"Is there anyone you want to call? To let them know you're staying out tonight? Your parents? A friend?" she asked, her voice soft but probing.
I stayed silent. What could I say? That I had no one to call? That the people who were supposed to care about me were either dead or so far removed from my life that they might as well be? I sat there, frozen, until I felt it, a single tear slipping down my cheek. I wiped it away quickly, but it was too late. She'd seen it.
She moved closer, handing me a tissue. Her voice was gentle, almost a whisper. "Are you crying because of what I asked? It's okay. If you want to talk about it, you can. Sometimes it's easier to talk to a stranger. If it'll help you feel better, I'm here, okay?"
I looked up, and our eyes met. Her brown eyes were warm, searching, like she could see straight through me. She was studying me, the scars, the dark circles under my eyes, the pallor of my skin. I could tell she felt sorry for me, and I hated it but there was something else in her gaze, something that made my chest tighten. It was like she saw more than just the broken parts of me. She saw me.
I looked away quickly, breaking the connection before it could go any deeper. I didn't deserve her kindness. I didn't deserve any of this.
The doorbell rang, and she stood up, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I heard her talking to the delivery guy, and a few minutes later, she was back, setting a bag of food on the table.
"Come here," she said, her tone light but firm. "I ordered some food. You should eat something so I can give you painkillers later."
I hesitated, then slowly made my way to the table. She was so kind, so trusting. It didn't make sense. Why would she do this for me? Why would she let a stranger into her home, feed him, and take care of him like this? I couldn't wrap my head around it.
"How can you trust me?" I asked, the words spilling out before I could stop them.
"You don't even know me. How can you just let me into your house, feed me, and not be afraid I might be dangerous? That I might bring trouble to your door?"
She paused, her hands stilling as she unpacked the food. For a moment, she didn't say anything, and I thought maybe I'd crossed a line. But then she looked at me, her expression calm and steady.
"I won't lie to you," she said.
"I never thought I'd let a stranger stay in my house, let alone sleep under the same roof as me. But you… I don't know why, I just felt safe around you. You don't seem to be a bad person. I know it's not logical, but it's the truth. I chose to trust you. Now, come and eat before the food gets cold."
Her words left me speechless. She trusted me, a guy who'd done nothing but bring chaos into her life. I didn't know how to respond, so I sat down and started eating. The food was warm, comforting, and I realized how hungry I was. I couldn't remember the last time I'd eaten something this good.
The silence between us was heavy but not uncomfortable. She broke it after a while, her voice soft.
"By the way, my name's Elina. We didn't get to introduce ourselves last time."
I looked up, surprised. "Mine's Marco," I said, my voice rough.
"Marco," she repeated, like she was testing the sound of it. "That's a unique name. I think it means 'warlike' or something like that?"
I shrugged. "Maybe. I don't know."
She smiled, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe, there was something about her, her eyes, her smile, the way she looked at me like I was worth something. It was unsettling, but in a way I couldn't quite explain.
"So, Marco," she said, her tone cautious now.
"Can I ask you something? If you don't mind?"
I nodded, though I wasn't sure I was ready for whatever she was about to say.
"Earlier, when I asked you about your parents, you got upset. Are they… gone? I'm sorry if that's too personal. You don't have to answer if…"
"Yes," I interrupted, my voice sharper than I intended. "They're dead. Or at least, they might as well be."
The words hung in the air, heavy and final. I didn't elaborate, and she didn't push. But I could see the sadness in her eyes, the way she bit her lip like she was holding back more questions.
"I'm sorry for your loss," she said quietly. "Where do you stay now? After… everything?"
I clenched my fists under the table, trying to keep my emotions in check.
"What's the point of all these questions?" I snapped; my voice harsher than I meant it to be.
"I don't have a place to stay. I move around. But I'm still alive, and I'm doing fine on my own."
She flinched, and I immediately regretted my tone.
"I'm sorry," she said, standing up. "I didn't mean to be a burden with my questions."
She disappeared into her room, leaving me alone with my guilt. I hadn't meant to lash out at her.
She was just trying to help, and I'd thrown it back in her face. I didn't know how to fix it, so I stayed where I was, staring at the empty space where she'd been.
When she came back, she was wearing a purple hoodie and black pajama pants, her hair tied up in a messy bun. She looked different, softer, more relaxed, but still beautiful. She started cleaning up the table, and I wanted to help, but she shook her head.
"Just rest," she said. "You've been through enough tonight."
I didn't argue. I was too tired, too drained to fight her on it. When she finished, she sat down across from me, her expression serious. She looked at me for a long moment, like she was trying to figure something out. And then she said the one thing I wasn't expecting.
Elina POV
"Would you like to stay here with me?"
The words tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them.
My heart raced as soon as I said it, and I immediately regretted it. Elina, what the hell are you doing? He's going to think you're some kind of weirdo. But as I cleaned up the kitchen, my mind kept racing. What if I let him go and something happens to him? What if Izac finds him again? I couldn't live with myself if he got hurt, or worse, because I didn't do anything to help.
I took a deep breath and turned to face him. He was sitting on the couch, his expression unreadable, but I could see the surprise in his eyes and I had to explain myself before he thought I was completely insane.
"Listen, I know what I just said might sound… weird maybe even insane, but think about it logically. Your life is in danger right now. The safest place for you is here. No one knows you're staying with me, so you'll be safe. And while you're here, you can look for an online job or take some courses, something to keep you busy while you heal. Just… stay until you're better. Let me take care of you. I know I'm being so random, and I'm probably overstepping, but… just think about it. You don't have to decide right now. Sleep on it, and let me know in the morning."
I finally stopped talking, my chest heaving like I'd just run a marathon. Marco just stared at me, his face a mask of shock and confusion. I couldn't blame him. This wasn't exactly a normal offer. But I meant every word. I didn't know why I cared so much, but I did. And I wasn't going to let him walk out of here without at least trying to help.
I grabbed a blanket from the closet and handed it to him, helping him get comfortable on the couch.
"Goodnight, Marco," I said softly before retreating to my room.
I didn't sleep much that night. My mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and worries. What if he left while I was asleep? What if he thought I was crazy and never wanted to see me again? I tossed and turned, my heart aching with a strange mix of fear and hope.
When morning came, I dragged myself out of bed and opened my bedroom door, half-expecting to find the couch empty. And it was. My heart sank. He was gone. I felt a pang of disappointment, wishing I'd at least been awake to say goodbye. I sat down on the couch, staring at the neatly folded blanket, and sighed. Maybe I'd pushed too hard. Maybe I'd scared him off.
Just as I was about to give in to my regret, the doorbell rang. I jumped up, my heart racing, and ran to the door. When I opened it, Marco was standing there, a plastic bag in one hand and a hesitant expression on his face.
"Aren't you going to let me in?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "Or did you change your mind about letting me stay?"
I blinked, too stunned to speak for a moment. Then I stepped aside, gesturing for him to come in. "Oh, yeah, of course. Get in. I just… I thought you left. That's why I was surprised."
He walked past me, setting the bag on the table. "I went out to get some things," he said, his voice low. "I… thought about what you said last night. And… I'm staying. If the offer still stands."
My heart leapt in my chest, but I tried to keep my expression neutral.
"Of course it does," I said, my voice steady despite the storm of emotions inside me. "I meant what I said. You're safe here."
He nodded, his eyes meeting mine for a brief moment before he looked away. "Thank you," he said quietly.
"I… I don't know why you're doing this, but… thank you."
I smiled, though my chest felt tight. "You don't have to thank me. Just… focus on getting better, okay?"
He nodded again, and for the first time since I'd met him, I thought I saw a flicker of something in his eyes, gratitude, maybe even hope. It was enough to make my heart ache in the best possible way.
He's staying. Thank God, he's staying.
But why am I so excited about it? I barely know him.
Why do I even care this much?
I shook my head, trying to push the thoughts away, but they lingered like a song I couldn't get out of my mind.
I walked into the kitchen to find Marco already busy, pulling ingredients out of the fridge and setting them on the counter. I blinked, surprised.
"What are you doing?" I asked, leaning against the doorway.
"Making us something to eat," he said without looking up.
"Unless you're planning to starve to death."
I crossed my arms, raising an eyebrow. "My fridge isn't that bad."
He glanced at me, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You seem to barely eat, and your fridge says it all."
I sighed, my defensiveness melting away. "Well, I barely have time to cook. Living alone is harder than I expected it to be."
"Don't worry," he said, his tone softening before returning to chopping some vegetables. "I'll take care of that starting today. It's the least I can do to thank you for everything."
"No, no, you don't have to," I protested, guilt twisting in my chest. "You're not obligated to…"
"End of conversation," he interrupted, his voice firm but kind.
"As long as I'm staying here, I'll be the one cooking. Consider it my way of paying you back."
I opened my mouth to argue, but he cut me off again. "Do you even know how to cook?" I asked, half-teasing, half-serious.
He smirked, his eyes meeting mine. "Well, I think the pancakes I made last time were a pretty good example of my skills."
I couldn't help but laugh.
"Okay, fine. But don't expect me to just sit back and do nothing."
"End of conversation," he repeated, pointing toward the hallway. "Go take a shower and let me do my job."
I rolled my eyes but obeyed, mostly because I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of scolding me again. There was something oddly comforting about the way he took charge, like he genuinely cared.
I stepped into the shower, letting the hot water wash away the stress and exhaustion of the past few days. For the first time in months, I felt a sense of calm, like the weight on my shoulders had lifted just a little. When I stepped out, I changed into fresh clothes and towel-dried my hair, letting it fall in damp waves around my shoulders.
As I walked back into the kitchen, a warm, comforting smell hit me, something rich and savory that made my stomach growl. For a moment, I was transported back to my life back in Greece, to mornings when I'd wake up to the sound of my mom humming in the kitchen, my dad helping her with breakfast, their laughter filling the house. It was a feeling I hadn't realized I'd been missing so much.
Tears welled up in my eyes before I could stop them. I stood there, frozen, as memories of my parents flooded my mind. I missed them. I missed the warmth of their love, the way they made even the simplest moments feel special.
Marco turned around, his eyes widening when he saw the tears streaming down my face.
"What happened? Are you hurt?" he asked, rushing toward me.
I shook my head, wiping my cheeks with the back of my hand. "No, no, I'm fine. I just… I got some old memories back, that's all."
He hesitated, his expression softening. "Not bad ones, I hope?"
I smiled through the tears. "No, beautiful ones. Don't worry, Marco."
He nodded, studying my face for a moment before stepping aside and gesturing to the table. "Okay. Then let's eat before the food gets cold."
He led me to the table, pulling out a chair for me before sitting down across from me. The spread was simple but delicious, scrambled eggs, toast, and a bowl of fresh fruit. It wasn't anything fancy, but it felt like the most thoughtful meal I'd had in years.
"Thank you for the food, Marc," I said, my voice quiet.
"Can I call you Marc, by the way? It's easier to say."
He shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. "Call me whatever you want, Elina. I don't mind."
And just like that, the first day of my vacation after exams turned into something I hadn't expected, a quiet morning with a stranger, sharing breakfast and laughing over stupid jokes. There was something about Marco that felt familiar, like we'd known each other for years instead of days.
Maybe it was because I saw myself in him, the loneliness, the quiet strength, the way he carried his pain like it was part of him.
I didn't know why life had brought us together, but I was starting to think it wasn't an accident, and for the first time in a long time, I felt like maybe, just maybe, I wasn't as alone as I thought.