Mine | LenaMiu (English Version)
Chap 64
The smell of freshly baked carrot cake fills the room like a gentle invitation, soft enough to pull them out of the embarrassment from earlier.
Miu is still flushed, making tea while stubbornly avoiding Lena's eyes. Lena, meanwhile, sits with impossible composure in the wooden chair by the small dining table, legs crossed, calm to the point that it makes Miu want to bite her out of sheer frustration.
Miu's mother slices the cake and places each piece onto a plate with practiced ease, her movements familiar and warm like she has done this her whole life. Morning sunlight filters through the curtains of the cream-white wooden room, spilling onto the table in golden patches. It creates the kind of atmosphere only truly loving families seem to have: easy, lived-in, real.
"Eat, Miu," her mother says cheerfully. "We have a lot to do today."
"Yes, Mom." Miu answers, still half-hiding her face with her hand.
Lena picks up her fork and takes a small bite. Sweet, gently rich, the faintest hint of cinnamon. The corner of her eyes softens.
"It's really good, Mom."
Miu's mother smiles with the quiet pride of someone who has been waiting to hear those words.
"If you like it, I'm happy."
Miu shoots Lena a look and mumbles, barely audible—
"My mom's daughter makes good food too..."
"Oh, sure," her mother replies without missing a beat, "but when Lena compliments it, I'm happier."
"MOMMM."
The whole room breaks into laughter.
A light breeze drifts in from the balcony, carrying the distant hush of waves. There's no stiffness, no formality. Just warmth, as if Lena has always belonged at this table.
And something inside Lena—something that is usually held tight like a taut string—loosens.
She realizes she is sitting at breakfast with two women she loves in different ways: one love deep and consuming, almost haunting; the other rooted in respect, gratitude, and something quietly sacred.
The feeling is unfamiliar.
But warm.
⸻
After breakfast, Miu carries the remaining cake out to the balcony, nibbling as she goes, distractedly brushing sand off her feet. She mutters to herself, already planning again.
"Near the palm trees might look better..."
"Or closer to the water..."
Her mother watches with an amused shake of her head.
"She's exactly like me when I was young," she murmurs, smiling. "Whenever something important happens, she has to chew on something."
Lena looks at Miu, tilting her head, sunlight touching her cheeks, her lips glossy from cake and she can't deny it. It's true.
Then Miu's mother turns gently toward Lena.
"Lena," she says, not stern, but weighted, "come out to the balcony with me for a moment."
Lena stands immediately.
⸻
Outside, the sea breeze is cool and clean, brushing skin like a careful hand. Waves roll in and out in steady rhythm, a perfect soundtrack for conversations that matter.
Miu sits a few steps away, busy peeling at a shell she found. She doesn't listen. Doesn't notice.
Miu's mother rests her hands on the wooden railing, eyes on the ocean.
"Miu said you were the one who chose this place."
"Yes," Lena answers quietly. "I wanted somewhere Miu would feel safe."
Miu's mother nods once, as if filing it away.
"Miu is easy to love," she says softly, "easy to trust. But she's also easy to hurt. She gives more than she asks for."
Lena lowers her gaze to her own hands.
"I know."
"We've always worried," her mother continues, "that one day she'd love the wrong person... and be used. Or left behind."
The wind picks up slightly, tugging at the fabric of their sleeves. Lena remains upright, but something darker flickers in her eyes—something deep.
"I will never leave Miu." Her voice is low, solid, like a vow.
Miu's mother turns fully toward her. No softening, no circling around the truth.
"I believe you love her."
A beat of silence.
"But your love is very strong."
Lena's grip tightens on the railing.
Her mother's tone isn't accusing—only clear, as though she's naming what she sees without fear.
"I've seen the way you look at her. Like she's your entire world. Like if someone touches her, you'll bite."
Lena doesn't deny it.
"Yes," she says simply. "I'm like that."
"Are you afraid?" Miu's mother asks.
"Afraid of what?"
"That loving like this will make her feel like she can't breathe."
Lena goes very still.
Somewhere behind them, the waves meet the shore. A gust moves under the roofline. Miu lets out a small laugh when she finds a shell she likes.
For a long moment, Lena doesn't speak.
Then, finally—
"I'm learning," she says softly.
Her mother tilts her head. "Learning what?"
"Learning how to love without holding too tightly," Lena answers. "Learning so Miu stays because she chooses to not because she's being kept."
Something in Miu's mother's expression softens immediately.
"That makes me feel better," she says, gentle.
Lena looks over at Miu hair tied high, small shoulders, legs swinging, cake between her teeth, sunlight drawing a thin line along the curve of her neck.
"But..." Lena exhales, a faint, almost helpless smile appearing.
"I still want to hold her tight."
Miu's mother laughs softly.
"That's love."
She places her hand over Lena's and squeezes, firm and warm.
"We're not giving Miu to you because two companies match," she says, "or because you're talented, or powerful."
Lena lifts her eyes.
"We're giving her to you because for the first time," her mother's voice trembles slightly, "I've seen her smile not to please anyone, not to perform just because she's truly happy."
Her gaze turns toward Miu.
"She looks at you like she's found where she belongs."
Lena takes a breath too deep like she needs it to keep her heart from cracking open.
Then her mother speaks slowly, clearly:
"Lena. Keep my girl. But let her breathe."
"Yes," Lena answers, the most honest she has ever sounded.
"I promise."
⸻
From the balcony, Miu calls out brightly:
"Mom! Look! I found a heart-shaped shell!"
Both of them turn.
Miu stands in full sunlight, holding up a small pale-pink shell with both hands. Her eyes curve into crescents, her hair lifting slightly with the breeze.
The moment is so beautiful that Lena feels the world narrow until it is only that image.
Miu's mother watches, then murmurs almost only for Lena to hear:
"That. That's why we're giving her to you."
Miu runs over, offering the shell.
"Lena! Do you want this as our wedding keepsake?"
Lena takes it, her fingers brushing Miu's in the exchange. It's a tiny touch, but it makes Lena's chest tighten.
"Yes," Lena says quietly. "I do."
Her gaze stays on Miu as she adds, softly—
"This is the first day of the rest of our lives."
Miu flushes, then turns and hugs her mother hard.
"Stay here with me today," she whispers.
Her mother laughs, hugging her back.
"Of course. Today is the day my daughter is loved the right way."
Miu looks at Lena, eyes shining.
And Lena who has never been good at softness looks back with an expression so gentle she barely recognizes it in herself.
⸻
Breakfast lingers into morning forks clicking against plates, Miu talking animatedly, her mother laughing, the sea breeze slipping through their hair.
And in the center of that warmth, Lena realizes for the first time in her life, she feels like she has a family.
Not because of names.
Not because of contracts.
Not because of obligation.
Just love. And being loved.
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