Chapter 13
1504 Words
✨The Quiet Spark.✨
Flora Pov
Flora peeped out of the bus window like the world might bite her if she looked too hard.
She kept her head mostly still and moved only her eyes, slow and cautious, as though sudden interest might offend someone. The glass was smudged with fingerprints and dust, which helped—everything outside looked slightly unreal, blurred enough that she could pretend it wasn’t entirely happening yet.
The town slid into view piece by piece.
First, a bakery. She stared too long, confused by the audacity of bread just sitting there in a window, golden and warm-looking, as if it hadn’t been rationed or earned through obedience. Her stomach betrayed her with a quiet twist.
Then a row of houses, close together, mismatched, leaning in odd directions like they had opinions about each other. None of them looked impressive. None of them looked angry either.
Flora frowned.
Was that allowed?
She shifted in her seat as the bus rolled forward, anxiety humming under her skin.
People walked freely on the sidewalks—hands in pockets, arms swinging, faces relaxed. One man laughed loudly at nothing Flora could see, and she nearly ducked.
Too loud, her instincts warned. Someone should correct him.
No one did.
Her heart sped up.
The bus rounded a corner, and that’s when she saw it.
The building.
Flora’s breath caught so sharply she nearly choked on it.
It rose above the rest of the town—tall, wide, and unapologetic, all dark stone and sharp lines, looming like it had something to prove. Windows stacked high. A doorway that looked far too serious for a place she had just met.
Her first thought was completely unhelpful.
That building could absolutely yell at someone.
Her second thought was worse.
Trump would love it.
She pressed closer to the window despite herself, nose nearly touching the glass now, eyes wide. The building didn’t belong. It dominated. It watched.
Her chest tightened.
“What are you,” she whispered, as if the building might answer.
The bus slowed, brakes hissing, and Flora’s anxiety spiked. What if this was her stop?
What if the building was important? What if she accidentally offended it by staring?
She shrank back into her seat, smoothing her skirt nervously, then leaned forward again, unable to help herself. Her emotions couldn’t decide between curiosity and alarm, so they chose both.
The closer they got, the bigger it seemed.
Her pulse pounded. Her foot bounced uncontrollably. She imagined stepping off the bus and the building noticing her immediately, its massive doors creaking open like a judgment being passed.
Don’t look suspicious, she told herself, immediately realizing she had no idea what suspicious looked like.
The bus rolled past it.
Just past.
Relief rushed through her so fast it made her dizzy.
“Oh,” she breathed, slumping slightly. “Good.”
The building receded behind them, shrinking back into stone and distance. It hadn’t called out. Hadn’t claimed her. Hadn’t done anything at all.
Still, Flora glanced over her shoulder one last time, just in case.
Her heart was still racing, but something almost like laughter bubbled up in her chest—nervous, breathless, disbelieving.
The world was strange.
Buildings loomed. Bread sat in windows.
People laughed without permission.
And somehow—terrifyingly—she was allowed to be here to see it.
She pressed her forehead lightly against the glass, watching the town unfold, anxiety flaring and fading in uneven waves.
Freedom, she was learning, was loud in very quiet ways.
Flora Arrives in a Strange Town
The town announced itself without ceremony.
No gates. No warning. Just a widening of the road and a cluster of buildings that looked like they had grown there rather than been built—leaning into one another, weather-worn, patient. The bus hissed to a stop beside a faded sign whose paint had long ago given up trying to be read.
Flora stayed seated a second too long.
Her legs felt unfamiliar beneath her, like they belonged to someone braver. When she finally stood, the motion sent a wave of dizziness through her chest. She grabbed the seat to steady herself, heart thudding too fast for no reason she could name.
“This is you?” the driver asked, already bored.
Flora nodded and stepped down.
The bus pulled away almost immediately, engine groaning as it carried everyone else forward, leaving her behind in a quiet that felt far too open. Dust settled. The sound faded.
She was alone.
The town smelled different. Bread, maybe. Smoke. Something faintly metallic. Nothing sharp. Nothing threatening. And still, her shoulders stayed tight, every muscle braced as if the ground might suddenly tilt.
She adjusted the strap of her bag and started walking.
People moved around her—slow, unhurried, speaking softly to one another. A woman swept the front of a shop. Two children ran past, laughing, their joy careless and loud in a way Flora had never been allowed to be. No one stopped her. No one stared.
That should have eased her.
Instead, it made her skin prickle.
She didn’t know the rules here.
Her chest tightened as she passed a small square, unsure where to look, how to walk, whether she was doing it wrong. The buildings were close together, the street narrow enough that voices carried easily. She flinched when a man laughed behind her, instinct screaming wrong, wrong even though nothing had happened.
Breathe, she told herself. You’re not there anymore.
She found a bench near the edge of the square and sat, hands folded in her lap, back straight. Waiting. For what, she didn’t know.
That’s when she felt it.
Not a sound. Not a touch.
A shift.
Her breath caught, sharp and sudden, like she’d missed a step on the stairs.
Someone was watching her.
Her body reacted before her mind could catch up—pulse spiking, fingers curling, feet pressing flat against the ground as if ready to run. She turned too fast, panic blazing hot and immediate.
He stood across the street, near the shadow of a building.
A man she had never seen before.
He wasn’t doing anything. Not moving toward her. Not speaking. Just standing there, one hand resting loosely in his coat pocket, posture relaxed in a way that felt almost deliberate.
Flora’s chest tightened painfully.
Don’t look, instinct urged. Looking invites.
She looked anyway.
His face was calm—too calm. Not kind, not cruel. Just…watchful. Dark eyes, steady, as if he saw more than he should. He didn’t smile. Didn’t frown. Just observed her like she was something he was deciding whether to approach.
Her breath hitched.
Fear roared through her, bright and familiar.
Men who watched always wanted something.
Attention was never neutral. It was always a warning.
Her hands began to shake.
Go, her mind screamed. Now.
She stood abruptly, heart hammering, and took a step back. The man didn’t follow.
Didn’t react at all.
That was worse.
She turned and walked quickly, then faster, shoes scuffing the dirt as panic surged up her throat. Her vision narrowed. The world tilted.
Why did he feel different?
She couldn’t explain it—not even to herself.
He hadn’t moved. Hadn’t spoken. And yet something about his presence had reached inside her and struck a place she didn’t know existed.
Not desire.
Recognition.
The thought scared her more than fear ever had.
She ducked into a narrow side street and pressed herself against the wall, breath coming in short, broken pulls. Her fingers dug into the fabric of her skirt, grounding herself in the roughness of it.
You’re safe, she told herself fiercely. No one owns you here.
Her heart didn’t listen.
She slid down until she was crouching, head bowed, trying not to cry in the open where anyone could see. Her body shook, betraying her. Panic was loud. It didn’t care about logic.
Bench. Door. Bag. feet. She tried to focus.
After a moment—minutes?—the world steadied.
She stood slowly, smoothing her clothes, wiping her face with her sleeve. She did not look back toward the square.
But even as she walked away, she felt it again—that pull. Like a thread drawn tight behind her ribs.
Curiosity.
It made no sense. She hated it for that.
By the time she reached the edge of town, the feeling had faded to a dull ache, confusing and unwelcome. She told herself it was just shock. Hunger. Exhaustion.
It meant nothing.
She found a small boardinghouse with a sign hanging crookedly in the window and paused, gathering herself before knocking.
Before she went inside, she glanced once more down the street.
The man was gone.
Relief washed through her—thin and unsatisfying.
As she stepped inside, Flora didn’t know that the town had already marked her arrival. That the feeling she couldn’t name was not danger—but disruption.
And that whatever she was becoming, it had just noticed her too.
- Writer
