The Real Me

Chapter 18. A Moment Of Comfort

Anastasia's Pov

“Do you know why they fought?” I asked, hoping to shatter the heavy silence that loomed over us as we wandered aimlessly.

Gilbert didn’t respond; he seemed lost in his own thoughts, his gaze fixed straight ahead.

I glanced at him, then back at the ground, feeling the weight of the moment.

Did he even realize I was walking beside him?

I stopped in my tracks, watching as he took two steps ahead before finally turning to face me, confusion etched across his features.

“What’s the problem?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as if I were the one being difficult.

I stepped closer, searching his face for answers.

He looked... unsettled, like a storm was brewing just beneath the surface. It was as if he was holding back something—a scream, a cry, something raw that he felt he had to keep hidden.

“Are you alright?” I asked, locking eyes with him.

For a brief moment, his mask slipped; a flicker of uncertainty crossed his face before he chuckled and looked away, an uneasy smile betraying him.

“Yeah, of course. Why do you ask?” he replied nonchalantly, adopting the casual demeanor he often wore, as if nothing at all was troubling him.

“Did you hear what I said before I stopped walking?” I pressed gently.

His brow furrowed, the tension in his expression revealing that he was struggling to recall the conversation.

“You were saying something?” he asked, the words tentative, as if he were piecing together a puzzle that didn’t quite fit.

“Yeah, but forget about it. You don’t seem okay to me.” I stepped closer, the sweet, intoxicating scent of his cologne enveloping me, making my heart race and my thoughts scatter.

It was as if I could almost taste the warmth of him, a desire both thrilling and absurd.

“What’s bothering you?” I asked, summoning the courage to reach for his right hand, which lingered in his pocket.

He hesitated only a moment before pulling his hand out and intertwining our fingers.

His palm was soft, and I felt a flutter of insecurity rush over me.

I tried to pull away, but he held on, his grip firm yet gentle, a silent plea not to let go.

“Don’t. I’m feeling better now,” he said, a smile breaking through the clouds of his earlier distress.

His gaze shifted from our joined hands to my face, a reassuring warmth in his eyes.

“Let’s find somewhere to sit.”

He gently tugged me along, his thumb brushing against my palm, sending tingles up my arm.

I wasn’t sure if he was trying to convey comfort or if he simply wanted to reassure me that calloused hands could still hold softness.

We settled onto a bench beside the closed bookshop, the Sunday afternoon sun casting a serene glow over the sparse crowd.

A few students wandered aimlessly, their laughter drifting through the air like distant echoes, I asked, "You weren't at church today, why?"

Gilbert's eyes sparkled with amusement. "You seem chatty today—what's changed? Where's the quiet girl I know?" He raised an eyebrow, his playful tone putting me at ease.

I smiled, shaking my head. "I guess I'm just feeling more talkative today."

He chuckled, his fingers brushing against mine as he placed my hand on his lap.

A shiver ran down my spine at the unexpected touch.

Did he even realize what he was doing?

"It's nice when you talk without needing a prompt." he said, meeting my gaze.

"I thought you'd be a good choice for quiet company today," he added with a shrug, a hint of mischief in his smile. "But it seems you want to talk."

I felt a pang, realizing his desire for quiet company was the real reason he'd sought me out.

"Sorry for being noisy," I apologized.

Gilbert's expression softened. "No, don't be. It's nice to see you chatty. You're different when you're not... guarded."

I looked away, unsure how to respond. Different?

Guarded?

What did that even mean?

"I didn't feel like going to church today," he said, pulling my attention back to him.

His tone was casual, but I sensed a deeper reason behind his words.

I wasn’t surprised; that’s what most students did. Maybe I thought he would be different.

"Fair enough. But you do know it's not good, right?" I raised an eyebrow, meeting his gaze.

He chuckled, his gaze lingering on mine, and for a moment, I thought he was going to say something. But he didn't and just looked away playing with my fingers.

"What was bothering you earlier?" I asked, not forgetting his earlier distress.

He hesitated, his eyes clouding over.

"Just some family stuff," he said finally, his voice low and rough.

I wanted to press him for more, but he seemed reluctant to share.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I asked gently.

He sighed, his shoulders drooping under the weight of unspoken worries.

“It’s my grandma,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I just found out she’s sick, and my parents won’t pick up my calls. I really want to know what’s going on, but even my grandpa is ignoring me. It feels like everyone is shutting me out, and I hate it.”

A pang of sympathy tightened in my chest as I watched him wrestle with frustration and fear.

“I’m really sorry to hear that,” I said gently.

“Maybe it’s not as serious as it seems, and they don’t want to worry you.”

Gilbert’s gaze fell, his jaw tightening with frustration. “I just wish they would talk to me, you know? It’s hard not knowing.”

I leaned forward, trying to make sense of the storm brewing inside him.

“I get that, but what would you actually do if they told you? You’re at school right now, after all.”

His reaction was immediate, eyes flashing with hurt.

“You don’t understand. You have no idea. I love my grandma, and I don’t want to lose her.” His voice trembled, and he fixed his gaze on the ground.

“Even if she has to go someday, I want to be there before she takes her last breath. She’s more of a mother to me than my own ever was.”

I nodded slowly, feeling the weight of his words settle between us.

My own experiences with family were complicated, but I knew the pain of longing.

In that moment, all I wanted was to reach out, to let him know he wasn’t alone. I took his hands in mine, hoping to offer some comfort.

“I’m sorry for judging when I really don’t know anything,” I murmured, my grip tightening slightly around his.

His fingers wrapped reassuringly around mine. "It's fine. I like that you're trying to help even when you're not obligated to."

My smile came naturally. "I'm involved the moment you told me. Your matter is my matter, since you see me as your best friend."

He pulled me closer, his arms wrapping around me in a warm hug.

My body stiffened for a moment, but as his warmth enveloped me, I relaxed into the embrace, my arms hesitantly returning the gesture.

The beat of his heart against mine was a new sensation, and I felt my pulse quicken.

As we pulled apart, I shifted back a little, smoothing my dress with a casual gesture, my eyes drifting away.

My heart still racing, I forced a smile, hoping it looked genuine.

"Bestie, thanks," he said, his voice low and sincere.

I nodded, my smile lingering.

Having a male best friend felt surreal, like a throwback to junior high. I pushed aside the worry that this friendship might end like the others.

After a moment of silence, he asked gently, "Will you tell me what made you cry the day I encouraged you to share more about yourself?"

The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken pain and questions.

I hesitated, grappling for the right words.