Chapter Nine
1043 Words
The days that followed their dinner were surprisingly calm. Anika found herself thinking less about who Atlas was in the media and more about who he was when it was just the two of them—when it was just texts that turned into late-night phone calls, and when his voice became a comfort she didn’t know she needed.
Things weren’t magically perfect between them. The hesitation still lingered—Anika was cautious. But there was a change in her heart. It was slower now, steadier. She wasn’t running anymore. And neither was Atlas.
He didn’t push. He didn’t overwhelm her with gifts or gestures she’d be uncomfortable accepting. Instead, he gave her space—calling to check in after her internship hours, sending her articles about things they’d spoken about, sharing music he liked, and sometimes just staying silent on the phone with her as she worked on her tasks.
It was, in its own way, incredibly intimate.
One evening, Anika was walking back to her apartment after a long day at work when she noticed a familiar car parked across the street. She paused for a moment, her heart skipping—half hoping, half unsure.
The door opened, and Atlas stepped out, dressed simply in a grey shirt and jeans. He looked nothing like the man on magazine covers. No expensive suits, no air of prestige. Just a guy who looked tired and maybe a little nervous.
“I was in the area,” he said when she approached, voice quiet. “Didn’t want to surprise you at your door.”
Anika blinked. “You waited outside instead of texting?”
He gave a small shrug. “Didn’t want you to feel like you had to say yes to seeing me.”
Her lips curled up. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And yet here you are,” he teased.
She rolled her eyes and gestured toward the small café near the building. “You hungry?”
He smiled. “Always.”
They walked together without touching, without speaking much—comfortable in the silence. It surprised Anika how easy it felt now. She wasn’t overthinking every word. She wasn’t trying to impress him. He had already seen her at her most confused, her most guarded. And still, he was here.
Over cups of tea and warm meat pies, they talked. Not about wealth or family or the media, but about small things. Atlas told her he used to write short stories as a teenager but never let anyone read them. Anika laughed when he admitted he once auditioned for a school play and froze on stage.
“Let me guess,” she said. “You were supposed to play the prince?”
“I was supposed to play the horse,” he replied, deadpan.
She nearly choked on her tea.
The laughter between them was real, effortless. And as they walked back to her apartment, Anika felt a calm in her chest she hadn’t felt in weeks.
They stopped outside her door. The night breeze was soft against her skin, and for a moment, neither of them moved.
“I like this,” Anika said quietly. “Talking. Laughing. You being... this version of you.”
Atlas looked down at her, his expression warm. “This is the only version of me I want you to know.”
Anika bit her lip, heart thudding. She wasn’t sure what came next, but she didn’t feel the panic she used to. Instead, she reached out and gently touched his hand.
“I don’t want to rush anything,” she whispered.
He nodded, lacing their fingers together. “Then we won’t. We’ll go at your pace.”
And just like that, something shifted again—not with drama or declarations, but with quiet understanding. With softness.
---
The next week, their lives continued on two separate paths that now gently intertwined. Atlas was still busy—sometimes unreachable for hours. And Anika was still unsure if she truly fit into his world. But slowly, she began to let her walls down.
One evening, as she sat in her room finishing a journal entry, her phone buzzed.
Atlas:
"I miss you today. Not in the desperate, dramatic way. Just... your voice. Your thoughts. You."
"Are you free to talk?"
She smiled before she could stop herself. Dialed his number. He answered on the first ring.
“Hey,” she said, a little shy.
“Hi,” he breathed. “Rough day. Just needed to hear something real.”
“You sure I’m real?” she teased.
“You’re the most real thing in my life right now,” he said softly.
Anika didn’t know what to say to that. So instead, she told him about the funny thing her coworker did at lunch, and how she nearly sent a document to the wrong department. He chuckled in all the right places, and she could almost see him leaning back in some office chair, listening with his eyes closed.
When they hung up that night, Anika stared at the ceiling and realized—she didn’t feel afraid anymore. She didn’t feel like she was being dragged into something too big. She was simply walking, step by step, toward something that felt good.
Toward someone who felt good.
---
Later that week…
Anika arrived at her internship office early to find a small brown envelope on her desk. There was no note—just her name written in neat, familiar handwriting.
She opened it, curious.
Inside was a printed newspaper clipping from five years ago. It was an article about a tech startup that had just launched its first product. A company Atlas had once casually mentioned founding in college.
At the bottom of the page, in his handwriting again, was a small message:
“I thought I built something amazing then. Turns out, I was just getting started.
Thank you for seeing me outside the headlines.
– A”
Anika held the paper to her chest, eyes misting over. This—this vulnerability, this intention—was worth more than any grand gesture.
She didn’t know exactly where this story with Atlas would go. But she knew one thing:
She wasn’t afraid of finding out.
- Writer
