Her Voice
1633 Words
Chapter 11
Elion stood motionless as the crystal earpiece connected.
A subtle vibration tingled across his skin, the energy building slowly until it stabilized into a hum. Time slowed. His pulse pounded in his ears—louder, faster—until it became the only sound in the world.
Then—
A voice.
Soft. Gentle. Uncertain.
“Hello?”
His breath caught. He closed his eyes.
It was her.
The voice he had imagined in dreams, whose cadence had haunted the silent corridors of his mind. He had never truly heard it before—only glimpsed the way her lips moved through the veil. Yet somehow, impossibly, it was exactly as he had hoped.
“Hi,” he said, voice low and careful. “I… I know this is unusual. You don’t know me. But I just wanted to say… I admire you. I’ve seen you—just once or twice—but something about you stayed with me. I… I couldn’t let it go.”
Silence answered at first. The soft kind. Hesitant, but not afraid.
Then a small, surprised laugh—light, uncertain.
“That’s… unexpected,” she said. “But sweet. Thank you.”
He smiled, warmth blooming in his chest like firelight.
“I’m sorry,” she added after a moment. “My break’s almost over. I work at this place that’s stuck in the last century. My boss yells my name like a foghorn when I’m late.”
Elion chuckled softly. Even her frustrations sounded beautiful.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt anything,” he said.
“No—actually, this isn’t a bad time. Just… surprising.” Her tone changed, softened with sincerity. “I didn’t expect kindness today. Honestly, I didn’t expect to feel seen at all.”
He tilted his head slightly, his voice gentling. “Rough day?”
“You could say that,” she murmured. “But more like… a long stretch of rough. Today’s just another page in a very uninspiring chapter.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. You deserve a better story.”
She laughed again, this time with more honesty. “You really do talk like you’re from a novel.”
“I’ve heard that before,” he said, amused.
“Oh? So I’m not your first mysterious woman you’ve called out of nowhere?”
“You’re the only one I’ve ever spoken to. The only one I wanted to.”
That silenced her for a moment.
“…That’s a good line,” she said. “Are you a writer or something?”
“No,” he said, “but I do carry a lot of words inside me. Maybe they’ve been waiting for you.”
Another pause. Her voice, quieter now: “You’re very… different.”
“Is that good?”
“I think so.” A breath. “I’m not used to different. I’m used to people wanting something.”
“I don’t want anything,” he said. “I just wanted to hear your voice. And to let you know… that someone sees you.”
“Why?” she asked.
The question wasn’t suspicious—it was vulnerable. Honest.
“Because when I saw you, something in me shifted,” he replied. “You stood in the rain like the sky belonged to you. Like you were holding yourself together when the world was pulling you apart.”
She didn’t speak. The silence stretched.
“You saw that?” she whispered.
“I did.”
“I was waiting for someone who never showed up.”
“I know.”
“You were there?”
“No,” he said. “But I saw you through… something like a window. And I haven’t stopped thinking about you since.”
“I don’t know whether to be flattered or freaked out,” she said with a nervous laugh.
“I’d understand either reaction.”
She smiled, he could hear it in her voice. “You don’t talk like anyone I know.”
“I’m not like anyone you know.”
“That’s becoming obvious.”
Elion hesitated. “Can I ask… what made today hard?”
Aria sighed. “It’s stupid.”
“It matters to you. That’s enough.”
“Well…” Her voice shifted again. “It’s my birthday.”
His heart stopped. “It is?”
“Yeah. And no one remembered. Not even my mom. My phone’s been silent all day—except for you.”
He closed his eyes. “Happy birthday, Aria.”
“Thanks,” she said softly. “That might be the first time I’ve heard it today.”
She was quiet again. Then, in a whisper, “I almost didn’t answer this call.”
“I’m glad you did.”
“…Me too.”
A soft wind rustled through the curtains on Elion’s end. The veil between realms shimmered faintly.
“Do you celebrate your birthday?” she asked, suddenly curious.
“I haven’t in a long time,” he said truthfully.
“How long?”
“Long enough that I don’t keep count anymore.”
There was a beat. Then: “You’re being mysterious again.”
“It’s a habit I’m trying to break.”
“Try harder,” she teased. “What do you like? Books? Music?”
“I enjoy the stars. Maps. Swordplay. Silence.”
“Swordplay?”
He faltered. “Fencing. A… hobby.”
“You sound like someone out of a medieval drama.”
He smiled. “Perhaps I am.”
“Well, I like chocolate, old movies, and hot tea on rainy days,” she said, her voice brightening. “And talking to strange men with poetic voices, apparently.”
“I can offer you two of those. Maybe not the chocolate—yet.”
Aria laughed again. “You’re weird. But like… the good kind of weird. The rare kind.”
“Then I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“You should.”
They were quiet for a few moments, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence that existed between people learning to trust each other. Building something small but precious.
“El…” she said, testing his name.
“Yes?”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“Why me?”
He took a slow breath.
“Because I saw something in you that made me remember who I am,” he said. “Because when you looked into the rain, I felt like I could step through the glass and be part of your sorrow. And because… I think you deserve someone to see you completely and not look away.”
Aria didn’t speak.
For a long moment, he thought the line had gone dead.
Then she whispered, “I think I needed to hear that more than I want to admit.”
“I meant every word.”
She sniffed, just once. “God, I’m crying over a stranger on the phone. That’s pathetic.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“Are you always this intense?”
“Only when it matters.”
She laughed through her tears. “I think I like intense. It beats being invisible.”
“You are not invisible.”
A long silence followed. Gentle. Full.
“…Would it be all right if I called again?” he asked quietly. “Tomorrow. Or… whenever you’d like.”
“You better,” she said. “Seven works for me. I get off around six-thirty, then it’s just me, the cat, and reheated leftovers.”
“I look forward to all of that. Even the leftovers.”
She chuckled. “You might be the only person who’s ever said that.”
“El,” she said suddenly. “What’s your full name, can you tell me?”
His breath hitched.
“I thought you said ‘El,’ but something about the way you said it—it felt like more.”
He swallowed. “Yes. El for now.”
“Beautiful,” she murmured. “EL Sounds like something out of a dream.”
“Maybe that’s where I’ve been… waiting to wake up and speak to you.”
“You’re dangerously close to earning yourself a permanent spot on my call list,” she teased.
“I hope I do.”
There was a pause again—this time tinged with something warmer, deeper.
“Thank you,” she said. “For this. I didn’t know how much I needed it.”
“Thank you for answering.”
“I almost didn’t. Something told me to.”
“I’m grateful to that something.”
“So am I.”
“Take care, El,” she said softly. “I’ll be waiting at seven.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Goodnight… stranger.”
And then the line went quiet.
Elion lowered the crystal earpiece slowly. The veil shimmered and faded, leaving behind a silence that felt transformed. The stars outside the window pulsed brighter, as if they, too, had listened.
Behind him, his grandmother was seated in her high-backed chair, sipping tea with a small, knowing smile.
“You heard her,” she said. “Seven.”
Elion’s voice was quiet. “She told me her name. And her birthday. And her pain.”
The older woman nodded slowly. “Then you’ve been given more than most.”
Elion turned to the window. “She cried. Because of me. Not from hurt… but from being seen.”
“That’s the first thread,” his grandmother said softly. “Don’t pull too fast.”
“I won’t,” he whispered. “But I’ll follow it. As far as it goes.”
And for the first time in all his long centuries, Elion felt truly—deeply—alive.
- Writer
