Chapter 3: Unfamiliar Comfort
471 Words
The inside of the car smelled expensive.
That was the first thing Alina noticed.
It wasn’t the overwhelming kind of perfume scent — it was subtle, clean, almost calming.
The leather seats were soft beneath her, far more comfortable than anything she had ever sat on before.
She suddenly became very aware of her worn-out jeans.
And her faded sneakers.
And the fact that she probably smelled like instant noodles and convenience store air freshener.
She kept her hands on her lap, afraid to touch anything.
The engine started smoothly.
Silence followed.
Alina stole a glance at the man beside her as he focused on the road, his hands steady on the steering wheel.
Even his posture looked perfect, like someone who had never once doubted himself in his entire life.
Unlike her.
“Where do you live?” he asked.
His voice broke the quiet so suddenly that she almost jumped.
“Uh— Maple Street,” she answered.
He nodded once.
Nothing else.
No small talk.
No unnecessary questions.
Just silence again.
It should have been awkward.
But strangely—
It wasn’t.
Streetlights passed by them one by one, their soft glow slipping through the windows like waves of light.
The city looked different from inside a car like this.
Safer.
Distant.
Like the problems outside couldn’t reach her for a moment.
Alina leaned her head back slightly, exhaustion finally catching up to her.
“Do you always work this late?”
Her eyes opened immediately.
Was he talking to her?
“Yes,” she replied quietly.
“Two jobs.”
She didn’t know why she said it.
Maybe because he asked.
Or maybe because something about his tone didn’t feel judgmental.
“That sounds difficult.”
She laughed softly.
“It is.”
Another pause.
“What do you do?”
“I’m a barista in the morning,” she explained.
“And I work at the convenience store at night.”
He nodded again, as if memorizing the information.
As if it mattered.
No one had ever listened to her like that before.
No one had ever cared enough to ask.
Before she realized it, the car slowed down.
They had reached her street.
The familiar cracked sidewalks and dim streetlights made her chest tighten slightly as reality came rushing back in.
This was her world.
Not his.
He stopped in front of her apartment building — a small, aging structure squeezed between two taller ones.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then she reached for the door handle.
“Thank you,” she said sincerely.
But before she could step out—
“Alina.”
Her breath caught.
She turned toward him slowly.
“I didn’t tell you my name,” she whispered.
For the first time that night—
He smiled.
“Zachary.”
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