The Porch and the Doll
612 Words
Inside, Isadora removed her earrings with a sigh. Her reflection in the vanity mirror looked flushed. She loosened her hair, massaging her scalp.
Ridiculous, she muttered. Completely ridiculous.
What had she been doing? Spending hours talking to a boy half her age? Laughing at his jokes, listening to his dreams as if she were still auditioning for the part of someone’s muse?
She pulled open a drawer and found it there—a small, carved Moorish doll, black wood, gold-painted eyes. A gift from Marrakesh, long ago. She hadn’t seen it in years.
She held it in her palm, heavy with memory.
“He’s just a boy,” she said aloud, almost stern. “A boy with good shoulders and soulful eyes and a voice like honey… who is absolutely none of my business.”
Still, she couldn’t sleep.
The moonlight was calling her, whispering through the gauzy curtains. She slipped into a cream shawl and stepped onto the wraparound porch. The night air clung to her skin, warm and restless. She leaned on the railing, clutching her shawl tighter, her mind buzzing.
“It’s nothing,” she whispered. “You’re lonely, not foolish.”
And then—
A sound behind her.
A floorboard creaked.
She spun around, her shoulder tense.
“Who goes there?”
A pause.
“Just me,” came Julian’s voice.
She exhaled. Damn it.
Of course it’s him.
He stepped into view, barefoot, shirt rumpled, eyes sleepy.
“I couldn’t sleep,” he said. “The music’s still in my head.”
She looked at him for a long time.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she said softly.
“I know.”
Silence.
He took a few steps closer. The porch light cast silver across his face.
“You looked beautiful tonight,” he said.
She laughed, too sharp. “Careful, Julian.”
“I’m not saying it to flatter you. I’m saying it because it’s ruining me.”
She flinched, just barely.
He continued. “I keep trying to make sense of this. Of you. I tell myself I’m just fascinated, or curious. That I respect you. That I admire your mind. That it’s all perfectly innocent.”
He took one more step, voice low.
“But none of that explains why I can’t stop thinking about your voice in the middle of the night. Or how I memorize every time you smile. Or how I keep pretending I’ve forgotten things just so I can come back and see you.”
Her breath caught.
“Julian—”
“I’m not asking you to say anything. I just had to say it. I don’t expect… I just—” He stopped, heart pounding.
She looked away, hand on her chest.
And then—
Very softly:
“You make me nervous,” she whispered.
He blinked. “I do?”
She nodded. “I haven’t been nervous in twenty years.”
Her voice trembled, but her gaze held firm.
“I’m not some fantasy, Julian. I’m not here to teach you a lesson and disappear. I’m not a metaphor in your coming-of-age story. I’m real. And this… this is dangerous.”
“I know,” he said. “But I’m already burning.”
The air between them went still.
The only sound was the hum of summer.
They stood there in silence, two silhouettes carved out of moonlight, tethered by something neither could name—yet both could feel, aching and ancient.
Finally, she turned, her voice barely audible.
“Good night, Julian.”
But as she stepped inside, her fingers lingered on the doorframe. Just for a moment.
Just long enough to hope he’d follow.
- Writer
