Make My Heart Believe a Lie

Chapter 20

✨Unsteady Calm.✨

Nasir Pov

Nasir stood just beyond the streetlamp, watching Flora disappear into the boardinghouse. The amber glow caught her hair, highlighting the delicate sweep of her cheek against the night. He didn’t move immediately. The moment was fleeting, but it lodged in his chest like a weight he hadn’t expected to feel.

He hated feeling things.

He hated admitting them.

And yet, there was something about the quiet girl, the one who trembled under the weight of imagined threats and yet moved forward anyway, that unsettled him entirely.

Her fear had been palpable tonight. Not just the shadow following her—he could handle shadows—but the way she carried anxiety like a second skin. The way her small hands clutched at the straps of her bag, the way her breaths hitched when the corner of the street appeared too dark, too sharp, too alive.

He had seen people afraid before. Many. Fear was a language he understood, a tool he could manipulate. But Flora… she spoke it differently. Vulnerable, yes. Terrified, certainly.

But not weak. She moved despite it.

He exhaled, long and controlled. That had been the turning point. Her panic had flared, high and bright, but when he had kissed her forehead, when he had anchored her in his arms, he had felt something shift—not in her, but in himself.

He had never wanted to be the kind of man who could make someone feel safe simply by existing. And yet…

He found himself thinking about it again, even now. Alone. In the night.

The boardinghouse’s shadows receded into the distance, and Nasir’s mind replayed the scene. Every detail: the tremble of her lips, the wild rise and fall of her chest, the faint scent of her hair that lingered when he brushed it from her face. Small, almost insignificant things. Yet each etched itself into him.

He remembered the way she had laughed when he teased her about being “strategically vigilant.” Her laugh wasn’t loud. It wasn’t theatrical. It was small, fragile, and it struck him like sunlight through a narrow window.

A part of him—the part he normally kept buried—wanted to hear it again. Not because it amused him. Not even because it had softened the tension. But because it belonged to her.

He walked slowly down the street, keeping a safe distance from the boardinghouse. He didn’t want to intrude. Not yet. Not until he understood whatever it was that had startled him.

Nasir hated surprises. Yet here she was—entirely unexpected. Plain. Anxious. Fragile and defiant at the same time. She had no place in his world, and that only made her presence more disruptive.

The thought made him tighten his jaw.

By the time he returned to his apartment, the city felt different. Empty streets stretched beneath flickering lamps. Cars passed silently, but they felt intrusive, too loud, too bright, too alive. He poured himself a drink—not to drown thought, but to steady it.

His mind didn’t quiet.

Flora. Her small hands clutching the bag. Her uneven breathing. Her head tilting when she first noticed the shadow. Her laugh when she called him ridiculous.

A dangerous smirk tugged at his lips. She had undone him without even trying.

The next morning, at his office, he was acutely aware of every detail: the hum of the air conditioning, the clatter of typing from assistants, the faint scent of coffee from the break room. Every surface, every sound, seemed to press him to focus, and yet all he could think of was how he would check that she was safe tonight.

It was absurd. Ridiculous. And entirely new.

He had always been careful. Measured. He did not care for distraction. He did not allow it. And yet, the memory of her trembling body against his arms, the tremor in her voice when she admitted she was terrified, lingered.

He imagined it at the oddest times: when he signed a contract, when he instructed a subordinate, when he stepped into a boardroom. She intruded on his mind like a shadow that belonged there.

He found himself plotting small gestures.

Subtle. Safe. Invisible. Things that might anchor her to a feeling of calm without drawing attention, without creating dependence.

A quiet smile when they meet at the café.

A steady hand to guide her across the street.

The softest touch to her shoulder if she flinched.

A careful word of reassurance, always measured, never overbearing.

All tiny. All deliberate. All dangerous.

He caught himself considering things he never allowed himself to consider:

Would she notice if he waited outside her boardinghouse? Would she recognize the way he could see her without her knowing? Would she trust him enough to allow him closer than the shadows allowed?

He didn’t know the answers. And that uncertainty thrilled and terrified him equally.

By mid-morning, he had completed half his work with unusual speed. Every spreadsheet, every contract, every report seemed secondary. He excused himself under the pretense of reviewing accounts, but in reality, he wandered his office, replaying their conversation in fragments.

The way she had asked if he was always calm.

The way she had admitted, almost shyly, that she was starting to understand what normal felt like.

The way her eyes had fluttered when he had held her steady.

A part of him—the part he rarely allowed—wished he could repeat the night in slow motion. Not to change her reaction, not to manipulate the outcome, but to memorize it.

At lunch, he left the office under the guise of a meeting. Instead, he walked the quiet streets of the town, careful to remain unseen. He wanted to see the street she would take if she wandered again, to map the shadows, to know the spaces where fear could creep in.

He didn’t want to startle her. He didn’t want to impose. He just… wanted to be close enough that if danger appeared again, he could be there before it touched her.

The thought both frustrated and fascinated him. He had never felt protective like this. Not for anyone. Not for business. Not for family. Certainly not for someone entirely… human.

By late afternoon, Nasir returned to his office, pulling himself together enough to meet with Rafe. His friend noticed immediately that he was distracted, but didn’t press.

Instead, Rafe leaned back, grinning. “Still thinking about the girl?”

Nasir’s jaw tightened. “She’s not a business problem.”

“No,” Rafe said, “she’s… something else entirely. And you don’t do something else entirely.”

Nasir’s gaze drifted to the window, the city buzzing quietly beyond. “I make sure she’s safe,” he said carefully. “That’s all.”

Rafe raised an eyebrow. “Sure. That’s all.”

Nasir didn’t answer. Not yet. He wasn’t ready to admit that she had touched something inside him he didn’t know existed. That he thought about small gestures: opening a door for her, holding her hand in passing, standing silently outside to watch her move through the streets safely.

And the truth that scared him most of all: he wanted her to notice. He wanted her to trust him. He wanted her to need him, even a little.

By evening, when he left the office, Nasir found himself driving toward the boardinghouse again—not to intrude, not to alarm, but to remain near the invisible thread that connected him to her safety.

He paused just beyond the streetlamp, the amber glow painting the cobbles. The same one from last night. And though she was not there yet, he imagined her walking the streets, small and fragile, yet brave.

He allowed himself a small, nearly imperceptible smile.

Tomorrow, perhaps, I’ll let her see how steady I can be.

Nasir stood just beyond the glow of the boardinghouse streetlamp, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat. The city had quieted in the early evening, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t leave. Not yet. Not while she moved inside, vulnerable, unaware of the lingering shadows outside.

He hated admitting it—hated letting someone else’s presence tether him so completely. Yet tonight, she had undone every rule he followed: stay calm, stay distant, stay detached. And now, watching her through the faint glow of the window, he realized he didn’t want to detach.

He could almost see her, small and pale, moving cautiously around her room. Every nervous gesture—the way she tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, the way her fingers lingered on the edge of her bag, even though it lay discarded on the floor—made his chest tighten.

She was fragile. Fearful. Yet fiercely alive in the ways that mattered.

And he wanted to protect that.

He stepped softly toward the entrance, not to intrude but to remain nearby. The cool night air brushed against his face, carrying the faint smells of the town—baked bread from the café that stayed open late, wet stone from a recent drizzle, smoke from chimneys rising thin and gray.

When she finally opened the door, perhaps seeking the quiet night or an excuse to move, she startled slightly to see him.

“Nasir,” she whispered, eyes wide.

He smiled faintly, tilting his head. “I didn’t come to scare you.”

She laughed, nervously, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “I—well… you sort of did.”

“Strategically,” he said, eyes twinkling just slightly. “So you’d notice I was here.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Notice you? Or annoy me?”

“A little of both,” he admitted. “But mostly notice.”

Her laugh softened the tension in his shoulders. He felt it in his chest—the faint, steady pull that had begun yesterday—and he wanted to tease her, to keep the night light despite the unease lingering in the streets.

“You really shouldn’t linger outside my boardinghouse,” she said, trying to sound firm.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied smoothly, stepping closer. “I’m simply… observing the perimeter. Strategically, of course.”

“You’re ridiculous,” she said, though the corners of her mouth betrayed a smile.

“Not ridiculous,” he corrected. “Effective. And caring.”

She shook her head, amused, but something in her eyes flickered—hesitation, curiosity, maybe a trace of comfort.

They walked together down the quiet streets, her steps hesitant, his deliberate. The streetlights painted long, wavering shadows on the cobblestones, making every corner seem alive. He stayed just ahead or beside her, guiding subtly, offering a hand if she stumbled, brushing her hair from her face when the wind tugged it forward.

Each small touch carried weight, though neither mentioned it aloud.

“Do you… always make me feel like I’m being watched?” she asked suddenly, half-teasing, half-serious.

“Only when you wander alone,” he replied.

“And even then, it’s for your safety. Purely professional.”

She rolled her eyes. “Professional, right.

That’s what everyone says.”

He smirked. “I prefer ‘strategically vigilant.’”

“You’re full of these titles tonight,” she said, laughter soft. “Are you always like this?”

“Not usually,” he admitted. “But you… you make the rules bend a little.”

She glanced at him, curious, and the corner of his lips twitched. She noticed it, the faintest flicker of humor in his otherwise controlled expression.

“Bend the rules?” she asked.

“Shift the equilibrium,” he said lightly, keeping his eyes on the path ahead. “I do it sparingly, but sometimes… the situation demands it.”

Her laugh this time was quiet, melodic. “And you decided the situation demanded it for me?”

“I decided,” he said softly, “that I couldn’t leave you alone tonight.”

The words were simple, matter-of-fact, yet they carried something heavier. Something neither of them fully named.

As they continued down the street, Nasir’s instincts picked up subtle signals he didn’t mention immediately: a shadow lingering too long by the corner of a building, the faint shuffle of footsteps that didn’t quite belong, a chill that skated over his skin despite the night’s mild temperature.

He didn’t speak, but he adjusted his pace, subtly guiding Flora closer to the more open, better-lit street.

“Why are you walking me like I’m fragile?” she asked, a playful edge to her tone.

“You are,” he said simply. “But not in the way you think. You’re fragile in all the ways that make you human. And that’s worth protecting.”

She faltered slightly, caught between embarrassment and the odd comfort in his words. “I… I don’t know what to say to that.”

“Say nothing,” he said, voice soft. “Just keep walking.”

A sudden rustle from a nearby alley made her jump. Her hand shot up instinctively toward her chest. Nasir’s arm moved like lightning, wrapping lightly around her back, steadying her.

“Shh,” he whispered, voice calm, measured.

“It’s nothing. Just a cat, probably. Or a loose piece of trash. Nothing more.”

Her breathing slowed under his guidance, though the pulse of fear still lingered.

“You really do know how to calm a storm,” she said, almost teasing, almost incredulous.

“I have to,” he said lightly. “Otherwise, who else would be responsible?”

Her laugh came again, soft, the tension bleeding out slowly. She didn’t realize it yet, but she leaned just slightly into his side as they walked.

He noticed. Of course he noticed.

They turned another corner, the street opening onto a small square lined with late-night cafés and empty benches. A faint neon sign buzzed in the distance, casting a pinkish glow over the paving stones. He guided her toward it, subtly shielding her from the more shadowed areas, keeping a hand lightly on the small of her back if she hesitated.

“You really planned this,” she said, smiling softly. “The route, the streets… like I’d be nervous or something.”

“I didn’t plan anything,” he said, watching her closely. “I just moved with the night.”

“Right,” she said, though her smile betrayed her amusement. “You moved with the night and… protected me.”

“Yes,” he said simply. “And I intend to keep doing so, at least until you feel safe again.”

They paused under a lamplight, the soft hum of distant traffic filling the space between them. Nasir studied her, noting the way her eyes flickered toward every shadow, the way her hands fidgeted slightly with her bag strap.

He allowed himself a small, deliberate gesture: brushing her hair gently from her face, letting his fingertips linger for just a heartbeat.

“Better?” he asked quietly.

Flora blinked, startled, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. “I… yes,” she said softly. “Much better.”

“Good,” he said, tone light. “That’s my goal.

Keep you safer than the night itself.”

Her lips quirked, a teasing edge returning.

“And how long will you keep this up? Forever?”

Nasir’s gaze flicked to hers, calm, deliberate.

“Until it’s no longer needed.”

The air shifted again. He didn’t voice it, but the subtle changes in the night—the too-quiet footfalls, the twitch of shadows—warned him that someone or something might be watching.

He remained alert, eyes scanning the periphery, even as he allowed himself to linger beside her, offering small touches and soft words that anchored her to the present.

“Come on,” he said, finally. “Let’s get back before the night decides to be less friendly.”

Flora followed, hesitating only once before stepping forward, trusting him in a way that surprised even her. Nasir felt it—her reliance, fragile but growing. And though he didn’t allow himself to acknowledge it fully, a quiet thrill ran through him.

Tonight, he had kept her calm. Protected her.

And in doing so, he had begun to realize just how much he wanted to be near her. Not as a guardian, not as a strategist, but simply… for her.

And that, he knew, was dangerous.