Chapter 2: The Question
Arthur stepped between his daughter and the stranger, his tall frame blocking the boy’s view. His jaw was clenched, his knuckles white against the edge of the dining table. “You have five seconds to leave before security throws you onto the street.”
The boy didn't cower. His dark eyes remained calm, filled with an intensity that seemed entirely out of place for someone living on the margins of the city. He looked past Arthur’s shoulder, catching Lily’s gaze.
“May I ask her something?” the boy asked softly.
Arthur hesitated, caught off guard by the boy's absolute lack of fear. The room remained breathless, waiting for the security guards who were now steps away.
Then, a tiny rustle of satin broke the silence. Lily moved. She leaned forward in her wheelchair, her small fingers clutching her pink skirt. She looked at the dusty boy, and then slowly, deliberately, nodded her head.
Arthur looked down at his daughter, his anger momentarily replaced by shock. He held up a single hand, signaling the guards to wait.
The boy stepped slightly to the left, aligning himself with Lily once more. He didn't look at the glittering crowd, the security team, or the furious father. He looked only at the girl in the chair.
“Do you want to try?” he asked.
The four words hung suspended beneath the chandeliers. A collective murmur drifted through the audience, but at the head table, the silence became total.
May you like
Lily’s breath hitched. Her fingers tightened around the metal armrests of her wheelchair so hard her knuckles turned white. Fear—sharp, raw, and familiar—flashed across her delicate face. For three years, specialist doctors, physical therapists, and her own father had told her to be careful, to accept her paralysis, to adapt to the chair. No one had asked her if she wanted to try.
Arthur’s eyes widened in sudden terror. “No… please,” he whispered, his voice cracking as he reached out toward his daughter. “Lily, don't.”
