Touched by Smoke

Chapter 10

Elara

“I’m staying. And I’m not afraid of the dark. Especially when I know that somewhere in it… you’re there.”

My finger carefully traces the impressive scar, and I wonder how he got it. Is it a war wound? Is it the mark that tells the story of him being the only survivor?

He closes his eyes as I move past his brow and reach his cheekbone, still tracing the scar until I get to his neck. He shivers briefly, then lets out a barely audible sigh—but my ear catches the sound in the stillness of the house.

“Don’t you find it disgusting?” he asks, fixing me with his hollow eyes that now no longer seem so hollow. “Doesn’t it repulse you when you touch me like that?”

“Not at all. In fact, I find it incredibly attractive. It’s a clear sign you’ve been through hell—and yet, you’re still alive.”

His breath catches for a second… two… three. Then it becomes slightly uneven.

“I’ve been through hell, yes. But I haven’t come out of it yet.”

“I think you’ve only got a little further to go—and you’ll make it.”

Adam falls silent, and my words float in the air, suspended between us. His eyes close again, but this time not as an escape. This time, it feels like he’s trying to sink into the moment, to live it fully. I can feel my heart pounding in my chest, a trembling beat that doesn’t want to live without him.

My hands are still on his skin, on that scar that defines him—but does not destroy him. I feel it pulsing beneath my fingers, a testament to his survival, but also to the wound he carries deep in his soul. I feel a weight in my chest too, like an echo of my own fears.

“You won’t give up on me, will you?” he says, his voice quiet but still strong.

I wasn’t expecting that. I wasn’t expecting those words to come out of his mouth. As if he’s trying to push me away, to make me retreat so he won’t suffer more. Or maybe he’s trying to prepare me for the moment he’ll disappear from my life, like a flame that burned too bright and now risks being extinguished.

I don’t answer right away. Instead, I move my fingers slowly, as if deeper into the skin, somehow remembering every wound he’s endured, every battle he’s fought alone, without help. I know it’s much harder for him to accept an outstretched hand than it is for me to offer one.

“Maybe I can’t ‘save’ you. But I’ll be here. I’ll be here until you decide you deserve to rise. And until you learn you don’t have to be alone.”

I feel him relax slightly under my touch, even in the midst of the darkness that eats away at him. Maybe he still doesn’t know what it means to be saved—but at least now, in this moment, in this delicate space of intimacy, he feels a little less alone.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” I ask, searching for his eyes, and he tenses again.

“First, you poured my whiskey down the sink, and now you want us to go outside? That’s too much for one day,” he says, stepping away from me and heading toward the window. “But we could… let some light into the house.”

I smile wide, and together we pull the curtains back, letting the sunlight flood the room.

As we draw the curtains, light pours into the room with force, chasing away the dark corners that until now seemed to breathe silence and fear. Fine dust particles dance in the air, and for a moment, everything feels almost magical. It’s as if the house itself sighed in relief, like it had been waiting for this moment for years.

Adam blinks several times, tightly, bothered by the light—but he doesn’t retreat. He stands there, shoulders rigid, eyes toward the window, as if trying to get used to a life he had denied himself for too long.

“Do you remember what the sky looks like?” I ask gently.

“I’ve been staring at it at night… but during the day... the day was too hard. The day could see me. The day wouldn’t let me hide,” he replies, his voice almost a whisper.

“Maybe today… the day doesn’t want to chase you away. Maybe today, it’s just saying hello.”

He smiles. Not wide, not with all his soul. But the corner of his mouth lifts slightly—and that’s enough for me. I place a hand on his shoulder, and he doesn’t pull away. He’s not ready to go outside yet. But the fact that he opened the curtains is a step. A huge one.

“One day… we’ll go watch the sunset. Maybe even the sunrise,” I say, watching the sunbeams dance on the floor.

“Maybe,” he murmurs. “Maybe one day. But today… letting the light see me is enough. Today is enough.”

And it is.

Today is a victory.