Second Uncle Pollock admired Joaquin’s persistence. But Aitana herself was indifferent to him, and since she still had both parents and older brothers, it wasn’t his place to intervene.
Aitana, respectful as always, treated her uncle with courtesy—but she made her own decisions.
Encouraged by Second Uncle Pollock’s supportive glance, Joaquin walked to the counter, holding out the bouquet of red roses. “Aitana, I like you,” he said, summoning all his courage.
Aitana didn’t take the flowers. Her voice was apologetic but steady. “Senior, I’m sorry. I don’t have romantic feelings for you. You’re my senior, and I see you as a brother. Thank you for your kindness. I’m on night shift tonight and need to rest, so I’ll go upstairs first.”
She walked around the counter and said to her uncle and aunt, “Uncle, Aunt, I’m going upstairs to rest.”
“Aitana, wait—Aitana,” Joaquin called after her, hurrying with the bouquet in his arms. But she moved quickly, disappearing from sight before he could reach her.
The upper floors were the Pollock family’s private living space. Without permission, Joaquin didn’t dare follow.
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