CHAPTER SIX: ALMOST
743 Words
Rain had started again, soft and steady, tapping against the window and dripping from the edges of the building. Ava hesitated in the hallway, keys clutched like armor, pretending she had somewhere urgent to be. She didn’t. She just… didn’t want to go back to her apartment yet, didn’t want the quiet to settle over her the way it always did.
The warm light spilling from Elias’s apartment caught her attention. His door was open, a small invitation she wasn’t sure she’d earned. Inside, he leaned casually against the doorframe, a mug in hand, bare feet against the hardwood. Even in this ordinary, unguarded moment, he looked… perfect
“Hey,” she said, voice softer than she expected.
“Hey,” he replied. His smile was small but honest, the kind that made her chest tighten. “Didn’t expect you out here.”
She shrugged, trying not to notice the way his presence made the hallway feel smaller, warmer. “I didn’t either.”
A pause stretched between them, long enough for her thoughts to stumble over themselves. She wanted to leave. She wanted to pretend she didn’t notice the slight curve of his mouth when he smiled, the way his hair fell lazily over his forehead, the subtle scent of coffee and rain that clung to him.
“Coffee?” he asked, tilting the mug toward her.
She shook her head. “Too late.”
“You sure?” He raised an eyebrow, like he found the refusal cute instead of awkward. “It’s not bad at this hour.”
She wanted to say yes. She wanted to step closer, just a little, just to see what would happen. But she stayed put, keys clutched like weapons.
He smiled again, quieter this time, thoughtful. “You don’t have to answer right away, you know.”
She did anyway. “I know.”
Silence fell. Not uncomfortable, but heavy, thick. She could feel her pulse in her ears. Every little sound—the rain, the faint creak of the building settling, his shifting stance—was amplified.
“You know,” he said after a moment, voice softer, careful, “we don’t have to rush everything.”
Her chest tightened. She wanted to say something clever, something protective of the walls she’d built so carefully. But her mouth refused. Instead, she simply nodded.
The hallway felt impossibly narrow. Every small movement between them felt magnified. His eyes lingered on her, and for a moment she imagined what it would feel like if she stepped closer. If she let herself. Her hands itched to move, but she didn’t. She was too aware of every heartbeat, every little space between them.
“I think,” she said quietly, “we’re both just trying to breathe.”
He looked at her, really looked, and for a second the world outside didn’t exist. The rain wasn’t falling. The apartment building didn’t hum. Just him, just her, just that fragile understanding forming between them.
“Yeah,” he said, nodding slowly. “We’re both tired of hiding.”
She swallowed. It was true, and she hated how much she felt it. Being near him made her want things she hadn’t allowed herself to want in months—warmth, closeness, trust. Dangerous things.
“Maybe,” she added, almost to herself, “we’re more alike than I thought.”
“Maybe,” he echoed. His voice held something quieter now, something hesitant, something human. Vulnerable.
The air shifted again, small movements suddenly amplified—the tilt of his head, the faint warmth radiating from his side, the closeness that made her stomach flutter. It wasn’t a kiss. It wasn’t a confession. It wasn’t a promise. But it was enough to make her heart race, make her hands clammy, make her quiet apartment feel unbearably lonely the moment she stepped back.
“I should… go,” she said finally, words clumsy, tone too loud for the quiet hallway.
“Yeah,” he said softly, taking a half-step back. “I should too.”
At the door, he paused. Looked at her, as if he wanted to say more. She wanted him to. She wanted to step forward. But neither of them did.
As she closed her door behind her, she leaned against it, catching her breath. Her chest still raced. The hallway was quiet again, but the space next door wasn’t. Not anymore.
Almost had happened.
And that was enough.
- Writer
