Chapter 6
1754 Words
The Space Between Truths
Rhea wasn’t expecting another visitor that morning.
The room still smelled faintly of antiseptic and dried roses—her mother had brought some in a vase the day before, insisting that “flowers make the soul remember how to breathe.” A soft drizzle tapped against the windowpane as she stared outside, her fingers absently tracing the IV line on her wrist.
She wasn’t used to this kind of stillness. Not since… everything.
A knock on the door pulled her from her thoughts.
“Come in,” Rhea called gently, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
The door opened slowly. And there he was.
Lucian.
This time without the panic or the flashing ambulance lights. Just him—calm, composed, dressed in a deep forest-green shirt rolled to his elbows, and carrying a small paper bag with careful fingers.
“Morning,” he said, voice as smooth as ever. “I come bearing edible peace offerings.”
Rhea blinked in surprise but found herself smiling, genuinely. “Are you bribing me with food, Lucian?”
He grinned. “It’s scientifically proven that people feel better with chocolate almond croissants. I also brought pomegranate juice—less romantic, but very hydrating.”
He crossed the room, placing the bag gently on the side table before pulling up a chair.
“You didn’t have to come,” she said, though her eyes lingered on his face longer than intended.
“I wanted to. I was... nearby,” he lied smoothly.
In truth, Lucian had known exactly which floor, which room, and what time she usually had her vitals checked. His PA, Nicole, had compiled a tidy three-page summary—Rhea’s age, education, design career, social media, and even the quiet fact that she had been admitted twice before for stress-related exhaustion. He hadn’t intended to pry. He just needed to understand her world. And when Nicole mentioned something about a man named Asher showing up frequently in photos—then disappearing entirely—Lucian had quietly instructed her to dig deeper.
And that’s when the truth unfolded. The late nights. The long absences. The images of Asher in another woman’s apartment, arms far too familiar.
Lucian hadn’t told her. Not yet. The truth waited at the edge of his tongue, heavy and patient.
For now, he just looked at her. Really looked.
Rhea’s skin was paler than when he last saw her, a quiet sadness lingering around her mouth—but her eyes... they were steady. Brighter, even, despite everything.
“You alright with company?” he asked softly.
She nodded. “More than alright.”
They slipped into conversation like it was muscle memory. Lucian had that gift—he didn’t talk at you, he talked with you. Even his silences were comfortable. He could shift from thoughtful to teasing with uncanny ease.
“So,” he said, opening one of the croissants and placing it on a napkin, “am I allowed to ask the basic 'get-to-know-you' questions now, or would that be taking advantage of your temporarily low white blood cell count?”
Rhea laughed—a short, bright sound that surprised them both.
“You may proceed,” she said, mimicking a regal tone. “But only because I’m bored of ceiling tiles.”
“Excellent. First question: career. You’re a designer?”
“Graphic designer,” she confirmed, perking up slightly. “I do branding mostly. Logos, packaging, the occasional web layout. I freelance full-time.”
Lucian leaned in, genuinely interested. “That sounds like art with strategic flair. What’s your favorite project so far?”
“Hmmm.” She tucked her knees beneath the blanket. “There was this herbal tea company run by two sisters. Everything they touched was infused with warmth. I got to design the boxes like storybooks—each blend had a name like Whisper Dusk or First Rain. It felt personal.”
“You named those?”
She nodded, cheeks warming. “Words matter. Even the quiet ones.”
Lucian smiled, his thumb brushing his chin thoughtfully.
“What about you?” she asked, tilting her head slightly. “I honestly thought you were either a freelance creative… or a model who moonlights as a philosopher. You’ve got that whole ‘I-work-my-own-hours-and-still-look-this-good’ energy.”
Lucian chuckled, the sound rich and effortless. “Can’t tell if that’s a compliment or the setup for a roast.”
“Both,” she smirked. “I multitask. Let’s call it a personality quiz.”
He raised a brow. “Alright then. I run a consulting firm. It started as a tech-ops thing. Now we partner with companies for digital transitions—cybersecurity, AI integration, business scaling... It’s boring if I explain it badly.”
She blinked. “That’s... not boring. That sounds like twenty jobs in one.”
“Basically,” he said with a shrug. “My team is very good at untangling chaos.”
A beat passed. Then, gently:
“Is that what you saw in me, Mr. Problem-Solver?”
Lucian’s smile faded—softening, not vanishing.
“No,” he said. “I didn’t see chaos. I saw someone holding so much together that even her sadness looked graceful.”
Rhea turned away, her throat tightening.
“Lucian…” she said softly. “I’m not always that graceful.”
“I know,” he replied. “But that doesn’t mean you aren’t remarkable.”
For a long while, the only sound in the room was the hum of the AC and distant beeping from the hallway.
“My mom came by yesterday,” Rhea said, steering the conversation away from heavier things. “She brought homemade chicken soup and gave me a full lecture about how I’ve lost too much weight. Apparently, my face is ‘starting to look like a sharpened mango.’”
Lucian let out a laugh. “Mothers and food-based metaphors—truly undefeated.”
“She even tried to feed me spoon by spoon until a nurse walked in. I’ve never seen someone pretend to be casual so fast in my life.” Rhea chuckled, shaking her head. “I guess she thinks being here means I’m about to crumble, and soup is her way of holding the pieces together.”
Lucian softened. “Sounds like she loves you fiercely.”
“She does. In her own... intense way.”
She paused, then smiled a little brighter. “My friends came too. Shirley and Avelyn. You’d like them. They showed up with matching pajamas, gossip from five group chats, and a playlist of 2000s heartbreak anthems. Said it was part of my ‘emotional rehabilitation package.’”
Lucian raised a brow, amused. “So they’re the ride-or-die types.”
“Very much so,” Rhea nodded. “Shirley’s the firecracker—zero filter, queen of chaos, but somehow always knows exactly what to say when things fall apart. Avelyn’s more low-key on the surface, but she’ll sneak sarcasm into every sentence if you’re not paying attention. Together, they’ve seen me at my worst… and somehow still like me.”
He smiled. “That says something.”
“I don’t know what I’d do without them. They didn’t ask questions I wasn’t ready to answer. They just came, joked around, watched terrible romcoms on my laptop, and stayed until visiting hours ended. Honestly, it was the first time I forgot where I was for a while.”
Lucian nodded thoughtfully, then after a quiet beat, asked gently, “And Asher?”
Rhea’s face changed. Not dramatically—but enough. Her smile fell just slightly. Her hands fidgeted with the corner of the blanket.
“He hasn’t come today,” she said, eyes lowered. “Busy, I think.”
Lucian hid the flicker of disappointment. Busy, he wanted to scoff. Busy doing what—licking guilt off another woman’s shoulder?
Instead, he said gently, “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I mean… I get it. He has deadlines. He’s got a lot on his plate.”
Lucian said nothing. Because her words didn’t need correcting. They needed space.
After a pause, she added, “He didn’t text either.”
She tried to keep her tone light, but the hurt was visible now—in the way she bit her inner cheek, the way her shoulders curled inward.
Lucian leaned forward.
“Can I make a wildly inappropriate suggestion?”
Rhea looked up, surprised. “Please.”
“Let’s pretend—for the next fifteen minutes—that the outside world doesn’t exist. Just you, me, and these very fancy croissants.”
Her lips curved. “You’re bribing me again.”
“And it’s working,” he said smugly.
They shifted into lighter talk—music, books, childhood memories. Lucian confessed he used to sketch superheroes as a boy and genuinely believed he’d become Batman. Rhea revealed she once tried to dye her hair lavender in college but ended up looking like a grape jellybean.
“I have photos,” she threatened.
“Show me and I’ll share my emo high school poetry,” he countered.
“Tempting offer.”
By the time a nurse popped in to check her IV, Rhea was smiling fully. Her fingers were dotted with croissant crumbs. Lucian had moved his chair closer without realizing it, his knee nearly brushing hers.
For the first time in days, Rhea didn’t feel hollow.
Lucian watched her carefully as the nurse adjusted the drip. She looked... like herself again. Or at least, someone closer to it.
He wasn’t naïve. He knew the line he was walking. Knew how fragile she still was. Knew the truth he carried could break or rebuild her. But sitting here, eating almond croissants beside her hospital bed, hearing her laugh through a dry throat—
He wanted this.
Not to own her. Not even to save her.
Just... to be someone she chose when she no longer felt she had to settle for less.
As he stood to leave, Rhea surprised him by reaching for his hand.
“Thank you,” she said, not smiling this time, but serious. “I don’t know why you came. But I’m really glad you did.”
Lucian held her gaze. Let the silence speak for him.
Later, as he walked toward the elevator, her name still hung in his mind like a song after the music stopped.
Rhea.
And this time, he didn’t whisper it.
He just let it live.
- Writer
