Ｆｅｗ ｄａｙｓ ｐａｓｓｅｄ.
I'd started my sessions with the doctor again. I was taking my medication regularly.
But they say it, don't they?
Medicines can only heal the wounds on the body…not the ones carved deep into the mind and heart.
The doctor kept trying to get me to talk—to open up about myself.
Because the condition I have… the state I'm in… makes it clear that something inside me is stuck.
And they can only help me fully when they figure out the root of it all.
But how can I open up to anyone?
I don't want to answer their questions.
Questions that will come the moment I start revealing my truth.
I'm tired.
Tired of the questions.Tired of peopletrying to dissect me like a puzzle.
I don't think everyone deserves to know my story.
It's only been a few days since I met Aidan…
I don't know where things are going between us, or how they ever will.
But something's shifting.
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𝚂𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚎: 𝙰 𝚀𝚞𝚒𝚎𝚝 𝙲𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗.
The corridor near the library was nearly empty. Sunlight filtered in through high arched windows, casting warm golden patches across the stone floor.
I heldmy journaltightly under one arm, walking toward the far study room when I heardfootsteps comingfrom the other direction.
I didn't look up.
Until he said—
"You haven't been writing in the research log."
I stopped.
My breath caught for half a second before I turned.
There he was, standing a few feet away, hands casually tucked into his coat pockets.
Eyes calm. Observing.
"I… forgot." I lied, not very convincingly.
He didn't react immediately. Just walked a step closer.
"Do you forget to take your meds too?"
His voice was still gentle. But it landed like a dart straight into the center of me.
I blinked.
"Are you watching me?" I asked, half-joking, half-accusing.
A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "You're not that easy to miss."
I didn't know what to say to that.
Something about the way he looked at me, it wasn'tinvasive.
It was knowing.
"I'm not a project," I said finally, the voice was lower than I meant it to be.
"I never said you were." His tone was calm, but something flickered in his eyes, like he had thought that at some point.
Or maybe… something else entirely.
Then his gaze dropped slightly to the leather journal pressed to my chest.
"Still writing?" he asked.
My fingers tightened around it unconsciously. "Not for anyone else. Just for myself."
He nodded. Slowly. Then after a beat, said,
"Good. Keep doing that."
He turned to leave, then paused.
Without looking back, he said quietly,
"Some things hurt less when you stop trying to erase them."
And then he was gone.
Leaving mein that sunlit hallway,my heart racing.
not from fear.
Not even from confusion.
But from the terrifying feeling…
that someone had finally started reading between my lines.
The hallway was nearly empty when he turned to leave.
But I wasn't done.
I didn't even realize I was moving until I'd crossed the distance
Until my fingers wrapped around his wrist.
"Enough, Aidan."
My voice was firm, louder than I expected.
It echoed just slightly against the stone walls.
He stopped.
His head turned halfway, surprised. But I didn't let go.
"The way you talk... the way you look at me"
I paused, heart thudding in my chest.
"It's all getting too much."
He didn't say anything.
I stepped closer,voice trembling, not from fear—but something heavier.
Something braver.
"I want answers. Now."
"I'm not going to pretend this is normal anymore."
He was still.Quiet. But I didn't care. I wasn't done.
"For everyone else, you're just some TA.
But for me… since the very beginning, you've never been just that."
I shook my head, eyes burning.
"You're the man I saw in the parking lot. The man I almost crashed into.
"The man I kept thinking about... without knowing why."
"And now you're just here. In front of me. Teaching lectures abouttrauma.
But it feels like you're talking straight to me.
I took a breath,still holding his hand, though neither of us acknowledged it.
"Why?Who are you really, Aidan Vale?"
There it was.
The question I hadn't even realized I'd been dragging behind me this whole time.
He stared at me for a long, silent second.
His expression unreadable.Something flickered behind his eyes—recognition? Regret?
But then his voice came out low, almost careful:
"You sure you're ready to know?"
"Tell me now—here or wherever you want to". But I want answers.
"Do you know me?" I asked, my voice firm.
He chuckled softly.
"Go get ready."
Then he reached into his pocket.
"Take my number," he said, holding out his hand.
I placed my phone in his palm without a word.
He typed his number in and handed it back.
I'll text you the location,he said.
"Come alone. I know you're brave enough for it."
"But... you'll have to trust me."
I frowned. "What do you mean'trust you'?"
He smirked.
"You only see me as Aidan…Aidan Vale,the man.
But you should be careful with that,because if I'm just Aidan to you..."
He paused, his gaze locked on mine.
"...then you're also just Sofia to me.
And then, things won't stay normal between us."
His voice dipped a little lower.
"It won't be simple."
After all, we're not really student and teacher… are we?"
He leaned in closer..so close I could feel the heat of his breath near my ear.
"I could be dangerous for you, couldn't I?
My heart stilled as I realised i was still holding his left hand.
He whispered one last line, soft and deliberate:
"Do I really need to say anything more?"
I shook my head slowly, stepping back just enough to break the closeness..
but our eyes stayed locked.
There was something unsettling about the way he looked at me.
Not threatening… but intense. Like he was searching for something in me.
Or maybe, he'd already found it.
I pulled my hand away, but the warmth of his touch lingered, like a silent brand I couldn't shake off.
"Fine,"I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
"But if I'm coming… I want the truth."
Aidan tilted his head slightly, that maddening half-smirk still playing on his lips.
"Then be ready, Sofia…because the truth isn't always kind."
He turned, walking away with that same calm arrogance that both irritated and intrigued me.
And I just stood there, heart racing,
already wondering what the hell I was getting myself into.
The message blinked on my screen: "Come at 8. I'll be waiting.
Don't be late- Aidan
That was all.
No more conversation. Just a dropped pin.
Somewhere on the outskirts of the city, far from the comfort of university walls.
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Few minutes later i found myself in my hostel bedroom.
I stood in front of the mirror, trying to steady my breath.
Wearing a soft black sweater, jeans, boots simple. But my handstrembledas I zipped my jacket up.
I tucked my hair behind my ear, watching my own eyes in the reflection.
What exactly am I getting ready for?
I grabbed my journal from under the mattress and slid it into my sling bag, just in case.
No one knew about this.Not Amelia. Not Lyra.
This wasjust me… and him.
The corridor was silent as I slipped out of the hostel gate.
The night air kissed my face, crisp and cold.
A taxi was already waiting for me at the curb, exactly where I booked it.
"Where to?" the driver asked.
I showed him the location Aidan had sent me.
He raised an eyebrow.
"Bit far. Not a lot of people go there this late."
"Exactly." I muttered to myself.
The ride felt long. Streetlights grew fewer, and the buzz of the city faded into shadows.
Even the radio in the taxi felt too loud.I asked him to turn it off.
I stared out of the window—trees, silence, flickering lamps, and eventually... nothing.
"Here we are,"the driver said, pulling up beside a tall iron gate.
Beyond the gate: a crumbling old mansion, ivy crawling up its stone walls like veins of time.
A faint light glowed from inside—like someone was expecting me.
I stepped out, my boots crunching softly against the gravel.
The air smelled of damp wood and something else...
Old secrets.
The gate creaked open before I could even touch it.
He was already watching me from the doorway.
Aidan.
Black shirt.Rolled-up sleeves.Hands in his pockets. His expressionunreadable.
And behind him—
a house that looked like it had stories no one dared to tell out loud.
I saw him standing at the doorway—hands in pockets, his eyes already on me.
But instead of walking straight up to him, I slowed down.
My curiosity took over… like it always did.
The mansion stood like a silent witness of forgotten time—its stone walls weathered, windows tall and narrow, most of them veiled behind dust and age. The scent of damp wood and old books lingered in the air.
My boots echoed softly as I stepped closer to the iron railing lining the porch. I ran my fingers along it, watching how the rust flaked off like dried blood.
Somewhere to my right, a wind chime made of metal spoons and glass shards swayed in the breeze. Odd. Beautiful. A little eerie.
I looked over my shoulder at him.
He hadn't moved.
Still standing there—watching.
His expression unreadable. But something flickered in his eyes.
Without saying a word, I stepped past him and slowly crossed the threshold…
Into the mansion.
It smelled like memory.
Wooden floors groaned beneath my feet, the hallway lined with faded portraits, some faces scratched out. A long velvet curtain swayed though there were no open windows. Dust floated like snow in golden slivers of candlelight.
Aidan closed the door behind me, and suddenly, the world outside disappeared.
We were inside a place that felt like it had locked its secrets in deep chests and hidden staircases.
And somehow…
it felt familiar.
He stepped in beside me,quiet.
"You always this bold?" he asked, voice low.
"Walking into unknown places before you're even invited?"
I tilted my head, giving him the faintest smirk.
"You invited me, didn't you?"
"And curiosity's not a crime."
He stared at me for a second… then half-smiled.
"Depends what you're curious about."
"We're not here for tea or coffee, are we?" He asked watching me.
"I know of course, but you already know—I always have a lot of questions.
Whenever I see something new, I need to know more about it."
"This place... I've never been here before, but I feel a connection to it.
Because that's just how I am—
I get so lost in things that they start to feel like they're mine,
Like I have to understand them."
"I don't care what people think about that."
"What matters to me… is what I think."
"My thoughts matter to me."
I turned to him, my voice quiet but certain.
"And right now, Aidan… I want to see this place.
Will you show it to me?"
I asked, my eyes searching his.
"Go see for yourself," he said, settling onto an old velvet sofa, arms stretched along the backrest like he owned the place.
"You're so annoyingly stubborn," I muttered, narrowing my eyes at him.
"If I'm stubborn, so be it,"
"Go explore. I'll watch you."
His smirk deepened, that same irritatingly calm confidence never leaving his face.
"What will you get by watching me?"
I asked, folding my arms as I stood in the center of the room.
"And what do you get by watching this mansion?",he asked.
"Curious, aren't you?"He tilted his head slightly.
"Well… so am I.
So what? If I'm curious? I paused asking, then said...
"I'm curious about you. "
He chuckled, the sound low and deep.
"Good taste, I'll give you that," he said, eyes scanning the room.
"But if you let your curiosity chase the wrong thing, you won't end up with anything real."
Then his gaze locked onto mine again, sharper this time.
"You're used to asking the wrong people the right questions, aren't you?"
"You don't even know what kind of person I am," he said, standing now.
"Still… you're here.
Asking questions.
Confidently walking around a place you've never been to.
He took a step closer.
"What do you think…?" he asked softly,
"Are we the same kind of people, Sofi?"
I looked away.
"Since you're not gonna help me…" I muttered, stepping forward to explore on my own.
"I'll take a look around this mansion myself. But..."
I turned to glance at him, locking eyes.
"If I find anything unusual, I'll call you—and you will come."
My voice was steady, calm, but it carried weight.
He didn't say a word—just leaned back on the old sofa, watching me with that unreadable smirk as I walked deeper into the unknown.
The silence of the mansion wrapped around me the moment I stepped farther in, my footsteps echoing against the cold, dust-laced floor.
The air was heavy—like it had been holding its breath for years, waiting for someone to stir it again.
Dim light filtered in through tall, broken windows, casting long shadows across antique furniture and torn curtains.
Everything inside felt... abandoned, but not forgotten. Like time had frozen mid-moment.
I ran my fingers along the edge of a cracked wooden table, the dust leaving faint trails across my skin.
An old painting hung crooked on the wall.
I tilted my head, staring at it—a woman with sad eyes and a half-smile. Something about her felt... familiar. Too familiar.
I blinked and turned away, brushing off the chill that suddenly crawled down my spine.
Each room told a different story.
A rusted chandelier in the hallway swayed ever so slightly, though there was no breeze.
A child's toy lay forgotten in the corner of one room—its colors faded, one button eye missing.
And then—I found a door.
It was smaller, half-hidden behind an old bookshelf that looked like it hadn't been touched in decades.
My fingers hovered over the handle.
I hesitated. Just for a second.
Then—
CREEAAK.
The door opened with a groan, revealing a narrow staircase spiraling down into darkness.
I glanced over my shoulder—Aidan was still lounging in the main hall, too far to hear anything.
But I wasn't going to call him. Not yet.
Not until I found out what this place was trying to tell me.
Not until I found out if this mansion…
knew me better than I knew myself.
And so—I took the first step into the dark.
As my foot touched the first creaking step, a strange feeling settled over me—like the walls were leaning in, listening.
I held my breath and descended slowly.
The deeper I went, the colder it became.
Each step down was like slipping further into a memory I didn't know I had.
The staircase opened into a narrow corridor, lit only by a single bulb flickering weakly overhead. The walls were lined with old picture frames—some shattered, others faded by time. One caught my eye: a man, standing beside a black vintage car. His face was scratched out.
My fingers brushed the frame. It felt warm—oddly warm.
I moved on.
The hallway led me to a wooden door. Unlike the others, this one wasn't dusty. In fact, it looked recently touched. Used.
I hesitated.
Then, slowly, I pushed it open.
The room inside was small, almost suffocating. A desk. A chair. And papers scattered everywhere.
Clippings from newspapers.
Obituaries. Accidents. Fires.
My eyes locked onto one article pinned to the wall:
"Family Dies in Mysterious Fire — Only Child Survives."
My heart dropped.
I took a step closer.
There—scribbled in red ink across the article:
"Was it really an accident?"
I backed away slightly, my chest tightening.
And then—
"You weren't supposed to see that."
The voice came from behind me.
I froze.
I turned slowly—and saw him.
Aidan.
No longer wearing that calm, careless smirk.
His eyes were shadowed. His jaw tight.
"You followed me here for answers, Sofi," he said quietly, stepping into the dim light.
"But some answers… rewrite everything."
My voice came out barely above a whisper.
"You knew about the fire."
He didn't deny it.
"I know a lot more than you think," he said."And if you're ready to learn it—just know there's no turning back."
Our eyes locked again.
This time, not with curiosity.
But with something deeper.
Danger.
Truth.
And the haunting pull of secrets long buried.
But Aidan's eyes darkened the moment the question left my lips.
I had looked at him and asked—gently but directly,
"Is this place yours? Is the family in that article… were they your parents?"
For a second, I saw it—the flicker of something raw behind that carefully guarded stare.Regret? Anger? Pain? I couldn't tell. But it cracked through his usual stillness like lightning behind glass.
He stepped further into the room, his voice quiet but unshaking.
"No," he said.
"That wasn't my family."
He paused, the silence weighing more than his words.
"But it was someone's."
I looked back at the article pinned on the old wooden wall, the edges yellowed with time. "Then why is it here?" I asked again, "Why is it pinned on this wall like a memory that still breathes?"
He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair.
"Because this house holds things no one speaks of anymore. And people forget too easily… the wrongs that were never made right."
His tone shifted—low and sharp like a blade in silk.
"And maybe… maybe I never wanted to forget."
I glanced back at the wall, then at him.
His posture was still calm, but something about the way he clenched his fist told me he was holding back more than just answers.
"So why show me?" I asked, softer now.
"Why bring me here?"
He looked at me, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then, finally, he said—
"Because you're not just a curious girl asking dangerous questions."
He took a step closer.
"You're a girl who's been burned before. And I think you already know… you've seen this place. Maybe not with your eyes. But somewhere in your past, you've felt it."
My breath caught.
I wanted to deny it. But I couldn't.
The heaviness in my chest—the strange connection to this mansion—it wasn't just imagination.
"You think this is connected to me?" I asked.
He didn't blink.
"I don't think. I know."
Silence stretched between us.
And then he said it—calm, quiet, but with weight:
"Sofia… this isn't just my secret. It's yours too.