The Heiress
850 Words
The rain tasted like metal.
Liana opened her eyes to darkness, the kind that pressed against her skin and whispered she didn’t belong here. Her head pounded, her palms scraped against rough concrete. Where was this? Why couldn’t she remember?
Cars hissed past on the wet road. A city, yes—but the name of it slipped through her mind like water through her fingers. She clutched the only thing in her hand: a velvet pouch, damp with rain. Inside, a tiny silver locket glimmered. She didn’t know why, but her chest tightened when she held it close.
Her shoes were gone. Her silk blouse clung to her like a second skin, torn at the hem. She looked like…like a runaway.
“Hey, miss! You’re blocking the street!”
A voice broke through. A man in a hooded jacket stood a few feet away, holding a bicycle. He looked at her the way someone might look at a broken appliance curious, but cautious.
Liana opened her mouth. “I…I don’t know where I am.”
“Figures.” He sighed, then leaned his bike against a pole. His face came into the glow of a streetlight: sharp features, tired eyes, a man used to disappointment. “Come on, you’ll catch pneumonia sitting here.”
She hesitated. Something in his tone half annoyance, half reluctant concern made her want to follow.
He led her through narrow streets to a tiny shop squeezed between shuttered buildings. The sign above read:
JONAS REPAIRS (Anything broken, is fixable)
The warmth of the shop wrapped around her. Old clocks ticked on the wall, piles of radios, lamps, and even typewriters crowded the shelves. The air smelled of oil and metal.
Jonas tossed her a towel. “Dry up before you ruin my floor.”
Liana clutched the towel awkwardly, staring at the strange, cozy mess around her. She touched a cracked porcelain cup on the counter and whispered,
“It’s beautiful.”
He blinked. “Beautiful? That? It’s trash.”
“No,” she said softly. “It just…needs a chance to shine again.”
For the first time that night, Jonas really looked at her. Something about her eyes clear, searching, too honest for someone who claimed she had nowhere to go made his chest tighten.
Who was she?
And why did he already feel like keeping her here would break every rule he had sworn to live by
Jonas crossed his arms, watching her wander around the shop like she was in some kind of museum. He was used to people wrinkling their noses at his collection of half-dead machines. Nobody ever called them beautiful.
“You from around here?” he asked at last.
Her brows drew together. “I…don’t know.”
He frowned. “What do you mean you don’t know? Everyone knows where they’re from.”
“I can’t remember,” she whispered, clutching the towel tighter. “My head hurts. Everything’s…blank and I can't remember anything.”
Great. Just his luck. A stray cat would’ve been easier to handle.
Jonas rubbed his temple. “Look, I’m not running a shelter. If you need a hospital, I can call ”
“No!” The word burst out too sharp, too quick. She shook her head, panic flashing in her eyes.
“Please. Not the hospital, am fine. I don't need to go to a hospital.”
Jonas stared. She was trembling like a leaf. Whoever she was, she clearly didn’t want to be found.
“Fine,” he muttered grumpily. “You can stay here. One night, just one night and That’s it.”
Her lips parted in relief. “Thank you.”
He regretted it instantly.
---
The night stretched on. Jonas tried to ignore her as he tinkered with a broken radio, but it was impossible. She was everywhere picking up an old clock, running her fingers across the shelves, asking endless questions like a child seeing the world for the first time.
“What’s this?” she asked, pointing at a typewriter.
“A typewriter.”
“It’s…loud.”
“You think I don't know that? well, That’s the point.”
“And this?” She lifted a snow globe with a chipped base.
Jonas sighed. “A dust collector.”
She smiled, eyes softening as the tiny flakes swirled inside. “It’s like holding winter in your hands.”
Something in her voice unsettled him. How could someone look at junk and see poetry?
When he finally laid out a blanket in the corner of the shop, she curled up like a child, holding the silver locket against her chest. Her breathing slowed, steady and soft, until the shop felt warmer just because she was there.
Jonas leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, pretending he wasn’t staring.
She said she didn’t know where she was from. She didn’t want the hospital. She carried a locket like it was her lifeline.
Who the hell was this girl?
And why did he already know she was about to turn his carefully ordered, broken little world upside down?
- Writer
