A Pack of Light

MARCO THE SAVIOR

Episode 5: Marco the Savior

ISABELLE'S P. O. V.

The campus café was humming with the usual midday buzz—laughter, clinking cups, and the soft hiss of the espresso machine. I picked a quiet corner table by the window, my safe spot. The sun spilled through the glass, casting warm pools of light on the table where I settled my chamomile tea. It was my little ritual, a tiny comfort since the treatments ended.

Just as I took a slow sip, a shadow fell across the table. I looked up to see Marco sliding into the seat across from me, uninvited but not unwelcome. His easy smile was already in place, and for a moment, the noise around us seemed to dull.

“Hey, Isa,” he said casually, like this was just another ordinary day.

I nodded, trying to match his ease. “Hey, Marco.”

He glanced at my tea, then back to me. “Chamomile? Didn’t peg you for a tea person.”

I shrugged. “It’s calming.”

He laughed, a sound that was both warm and practiced. “Good call. Campus life can be a headache.”

We sat in a comfortable silence for a few moments, watching students rush past outside. I wondered what he wanted. Usually, when Marco showed up like this, it wasn’t just to say hello.

“So,” he began, breaking the quiet, “how have you been? I haven’t seen you around much lately.”

I hesitated, unsure how much to share. “Busy. A lot going on.”

He nodded, eyes softening. “Yeah, I figured.”

The sunlight caught the sharp angles of his face. There was something genuine in his gaze, something that made me want to believe he cared.

“Campus feels different without you,” he added with a teasing grin.

I smiled despite myself. “I’m still here. Just... not always around.”

Marco leaned back, stretching his arms. “You always seem to be busy with something important. I respect that.”

“Thanks,” I murmured, looking down at my tea.

He paused, watching me with a thoughtful expression.

Then, almost as if deciding to drop a mask, his tone shifted to something softer, more vulnerable.

“Isa,” he said slowly, “I’ve been meaning to tell you something. I guess I haven’t really shown this side of me before.”

Curiosity pricked at me.

He took a breath, fingers tracing the rim of his cup. “I wasn’t always this confident guy people see. There was a time when I felt completely lost.”

I blinked, surprised by his honesty.

“There was this girl,” he continued, voice low. “I thought she was the one. We were serious. But then she left—without warning, without explanation.”

His eyes darkened, and for a moment, I saw a flicker of pain behind the charm.

“It crushed me,” he said quietly. “I trusted her, and she just disappeared. Made me question everything—my worth, my future.”

The confession caught me off guard. I wanted to reach out, to say something comforting.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

He smiled faintly, but there was a distant sadness in his eyes.

“Yeah, well,” he said with a shrug, “that was a long time ago. I’ve learned a lot since then.”

He looked at me, his gaze steady. “And meeting you? It’s different. You’re not like anyone else I know.”

I felt a flush creeping up my neck. The way he looked at me made me feel seen—really seen—something I hadn’t felt in a long time.

For a moment, the chaotic noise of the café melted away, and it was just the two of us.

But then, the moment shifted.

He sighed softly, running a hand through his hair. “I gotta admit, though—I’ve been wondering why you haven’t been texting me back.”

His words came out gentle, but I could feel the subtle sting beneath them.

“We don't need to text that often. It's not like I'm obligated to text back everytime you text me.”

Marco’s expression softened, and a part looked shocked. Perhaps he did not see that coming. Truthfully, even I did not see that coming. My mouth was getting harder and harder to control, like it had a life on its own and had but one sole purpose- to drive people away.

“I get it, Isa,” he said. “You’ve been through a lot. But sometimes, it feels like you’re pushing me away.”

The guilt pricked at me. I hadn’t realized my silence was hurting him.

He smiled, warm but with an edge I couldn’t ignore. “I’m not blaming you. Just want you to know I care. I’m here whenever you’re ready.”

The words wrapped around me, soothing yet confusing.

Then, as if trying to reassure me, he reached out his hand, brushing lightly against mine.

The touch was soft at first. But then he held my hand longer than necessary.

Warmth spread through my fingers, but a cold knot formed in my stomach.

I froze, heart pounding.

Slowly, I pulled my hand back, masking the unease with a polite smile.

Outside, the sun felt sharper, the breeze cooler. I took a deep breath, trying to untangle the confusion inside me.

Marco’s words lingered—the kindness and the guilt-tripping, the warmth and the pushiness.

Was he really the person he claimed to be? Or was I just seeing what he wanted me to see?

The line between care and control blurred, and I didn’t know where I stood.

But one thing was clear: I needed to be careful.

Because sometimes, the kindest smiles hide the sharpest edges.

Marco stirred his coffee slowly, eyes fixed on me.

“You’ve been pretty MIA these past few days,” he said finally, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

I shrugged, trying to sound casual. “Just been… busy, I guess.”

He leaned forward, dropping his voice a little. “Look, there’s this party Friday night. A bunch of your friends are going, and honestly, they’ve been asking about you. Said they miss you, Leah, specifically.”

I blinked, surprised. “Really? I didn’t think they noticed I was gone.”

Marco nodded, eyes warm. “Of course they did. You’re kind of hard to miss.”

I laughed softly. “Yeah, well, I’ve just been trying to keep my head down.”

He gave a small, understanding nod. “How about this—come with me to the party. As a favor. For me.”

I looked at him, brow raised. “A favor?”

“Yeah. I get to see you out and about, and you get to catch up with your friends.”

I hesitated, the thought tugging at something inside me. “I don’t know… Parties aren’t really my thing.”

“Well, it used to be."

Exactly, it used to be.

"Just this once,” he said, voice coaxing. “It’s not about the party. It’s about you being around people who care. I know it's hard for you to enjoy stuff like this specially after what you went through, but, they're all waiting for you to come back. I'm waiting for the old Isabelle to come back. ”

I bit my lip, caught between wanting to say yes and the familiar flutter of unease and discomfort with the word.

Old Isabelle.

They're waiting for the old Isabelle.

She's long dead.

I can't live like she did. I can never.

“Think about it,” he added softly.

I nodded, swallowing the hollowness in my chest, standing up and grabbing my bag. “Alright… I’ll think about it.”

As I walked away, his words lingered in my mind—I haven't been spending much time with them, I owe it to them a lot, an unexpected invitation wrapped in warmth and something else I couldn’t quite place.