My fingers trembled as I dropped my phone.
They had a photo of my mom at her clinic. Smiling innocently and unaware. The message below the image was simple but slicing:
"Be careful what you say, or we might stop by for a consultation."
I felt my breath leave my lungs in one violent exhale. My legs weakened beneath me, and I sat slowly on the edge of my bed. The world was spinning, but it wasn't moving. I could hear my own pulse in my ears like a war drum.
They weren't bluffing anymore. They were threatening lives now,my mother's.
My instincts screamed at me to call her, to tell her to leave the clinic, to get somewhere safe, but what would I even say?
That her daughter had crossed paths with people who hid secrets in plain sight and punished silence with pain?
I buried my face in my palms and let the quiet sobs come,not the loud, messy cries that beg for comfort.
These were the kind of tears that slipped through cracks you didn't know existed. Tears that came from fear, not for myself, but for someone I loved more than I had words to explain.
I don't know how long I sat like that. Maybe minutes.
Maybe longer.
But the knock on the door jolted me back to the present.
Three soft taps.
"Mimi?"
It was Phil.
I didn't answer immediately.
I wiped my face quickly, stood, and opened the door just enough for his concerned eyes to meet mine.
"You okay?" he asked gently, stepping back a little, sensing I needed space.
No! I wasn't okay. I was unraveling inside. But I nodded anyway. "Yeah… just tired."
He tilted his head slightly, studying me. "You've been crying."
I looked away. "It's nothing serious."
"Your version of serious and mine might be different," he said with a soft chuckle, trying to ease the tension. "Can I come in?"
I hesitated.
I didn't want to talk. But I also didn't want to be alone.
"Yeah… okay," I said, stepping aside.
Phil walked in slowly, looking around the small room like he was stepping into sacred ground. He sat on the chair near the window while I perched on the bed, curling my legs underneath me like a child trying to protect herself.
He waited a moment before speaking. "You don't have to talk about it. But… if someone hurt you, I just want you to know I'm not them."
My eyes snapped to his.
He didn't know about Michael. Not really. And he definitely didn't know about the people pulling strings behind the scenes, the threats, the manipulation, the secrets.
Still, the way he said it. "I'm not them", it felt like something inside me shifted.
"I just feel… overwhelmed," I whispered, voice thin.
He nodded slowly. "Then let's not talk. Just sit."
And we did.
I wiped my face quickly, hoping my voice wouldn't betray the chaos inside me. "Yeah?"
"You left your notes in the library," Phil said from the hallway. "I figured you might need them."
Notes, right!. I had left in a hurry, distracted.
He took one look at my face and tilted his head slightly. "Hey… you okay?"
He didn't push.
Didn't crowd me.
He just held out the notes, gently. "Want company or silence?"
It was such a strange question.
"Company," I said. "But... not too much of it."
A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Deal."
Phil didn't ask questions. He just sat beside me on the edge of the bed, quietly. The room was filled with my panic, unspoken and heavy, but he didn't try to fix it.
He simply sat there, offering a presence that wasn't demanding.
And for that moment, I was grateful.
The silence between us was strange but not uncomfortable. I could feel his presence, his warmth, the steady rise and fall of his breath beside mine. It grounded me in a way I didn't expect.
"Want to talk about it?" he asked softly.
I shook my head. "Not tonight."
He nodded like he understood. And maybe he did.
Phil was good at timing.
Too good, maybe.
He didn't press.
Instead, he changed the subject gently, talking about a photography project he'd been working on, how lighting changed everything, how shadows made things beautiful.
"It's funny," he said. "Most people try to erase shadows from pictures. I chase them."
His words landed deeper than they should have.
"I've lived in the shadows for a while," I said, not really meaning to say it out loud.
Phil turned to me, eyes scanning my face. "That's probably why I noticed you."
My heart paused. "What do you mean?"
"Because you don't shine the way others do. You absorb light. And it makes people curious."
That kind of thing would've made me roll my eyes before. But something in the way he said it... it didn't feel like a line. It felt like an observation.
Maybe that's what scared me more.
Because I was tired of being seen. And wanting to be seen.
I sat back down, crossing my arms tightly over my chest.
Phil didn't say anything. He just sat with me.
Not too close.
Not too far.
"You don't have to stay," I murmured.
"I know," he replied. "But I don't mind staying."
His calmness was disarming. And I hated that I needed it, that I felt relief just from his presence. My insides were spiraling, but he felt like a temporary anchor.
"You ever feel like... people just expect you to bounce back?" I asked suddenly. "Like you're not allowed to crack?"
Phil looked at me, thoughtful. "All the time. That's why I pretend I never break."
That struck me more than I let on.
He was silent again, giving me space. It wasn't performative. He wasn't prying, or overly comforting. He just... existed beside me in a moment that felt like too much.
The night dragged on.
I didn't say much after that. Phil stayed, talking in low tones about how he once dropped out of a project because his group members didn't care enough.
About how he hated small talk but loved overthinking. About how the world felt too loud, but some silences were worse. In fact he described the world as wicked.
He was weaving something. Not a net but a cocoon.
And I, already fragile from the panic, the threats, the weight of everything I'd been through, curled quietly into that space he was building.
It wasn't love, it wasn't even safety,it was just... stillness. And when you've been chased by storms, stillness can feel holy.
"I should go," he said finally, standing. "You need rest."
"Yeah," I whispered.
At the door, he turned. "You don't have to say anything. I just want you to know I'm around."
And then he left.
When the door clicked shut, the silence returned, but this time it didn't crush me. It just settled like dust on my skin.
I got up slowly, turned the lock, and stood there for a while with my forehead resting on the wood. Letting the darkness speak.
They had threatened my mother.
I had no idea who "they" fully were.
But I knew this: I wasn't going to stay quiet anymore. If they were watching... then I'd give them something to see.
I reached for my phone, fingers steady this time.
And I dialed someone I hadn't spoken to in over a year.
The voice on the other end picked up. Deep…
Familiar…
"You said if I ever needed you, to call."
I swallowed hard.
"Well... I need you now."