CHAPTER 2 — THE DISTANCE BETWEEN
1161 Words
I barely remember how I finished the rest of my shift.
I kept shelving books. Returning borrowed ones. Sorting catalog cards. Smiling at students who passed the counter. My hands moved the way they always did, like muscle memory was steering them, but my head… my head was somewhere else entirely.
Or rather—on someone else.
Ares.
His return clung to me like warmth that wouldn’t fade. His voice still lingered, low and steady, echoing in the back of my mind:
“I didn’t come back to be a memory.”
“I came back to stay.”
“Don’t make me chase you.”
Every time I tried to exhale, something in me tightened again.
I tried to pretend nothing had changed—but something in the space between my ribs had already shifted. Quietly. Permanently.
By the time my shift ended, the sun had dipped low, turning the sky into soft colors—peach mixing with faint purple, like the evening hadn’t decided if it wanted to fall or stay.
I slung my bag over my shoulder, locked the cabinet, and walked outside.
And stopped.
He was there.
Sitting on the wooden bench near the library gate, elbows resting on his knees, head slightly bowed—not looking around, not impatient, just waiting in a way that felt strangely inevitable. Like he didn’t come to find me.
Like he already knew I would walk out exactly here, at exactly this moment.
The second I stepped outside, he lifted his head.
And our eyes found each other—instantly.
That familiar pressure bloomed in my chest, warm and sharp and frightening all at once.
Ares stood slowly—not rushed, not urgent, just… intentional.
“Zaira.”
My name sounded different when he said it. Softer. Like a memory.
I swallowed. “Ares.”
He walked toward me at an unhurried pace, careful—as if he was trying not to scare a bird that could fly at the slightest noise.
“You’re heading home,” he said, voice quiet, certain.
I nodded. “Yeah.”
“Let me walk with you.”
The request was gentle. Not demanding. Not assuming. Just offered.
“I’m fine,” I said.
“I know.” His eyes softened a little. “I just want to walk with you.”
There was no pressure in his voice.
And somehow, that made it harder to say no.
I gave a small breath. “Okay.”
He didn’t smile—not fully. But something eased in his expression, like a weight he had been carrying loosened just a little.
We started walking.
Side by side.
Not touching. Not speaking.
Just… existing in the same space again.
And it was enough to make the world feel smaller.
Whenever someone passed too close, Ares shifted subtly, placing himself between me and them. Not possessive. Not dramatic. Just natural. Like he had always done.
Like breathing.
My chest tightened—not with fear.
With familiarity.
After a while, I asked quietly, “I thought you were abroad.”
“I was.”
“For five years,” I said, though it came out closer to an accusation than I meant.
He nodded once. “Yes.”
The silence stretched—not uncomfortable, just heavy.
“So why now?” I finally asked.
This time, he looked at me.
Not guarded. Not distant. Real.
“Because I could finally come back,” he said. “And the first place I went was your house.”
My steps faltered.
“You weren’t there,” he continued. “So I checked the places you always liked to go. The old gym. The convenience store where you bought iced coffee after late classes. The footbridge near the church.”
My breath caught.
He remembered everything.
“And then,” his voice softened, almost like a confession, “I went to the university. I waited. I didn’t know if I’d actually see you.”
He looked ahead again, eyes steady.
“But then you walked out of the library.”
A beat.
“And you looked exactly the same.”
The wind stirred my hair. Something inside my chest trembled.
“What do you mean exactly the same?” I asked, barely above a whisper.
His eyes dropped—just briefly—to my lips.
“Like someone I would recognize even with my eyes closed.”
My heart stumbled.
I didn’t know what to say.
So neither of us spoke.
His hand brushed against mine—not grabbing, not assuming—just resting near enough that I could choose.
My fingers moved before I could think.
Our hands laced together.
Not claimed.
Not forced.
Just held.
And the world felt painfully, achingly familiar again.
We didn’t speak as we reached the jeepney terminal. Lights glowed overhead. The chatter of students surrounded us, but somehow none of it touched us.
Ares didn’t let go.
If anything, he held my hand just a little tighter.
“Same route home?” he asked softly.
I nodded.
“Then I’ll ride with you.”
“Ares, you don’t have to—”
“I know,” he said. “I want to.”
So we rode together.
The metal of the jeep was warm from the sun. City air rushed past. I tried to focus on the movement of the road, the street lights beginning to flicker awake.
“You haven’t eaten,” he murmured.
I turned my head slowly toward him. “How can you tell?”
“You get quiet when you’re hungry,” he said gently. “Not annoyed. Just… quiet in a way only someone who knows you would notice.”
Something in me caved.
“Ares…”
He met my eyes—steady, warm, patient.
“You don’t need to figure anything out right now,” he said quietly. “You don’t need to choose anything today.”
His thumb brushed the back of my hand—soft, careful.
“Just don’t shut me out.”
The jeep slowed. My stop.
He walked me to my gate. Not close enough to make me step back. Just close enough to make me feel… not alone.
“Text me when you get inside,” he murmured.
“I… I don’t have your number anymore.”
He held out his hand—not taking my phone—asking.
I gave it to him.
He typed quickly and returned it.
Ares — Don’t disappear again.
I almost laughed. Almost cried. I couldn’t tell which.
I looked up at him.
He stepped closer—slowly—and leaned his forehead against mine.
Not a kiss.
Not a claim.
Just warmth.
Just presence.
Just him.
“Goodnight, Zaira,” he whispered.
“Goodnight,” I breathed.
He walked away, hands in his pockets.
He didn’t look back.
But he didn’t have to.
Because my heart was still facing him.
Long after he had already gone.
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- Writer
