsticks frozen mid-air.

"She did?"

"Apparently someone from the board passed the pitch down."

He set the box down slowly.

"And she wants to go through with it?"

"Yes," I said. "Unless you have a problem with that."

His gaze held mine for a long second.

Then: "Why would I?"

"I don't know. Because it's your name. Because it's your company. Because you might think I'm pushing her in through the back door."

"I don't think that," he said.

Then after a pause, "Do you?"

I bit my lip. "No. I just don't want her to be crushed by politics."

He leaned back, watching me.

"I can ask someone to be in the room. Just to keep it clean. Fair."

I blinked. "You'd do that?"

"For her? No. For you? Yes."

I stared at him.

Something in his voice had shifted. A kind of clarity I hadn't expected.

Two days later, Layla called me, practically vibrating through the phone.

"Tell me this isn't real," she whispered. "Tell me I'm not dreaming this building."

I laughed. "They haven't even let you in yet."

"I saw a coffee machine that costs more than my rent."

"Don't touch anything."

She giggled nervously. "Do I mention you? Or pretend I've never heard of the name Calein before in my life?"

I hesitated. "Only mention me if it comes up. You got here on your own, Layla."

She exhaled sharply. "Okay. Yeah. Right. I did."

"Send me a message after. No matter what."

"Even if I cry in a bathroom stall?"

"Especially then."

She messaged an hour later.

Layla: I didn't cry! They asked questions! I answered them! I didn't black out!

Layla: Also, someone was definitely there to observe — silent guy, suit, expensive pen. But he smiled at the end. Is that a good thing?

Layla: I'm not breathing until next week but I think… I think I did okay.

I held the phone to my chest and smiled.

Then I typed:

Lara: You did more than okay. I'm proud of you. And so is the weird rich guy I live with.

That night, Richard found me reading on the couch.

"Your sister's smart," he said, sitting beside me. "Confident. Stubborn."

"She gets it from me."

He smirked. "Clearly."

Then after a pause: "They're sending her to the final round. It's not public yet, but she'll be notified next week."

I blinked. "Already?"

"She made an impression."

I looked at him sideways. "Did you make a call?"

"No. But I asked for transparency. That's all."

I nodded slowly. "Thank you."

He looked at me — really looked.

Then said, quieter, "I want to make space for the things that matter to you."

I didn't know what to say to that.

So I reached out — and rested my hand on his.

We didn't speak after that.

But we stayed there, in the soft hum of the room,

hands touching.

And for once, it didn't feel fragile.

It just felt real.