Chapter 10
1042 Words
Snow had deepened while they were inside the bookstore.
Not dramatically — just enough to soften the edges of the city. The pavement no longer looked walked on. Street sounds dulled into something almost private.
The cold met them like an honest thing.
Lia inhaled and immediately winced.
“Okay… that is offensive. Air should not be allowed to enter lungs this aggressively.”
Julian almost smiled.
Lia looked down at the parcel.
“No one’s bought me a book before,” she said.
It was not flirtation.
Not gratitude performed.
Just a fact, spoken almost with curiosity.
Julian surprised himself by answering honestly.
“It suits you.”
She glanced sideways. “What does?”
“Being someone worth buying books for.”
The air shifted.
Not dramatically. Just enough.
She studied him then, longer than she had allowed herself to before.
Something softened in her expression… and quickly hid again.
They began walking without choosing a direction.
After a block, Lia spoke.
“Why are you being kind to me?”
Not suspicious.
Not defensive.
Just genuinely puzzled.
Julian considered the safest answers.
Politeness. Timing. Circumstance.
Instead, he heard himself say
““You looked like you could use a good morning.”
She held his gaze a second longer than usual.
Then nodded. Once...like someone accepting terms they wouldn’t examine too closely.
Snow threaded itself through her hair again, resting lightly along the dark strands. He noticed before he meant to.
His hand lifted. Without thinking. Truly without thinking.
Brushed it away.
Efficient. Unceremonious.
Intimate.
Lia stilled. Not startled, just... aware.
The way a person becomes aware of their own breathing.
Julian withdrew his hand as if the gesture had belonged to someone else.
“You were collecting weather,” he said.
A pause.
Then she huffed softly. “Thank you. First time anyone has ever de-snowed me. Feels significant.”
“Doesn't seem very significant.”
They walked.
Not toward anywhere they had agreed upon. And yet both already knew where their steps were leading.
To the hotel.
There is a peculiar comfort in returning somewhere temporary. As though the world has been reduced to a manageable size.
For a while, only the sound of their boots answered the night.
Crush.
Crush.
Crush.
Lia glanced sideways.
“You always rescue strangers stranded on trains?”
“Only the ones who look like they might argue with railway staff.”
“I would have won that argument.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
She smiled to herself, then tilted her face upward, letting a snowflake dissolve against her cheek.
“My dad loved this kind of weather,” she said.
No warning. Just placed gently between them.
Julian did not look at her immediately. People speak more freely when not examined.
“He said snow forces the world to pause… long enough for people to notice what they’ve been avoiding.” she gently added.
Julian considered that.
“Was he right?”
She exhaled.
“Annoyingly.”
Three more steps passed before she added, quieter:
“I avoid a lot.”
“Most people do,” Julian said.
No rehearsed sympathy. Just recognition.
The hotel appeared ahead. Golden light pooling outward onto the snow like spilled honey.
Lia’s shoulders dropped a fraction.
“That building,” she said, “has never looked more beautiful.”
Inside, warmth folded around them instantly. A low murmur of conversation drifted from the lounge. Someone laughed near the bar. The faint scent of polished wood lingered in the air.
It felt livelier than the night before.
The receptionist glanced up and nodded. The subtle acknowledgment reserved for guests who were no longer new.
The elevator arrived with a soft chime.
They stepped inside.
Mirrored walls.
Close quarters.
Not uncomfortable… just newly noticeable.
Lia watched the floor numbers climb, then caught his reflection looking elsewhere with deliberate neutrality.
Interesting man, Julian Hale.
Their floor.
The hallway carpet muted their approach until it felt almost like floating.
Then came their doors.
Side by side.
Proximity has a way of announcing itself without sound.
Lia turned her keycard over in her fingers but didn’t swipe it yet.
“Neighbor,” she said.
The word held a quiet amusement, but something steadier beneath it now.
Julian inclined his head slightly.
“Aliyah.”
She noticed he used her full name.
Remembered it.
Something about that warmed her more than the lobby ever could.
“I don’t hate that the train delayed,” she admitted.
The confession was small enough to survive being spoken aloud.
Julian paused just long enough for the truth to settle before answering.
“Nor do I.”
Silence followed. But not the empty kind.
The kind that lingers because neither person feels the need to rush away from it.
She shifted the book he’d bought her higher against her chest.
“You didn’t have to do all this today,” she said.
“I know.”
No elaboration.
Which somehow made it land deeper.
She studied him for a brief second. Like she was trying to memorize something she didn’t yet understand.
“Goodnight, Julian.”
“Goodnight, Lia.”
She opened her door.
Paused.
Then looked back once more.
“Try not to de-snow anyone else. I’d hate to lose my title.”
“I make no promises.”
A ghost of laughter followed her inside.
The door clicked shut.
Julian remained where he was.
One second.
Two.
From the other side came the faint thud of a bag touching the floor… the rustle of movement… proof of life continuing just beyond the wall.
He entered his own room at last.
Set his gloves down with practiced precision.
Removed his coat.
Yet the quiet did not feel the same as it had the night before.
Not emptier.
Not fuller.
Just… altered.
As if the space beside his had acquired gravity.
Next door, Lia leaned back against her closed door and released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
What a day.
What a completely improbable, train-delayed, snow-covered day.
She glanced at the book.
Ran her fingers across its spine.
Then, without quite knowing why, she found herself listening.
There was nothing to hear.
And still…
She slept easier than expected.
- Writer
