The Way Look Me
980 Words
---
It was raining the next morning.
Not a storm. Just a soft drizzle, enough to blur the windows and fill the silence with a hush that wrapped around the house like a blanket. Elara stood in the kitchen in her hoodie and socks, staring out at the grey trees beyond the glass. The coffee pot gurgled behind her. The house smelled like rain and roasted beans.
She didn’t know why the quiet felt different today.
He hadn’t said more than a few words the night before. Just a goodnight, soft and low. No questions. No lingering looks.
And yet… she felt him.
Like gravity.
Like heat from another room.
She turned when she heard the soft pad of footsteps behind her.
Darian was barefoot, hair still wet from a quick shower, t-shirt clinging to his chest in a way that made her look a second too long.
He didn’t say anything at first. Just moved to the counter beside her and reached for the mugs.
“You’re always up early,” he said eventually.
“I don’t sleep much.”
He handed her a mug. “You used to?”
“Before things changed.”
He didn’t press. Just nodded, then poured coffee into both mugs.
They stood in silence, side by side. Steam curled in the space between them.
“Rain makes the house quieter,” she said softly.
“It does.”
“Do you like the quiet?”
He looked at her then.
Not just glanced.
Looked.
“For a while, I thought I did.”
“And now?”
“I’m not so sure.”
She wrapped her hands around the mug, fingers tracing the ceramic rim. “Sometimes silence feels like safety.”
“And sometimes,” he said, “it feels like being forgotten.”
She met his eyes.
There was something in them she hadn’t seen before.
Not distance.
Not discomfort.
Something else.
Recognition.
---
Later that afternoon, she found herself in the living room, curled on the edge of the couch with her legs pulled beneath her and a sketchpad balanced on her knees. The rain hadn’t stopped. The windows fogged over, turning the trees outside into soft silhouettes. She liked it that way. Like the world was hiding just enough to let her feel unseen.
Darian came in without a word, a folded blanket over one shoulder and a cup of tea in hand. He didn’t sit right away. Just paused in the doorway, watching her with that same unreadable look.
“You always draw in silence?” he asked.
She glanced up. “Music distracts me.”
He moved slowly, settling in the chair across from her. He set the tea down on the side table and unfolded the blanket, resting it across his legs with casual ease.
“What are you drawing?”
She hesitated. Then turned the pad around.
It wasn’t a portrait.
It was a room.
This room.
From the angle where she sat. The window. The shadows. The armchair. Him.
His brows rose. “You’ve drawn me.”
“You were part of the room.”
“I don’t look like that.”
She tilted her head. “You do to me.”
He stared at the page for a long moment.
Then: “You see too much.”
She smiled faintly. “Maybe you hide too much.”
Another silence. This one heavier.
But not uncomfortable.
Like the air between them was growing denser, filled with something unspoken.
He reached for the tea and took a slow sip.
“I don’t let people see me.”
“I noticed.”
He set the cup down.
“But you don’t look away,” he said.
She held his gaze. “You don’t scare me.”
His jaw tightened. “Maybe you should.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m not good at being safe.”
She folded the sketchpad closed. “Then don’t be safe. Just be honest.”
---
That night, she didn’t go straight to her room.
She lingered.
The lights were dimmed. A single lamp cast a warm glow across the hallway. Darian was in the kitchen washing dishes, his sleeves pushed up to his elbows, revealing arms that spoke of work and silence and restraint.
She leaned in the doorway, watching him.
He noticed. But didn’t turn.
“You ever going to ask me why I’m here?” she said finally.
“I figured you’d tell me when you were ready.”
“And if I never am?”
He dried his hands and set the towel down slowly.
“Then I’ll still be here.”
She swallowed.
“Why?” she asked, voice softer now. “You don’t even know me.”
He turned.
Leaned against the counter.
Arms crossed again, but his face—his face was open.
“I know what it’s like to want to disappear.”
She blinked.
“I’m not running,” she said.
“I didn’t say you were.”
“I’m trying to breathe again.”
“Then breathe,” he said. “No one here is going to take that from you.”
She didn’t answer.
Just stood there, heart thudding too loudly.
Then nodded once.
Turned.
Walked to her room.
Closed the door.
And leaned against it like it was the only thing keeping her from falling apart.
---
Later, long after the house had gone quiet again, she couldn’t sleep.
She sat on the floor by her bed, back against the dresser, knees pulled to her chest. The rain had stopped. The air felt thicker now. Heavier. Like something was waiting.
She stared at the wall for a long time.
Then whispered to no one:
“I don’t want to feel like a ghost anymore.”
And somehow… she wondered if he’d heard it.
Even from the other room.
---
- Writer
