Small Anchors
958 Words
The next two weeks passed in a way Elena did not expect.
Slowly.
Quietly.
Like rain falling little by little until the ground becomes wet without anybody noticing.
Julian became part of her days in the softest way possible.
He never forced himself into her life.
Never asked too many questions.
Never pushed her to open up.
He simply stayed.
And somehow, that felt more comforting than all the loud promises Marcus once made.
One Thursday evening, Elena was still stuck at the office long after everybody else had gone home.
The large office building felt almost empty now.
Only the sound of keyboards and distant phones remained.
Her client meeting had lasted for hours.
One problem after another.
Corrections.
Complaints.
Pressure.
By the time she checked the clock again, it was already past 9 p.m.
Her head hurt badly.
Her eyes burned from staring at screens all day.
And she had forgotten to eat again.
Outside, rain poured heavily over the city. Water ran down the office windows like tears sliding slowly down a face.
Elena leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes for a moment.
She felt exhausted.
Not just physically.
Emotionally too.
Lately, life felt like carrying heavy bags up endless stairs without ever reaching the top.
Her phone buzzed softly on the desk.
Julian.
How did the meeting go?
Elena stared at the message tiredly before typing back.
Still alive. Barely.
A few seconds later, three dots appeared immediately.
Eat anything today?
Elena smiled weakly despite herself.
No.
His reply came fast.
Thought so.
About thirty minutes later, Elena finally arrived home.
The moment she entered her apartment, silence welcomed her again.
Cold.
Lonely.
The kind of silence that reminded people they lived alone.
She dropped her handbag on the couch and removed her heels slowly.
Her feet hurt badly.
Everything hurt badly.
Just as she was about to walk toward the kitchen, the doorbell rang.
Elena frowned softly.
Nobody visited her this late.
She walked toward the door carefully and opened it.
Julian stood outside holding a paper bag and a small container.
Rainwater clung to his dark hair and shoulders.
“You forgot dinner again,” he said softly.
Elena blinked in surprise.
Julian lifted the container slightly.
“Soup and bread,” he explained. “Sofia told me you stop eating when you’re stressed.”
His voice sounded calm.
Simple.
Like he was not doing anything special.
But Elena’s chest tightened quietly.
Because nobody had taken care of her like this in a very long time.
Not without expecting something back.
“No strings attached,” Julian added gently. “Just eat.”
The warm smell of soup escaped softly from the container.
Elena looked at him for a few seconds before stepping aside slowly.
“You can come in,” she said quietly.
Julian entered without making a big deal out of it.
No teasing.
No unnecessary comments.
Just quiet respect.
They sat together at her small kitchen table while rain hit the windows outside.
The apartment lights were soft and warm above them.
For some time, they ate quietly.
And strangely, the silence did not feel uncomfortable.
It felt peaceful.
Safe.
Eventually Elena sighed heavily and rubbed her forehead tiredly.
“Work is becoming exhausting,” she admitted softly.
Julian listened quietly.
“The company wants younger faces during client meetings now,” she continued bitterly. “Everything is about looking fresh and modern.”
She laughed weakly, but there was pain behind it.
“My mother even sent me another article this morning about fertility after thirty-five.”
The words tasted painful in her mouth.
Immediately, Marcus’s voice returned again inside her head like an old wound opening.
At your age…
Elena looked down quickly at her soup.
Sometimes those words still lived inside her chest like poison.
Julian stayed quiet for a moment.
Then he spoke softly.
“You are not a number on some timeline, Elena.”
She slowly looked up at him.
Julian’s eyes were steady.
Calm.
“You built an entire regional sales strategy last year from nothing,” he continued. “That matters more than people making you feel like your value depends on marriage or age.”
Elena stared at him quietly.
Her throat tightened again.
Because he spoke to her like she mattered.
Not like she was running out of time.
Not like she was damaged goods.
Just… like a person worth seeing properly.
And somehow, that hurt almost as much as it healed.
Later that night, after Julian left, Elena lay quietly on her bed holding her phone.
Rain still fell softly outside.
The room was dark except for the small light from her screen.
Without thinking, she opened their messages again.
Julian’s texts were never overly romantic.
Never pushy.
Just steady.
How did the meeting go?
Don’t forget your umbrella tomorrow. Heavy rain coming.
Remember that terrible movie Sofia forced us to watch years ago? I found it online again.
Small messages.
Simple messages.
But somehow they stayed with her longer than grand speeches ever did.
Elena smiled softly to herself.
Then suddenly her eyes landed on an old unsent draft message to Marcus.
A message she wrote months ago during one of her weakest nights.
Why did you do this to me?
She stared at it quietly for a long moment.
Then slowly…
She deleted it.
The message disappeared from the screen in one second.
But somehow, it felt bigger than that.
Like finally removing a knife that had stayed inside a wound too long.
Elena placed her phone beside her pillow and closed her eyes slowly.
Progress, she whispered quietly to herself.
And for the first time in a long while…
She almost believed it.
- Writer
