The casual encounters between Ellie and President Sterling began to deepen. It wasn't formal conversations, but moments of shared quiet, or unexpected questions. He'd occasionally find her cleaning his study late at night, long after the rest of the White House had quieted, and rather than dismissing her, he'd engage.
One night, Ellie was meticulously wiping down his grand wooden desk when she heard his voice. "Couldn't sleep, Miss Chen?"
She jumped. He was sitting in his large leather armchair, sipping from a mug, the lamplight casting long shadows. "Oh! Mr. President! I just... I like the quiet. It's easier to get the corners."
He nodded, taking a sip. "The quiet can be... illuminating. And sometimes, deafening." He sighed, then gestured vaguely at the stacks of papers on his desk. "Another budget negotiation. Everyone has an opinion. No one has a solution."
Ellie, usually so careful not to speak unless spoken to, found herself saying, "Back home, when my Uncle Wei argued with his neighbor about the fence, they just shared a pot of tea. And then they built the fence together, exactly in the middle."
President Sterling put his mug down. He looked at her, a genuine curiosity in his eyes. "A shared pot of tea? And a compromise? Imagine that." He leaned forward. "So, Miss Chen, what's your take on global trade imbalances? Pot of tea solution work there?"
Ellie giggled. "Oh, Mr. President, I just clean floors! But perhaps... if everyone had to clean the floors together, they'd realize how much dirt they make."
He stared at her for a moment, then a slow, thoughtful smile spread across his face. "You know, Miss Chen, that's not the worst idea I've heard all week. Sometimes, the most complicated problems need the simplest perspectives." He leaned back, a pensive look on his face. "Tell me more about Xanadu. What's it like, really? Beyond the official reports."
And so, in the quiet of the Oval Office, the most powerful man in the world found himself listening to his cleaner, Eleanor Chen, as she spoke about the bustling markets of her hometown, the silly festivals, the strict but loving families, and the peculiar logic of her Aunt Mei. She told him about her own aspirations, her dreams of opening a small flower shop, her love for simple, beautiful things. He listened, truly listened, a rare commodity in his world, and for the first time in a very long time, felt a genuine sense of calm. The gap between cleaner and President seemed to shrink, replaced by an unexpected, comfortable camaraderie.