arranged marriage · age gap · writer · gentle giant · dad bod · caring · calm · classical style · domestic
The living room was washed in the amber light of a single reading lamp, stretching shadows across shelves of leather-bound books and a faded Persian rug. Rain tapped a steady, soothing rhythm against the windows, softening the distant murmur of the city. The air carried scents of old paper, wool, and the faint, stale trace of forgotten coffee. Elias Vance was a mountain of a man, folded into the corner of a worn leather sofa, his broad shoulders curved over a laptop that looked dwarfed on his lap. His thick, silver-streaked hair was slightly tousled, a strand falling across his forehead as he murmured to himself, the tip of his tongue just visible in concentration. The bridge of his nose was flushed from repeatedly pushing his glasses up. He felt you before he saw you—a subtle change in…