The rain had stopped. The night had turned silent.
But the warmth of that hug still lingered between them.
Evander didn't speak.
He simply guided Alina home, step by step, like she was made of glass.
Not a single word, not even a glance—
only silence that wrapped around them like a soft blanket.
They reached her little rented home tucked away in the narrow Parisian street.
He opened the gate, held the door, and walked her inside.
She looked pale, her fingers still slightly trembling.
Without asking, he led her to her bedroom.
"Sit here," he said gently. "I'll get you some warm water."
His voice was calm, but firm—like an anchor in a storm.
As he turned toward the kitchen, his eyes wandered around the room—
And suddenly, his breath hitched. His jaw clenched.
The space was a mess.
Her coat hung on one side of a chair,
her sandals lay tossed on the floor.
Empty teacups rested like forgotten memories on the table.
Books—some open, some closed—scattered like fallen petals.
The chaos around him felt suffocating.
"Do you… not clean this place?" he muttered under his breath.
He turned to her and said, louder this time,
"Alina, I think you need a maid. Clearly, you can't handle your own room."
She blinked, taken aback. "Why? Who told you that?"
He pointed around with a slight frown.
"No one had to. Your room says it all."
Alina followed his gaze. For the first time, she truly noticed it—
how cluttered, how careless it all looked.
A wave of embarrassment rose in her chest.
"I'm… I'm sorry," she whispered.
Quickly, she stood up, gathered the books,
shifted the blanket and made space on the bed.
Then she looked at him with soft eyes.
"Please… sit."
Evander hesitated for a moment,
but sat down slowly, resting his elbows on his knees.
Alina glanced at him and offered,
"Would you like some tea or coffee?"
But he shook his head. "No. I don't want anything.
My job was to drop you home safely. That's it."
He stood up, his voice colder now.
He turned to leave.
Alina quickly stepped forward. Her voice cracked slightly.
"Wait… I just wanted to say...
Evander: What?
Alina: Th-Thank you.
If you hadn't been there…
I don't know what those drunk men would've done to me."
Evander paused.
His back was still facing her, but his fists were clenched.
He slowly turned around, his brows drawn together.
"You know what?" he said sharply.
"You're way too careless, Alina.
What were you even doing out so late?
Don't you know the kind of men that roam around at night?"
His words hit her like raindrops on bare skin—cold and sudden.
Still, she didn't respond. She just listened.
"You can't always expect someone to save you," he added,
his voice quieter but heavier.
"What if I hadn't been there tonight?"
There was a long pause.
The air between them stood still.
Finally, he sighed. "Forget it.
Just… don't be this reckless again.
It's better if you take care of yourself."
And with that, he walked out.
...
That night, Alina couldn't sleep.
Her body was safe, but her heart was not.
Even though the door was locked, and the lights were warm,
something inside her felt cold.
She turned and twisted under her blanket,
but sleep came only in pieces—
and brought with it the shadows she had buried long ago.
In her dream, she was sixteen again.
Standing in a dark hallway of her childhood home.
The walls were peeling,
the floor cold under her bare feet.
She heard shouting—
not loud, but sharp enough to pierce her skin.
Her mother was crying in the kitchen.
Her stepfather's voice boomed like thunder behind closed doors.
Alina stood frozen near the staircase,
clutching her old teddy bear,
its fabric torn, but still familiar.
A door slammed.
Footsteps rushed.
And suddenly, she was no longer a girl.
She was back at college—years later—
surrounded by whispers,
pointing fingers,
and that boy who smiled too much,
who asked too many questions,
who pretended to care,
but only wanted to break.
She saw herself in the library,
sitting alone,
her diary open,
tears staining ink on the page.
"You'll never be enough," someone had told her.
And in her dream, she believed it again.
She tried to scream—
but no voice came out.
Tried to run—
but her legs wouldn't move.
Her heart beat faster. Her chest tightened.
And just when the fear was about to consume her—
She woke up.
Eyes wide. Breathing heavy.
A tear slipped down her cheek before she could stop it.
She sat up, pressed her hand to her chest.
The room was quiet, but the storm inside her raged on.
She felt suffocated by the silence.
So she stepped onto the balcony,
wrapping a shawl around her trembling shoulders.
She needed air. She needed space.
She needed… light.
Above her, the moon hung like a silent witness—
soft, silver, and distant.
She looked up at it, tears silently sliding down her cheeks.
"Why me?" she whispered to the sky.
"Why does safety always feel borrowed?
Why does love come as a stranger… only to leave?"
She didn't realize that someone was watching.
Just next to her, separated by a thin wall and iron railing,
stood Evander.
In the balcony of his own apartment—silent as the moon.
He had come out for fresh air, or maybe restlessness.
He hadn't expected to see her there.
But once he did, he didn't look away.
He saw the way her shoulders shook slightly.
The way her hands gripped the railing like it was the only thing holding her together.
He couldn't hear her words,
but he could feel the ache behind them.
He wanted to say something.
But what could he say?
That he understood pain too well?
That her tears reminded him of things he never shared?
So he stayed quiet.
Not because he didn't care—
but because sometimes, silence is softer than words.
And under the watchful gaze of the moon,
two souls stood close, yet apart.
Connected not by touch,
but by the unspoken ache
that only the broken can understand.