Chapter 10
1845 Words
Aria
By the time my shift ended, I was sore in places I didn't even know could ache. My back, my calves, even the tips of my fingers from sorting supplies and jotting endless notes.
I'd just changed out of my scrubs and slung my bag over my shoulder when I passed Mona's office.
Laughter spilled through the half-open door—loud, hearty, and familiar.
I paused, instincts prickling. Through the gap, I saw Mona standing way too close to Ethan, all teeth and perfect posture, her smile beaming. Her hand brushed his arm as she laughed again at whatever joke he hadn't even finished telling.
Well... there it was. Confirmation.
My heart didn't drop exactly—but something in my chest twisted, like it wasn't sure whether to ache or harden.
Then Ethan looked up, his eyes catching mine through the doorway.
"Hey," he said, stepping away from Mona. "You ready to go eat?"
I hesitated, caught between Mona's smug expression and Ethan's casual invitation.
"Uh..." I glanced at Mona again. Her smile dimmed as her gaze landed on me.
But Ethan didn't seem to notice—or didn't care. He stepped into the hallway, completely unfazed, and gave me a lazy grin of his. "Come on."
I followed him out without a word. Once we were outside, I exhaled the breath I'd been holding. "don't bring her along."
"Mona?"
"Yes," I said, pulling my jacket tighter. "She's already pissed half the time.”
"What's wrong?" Ethan frowned, his hand resting on my shoulder. "Did anything happen between you two?"
"No." I put on a ridiculous expression, feigning nonchalance. "I'm off duty and don't want to get too close to my coworkers."
"Okay." I wasn't sure if Ethan had noticed anything, but he just smiled. "Relax, I was just chatting for a while, routine patrol, nothing more."
"Oh, yeah, I forgot you're in charge here." I shrugged, not wanting to continue the conversation. "Now, what? You came to see me because you have something going on, right?"
He smiled, said nothing, and led me to his motorcycle. "Come on, you'll see."
I narrowed my eyes. "You're being secretive."
"And you're being nosy," he teased, revving the engine.
My thoughts stayed on his words—and that look Mona had given me. Whatever this business was, something was up.
The ride was quiet. We stopped outside a small corner store, and he cut the engine.
"Wait here," he said, hopping off without giving me a chance to respond.
I watched him stride inside through the dusty glass windows, his figure moving easily between shelves. It wasn't until I saw him hand a wad of cash to the cashier and collect a paper bag of packed food that it hit me.
By the time he returned, he handed me the bag I arched a brow. "You could've said we were getting food."
He smiled, boyish and unbothered. "I did mention it."
I rolled my eyes. "Right. Must've been too distracted."
"Thinking about me huh?"
"Just wasn't paying attention," I muttered avoiding his gaze not wanting to get immersed in his flirts.
Ten minutes later, we pulled up in front of my apartment. I got off first, holding the warm paper bag. "Thanks," I said gesturing to the paper bag. "For this."
He swung his leg off and leaned against the bike. "You gonna invite me in or eat that alone?"
My eyes darted around. "I didn't know this was... a shared dinner."
"Figured I'd walk you in. Eat. Then help you move." He tilted his head. "That wasn't clear?"
"You're still helping me move?"
"I would."
A wave of something warm washed over me. I hated this feeling. Grateful. Cared for. Like someone was actually trying to do right by me without expecting anything in return.
"You've done enough already," I said, softer now. "You don't have to keep doing all this."
He shrugged. "I made the calls. Found the place. I'm not stopping halfway just because you suddenly feel shy."
"I don't feel shy," I huffed, crossing my arms.
He smirked, stepping closer. "Then stop being hard to get."
I opened my mouth, then closed it again. Because what could I say? That I wasn't used to people like him? That men helping me always came with a catch?
He backed up, hands in his pockets. "Anyway, I don't have all night. Let's go eat. Then I'll grab the rest of your stuff."
I exhaled, defeated, but oddly... at ease.
"Fine," I muttered. "But I'm not sharing the last dumpling."
"Deal," he said, grinning. "I already ate one while you were sulking on the ride."
I gasped. "You did not."
"Let's go." He said with a wink walking past me inside.
I sat on one of the couch, a paper food tray balanced on my lap. Ethan lounged at the other end. His sleeves were rolled up, and a few veins peeked along his forearm where the wound used to be. The guy healed fast.
We ate in comfortable silence, the kind that didn't demand attention—just presence. Still, my eyes drifted toward him.
His profile was sharp, like it had been sketched with purpose. Strong jawline, a slight crease between his brows when he chewed. There was something oddly grounding about eating beside someone who didn't try to fill every quiet second with talk.
But my mind wandered, back to the conversation with Mona earlier in the morning.
"You grew up in an orphanage?" I found myself asking.
He glanced at me chewing. After a moment, he swallowed. "Yeah. St. Augustine."
"It's a good place," I said softly, tracing my thumb along the edge of the paper tray.
Ethan gave a half-smile, one that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Yeah. For some of us, it was the only place."
I looked over at him. His expression was neutral, but calm. "When I was volunteering at the shelter, I used to wonder what it was like growing up in a place like that."
He shrugged, shifting slightly on the couch. "It depended on the day. Some days felt like a family. Some days felt like prison."
I gave a faint smile and nodded. "Yeah. I get that."
My childhood hadn't been in an orphanage, but sometimes I wondered if it would've made a difference. What if I had grown up there too.
A question itched at the back of my throat—about his parents, where they were, what happened. But I swallowed it before it could escape. I didn't talk about mine, either. That silence... I could respect it.
So instead, I looked at him again and asked gently, "So that was how you knew Mona?"
"Yeah. We were kids. Got in trouble together. Scraped knees together... survived together."
I only nodded twirling the noodle with my fork and stared at the little sauce stain on the edge of the tray.
Then his voice broke through again. "Mona is a very good friend of mine."
I looked at him. Oh right. There it goes.
The official label. Neatly wrapped. Non-negotiable. I wasn't even sure why it made my stomach tighten.
"So what did you look like back then?" I asked, trying to lighten the mood—maybe even distract myself from how his voice softened.
He stilled. Just a little. Like the question had reached somewhere deeper than I meant it to.
"Scrawny," he said finally. "Dirty. Always bruised. I used to pick fights with the older boys, even when I knew I'd lose."
I tilted my head, a faint smile tugging at the corners of my lips. "That... sounds familiar."
His eyes flicked to mine. "You really don't remember, do you?"
My smile faded. "Remember what?"
"The boy you took care of back then," he said quietly. "Seven years ago. During your volunteer work."
My brows pulled together. "Seriously?"
He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. There was something almost nostalgic in the way he looked at the floor, like he was watching a memory play out in front of him.
"There was a boy you found... bruised, covered in blood. And this girl with this fierce look in her eyes just—appeared. Cleaned me up. Didn't ask any questions. Didn't care where I'd been or what I'd done."
My heart thudded.
"For three days, she stayed around. Brought me water. Changed my bandages. And then, just like that..." he held my gaze. "She was gone."
My fingers tightened around the paper tray on my lap. I stared at him—really stared—and my brain raced, flipping through old memories I hadn't touched in years. And then... I saw it. A younger version of him, blood trickling from his mouth and bruises everywhere.
"Oh my God..." I whispered. "You were that boy."
He nodded.
"You've known this whole time?" I asked, trying to piece together how I'd missed it. "That's why you helped me... the apartment, the clinic... everything?"
He didn't deny it.
I looked down at my hands.For some reason, warmth bloomed quietly in my chest. The mood wasn't heavy anymore—it felt lighter, warmer... strangely comforting. Ethan told me about sneaking out after lights-out, getting caught and punished, how Mona once broke her arm trying to scale a fence behind the chapel.
I laughed more than I thought I would.
"You were a menace,"
"I still remember the way you scolded the nurse for ignoring me. You were like—what—eighteen?"
"Seventeen," I corrected. "And I had a sharp tongue."
"You still do," he teased.
Eventually, I noticed the clock and stood, grabbing the crumpled paper bag. "Okay, we should clean this up before it starts smelling like soy sauce and regret in here."
I set the bag on the counter and turned, only to find him right there. Close. His presence felt... heavier now. Not in a bad way—just in a way that made it suddenly very hard to think straight.
"I'm sorry," I said quietly, looking up into his face. "For not recognizing you."
"You don't have to apologize," he murmured.
Still, I did. I felt like I owed it to him.
"I should've remembered you. That day stuck with me for a long time, and I still managed to forget the face of the boy I bandaged."
"You didn't forget," he said, voice almost a whisper. "You just didn't know you were looking at him again."
He leaned a little closer, hand brushing the counter next to mine. I found myself doing the same. I could feel his warmth. His eyes flicked to my lips and back again.
My breath hitched. I had just braced myself when a loud, drawn-out meow shattered the moment.
Both our heads snapped toward the kitchen window, where a cat was sitting like some ancient, judgmental guardian of good decisions.
"I should... check something," I mumbled quickly, skirting around him before I did something that will put me in an awkward state.
I walked out of the kitchen, heart pounding. Stupid cat.
- Writer
