The Gatekeeper
988 Words
“Good morning.”
His voice was smooth and low. Not impolite. Not warm. Just steady—like he was measuring every word but wasn’t quite willing to say more.
“Morning,” I managed, trying not to sound breathless. “I’m Marie. Just moved into 12B.”
He gave a single, brief nod. “Welcome to The Crestwood.”
That was it. No lingering eye contact. No questions. His gaze was already drifting back to the street, as if I’d been a passing shadow.
Still, I hesitated. “Is there a coffee place nearby?”
“Two blocks down,” he said. “They open at seven.”
I smiled. “Thanks.”
He gave me another faint nod. “Have a good day.”
Barely a conversation, but as I walked toward the street, my heart was doing things it hadn’t done in months.
Twenty minutes later, latte in hand at a tiny café that smelled like cinnamon, I found my mind wandering back to him.
**Francis.**
He was unmoving.unreachable and unshakably magnetic .
Over the next few days, I kept finding reasons to pass by the gate. And there he was—Francis.
He never smiled. But he never missed me either.
I decided to test it. One afternoon, I slowed my steps as I passed, forcing my eyes to meet his.
He nodded before I could say a word.
The next day, I tried again.
“Hi, Francis,” I called out, juggling two grocery bags.
His eyes flicked toward me. “Miss Montgomery.”
I grinned. “Dinner recommendations?”
He paused—just a breath—then said, “Bistro. Three blocks west. Quiet. Food’s good.”
I nodded, brushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Maybe I’ll try it.”
He said nothing more, but I noticed his gaze followed me a moment longer than before.
---
I started making excuses to pass the front gate more often.
One morning, I pretended to forget my mail key. Another evening, I looped around the block just to return through the main entrance.
I caught glimpses of Francis’s routine: the way he checked the cameras every twenty minutes, the quiet way he greeted residents by name.
He wasn’t cold—he was composed. Controlled.
That only made him more irresistible.
Still, he offered no more than a glance, a nod, a few words.
Until one night.
---
I couldn’t sleep.
The city was softened by midnight light as I stepped out onto my balcony, hoping the night air would settle my thoughts.
And there he was. Still.
Guarding the world like it might break if he looked away.
I whispered into the quiet, “Who are you really?”
Then my phone buzzed.
A message:
**You notice him. He notices you. That’s the part you don’t see.**
My breath caught. I turned, glancing behind me.
No one.
I looked back down—and Francis had turned too. He was looking up at me.
Our eyes locked for a second too long.
Then he looked away—as if it hadn’t happened at all.
---
The next morning, the gate was empty.
I stopped at the sidewalk, confused. I’d never seen the booth unmanned.
Then the door behind me opened.
“Good morning.”
Francis.
In a dark grey coat, coffee in hand, walking straight toward me.
He stopped just beside me.
“Try the café on 3rd. Better coffee.”
My heart stuttered. “You drink coffee?”
His mouth almost curved. “Sometimes.”
We walked together, quietly.
The sidewalk narrowed, and I stepped closer.
“How long have you worked here?” I asked.
“A while.”
“Do you ever take days off?” He didn’t answer. Just sipped his coffee.
We reached the café. He held the door open.
I stepped inside, half hoping this wasn’t a dream.
We didn’t speak much, but something had shifted—like the city softened just enough to let us in.
When we left, he walked me back.At the gate, I paused.
“Thanks for the company.”
Francis looked at me then—really looked.
“You don’t have to wait for excuses to talk to me.”
Then he turned and stepped into the booth.
I stood there a second longer, warmth blooming where it hadn’t in so long.
---
The next week, I caught myself humming in the elevator.
I rearranged the couch so the sunlight would hit just right in the morning.
I smiled at strangers.
But most of all, I watched the gate.
Wondering if Francis ever smiled when I wasn’t looking.
Then one night, something was tucked under my door.
An envelope with no name, it was just a folded piece of paper inside
**“You made him look away.”**
I stared at the words, fingers trembling.
Then I heard **a knock.**. I opened the door.
Francis stood there.
His eyes flicked to the envelope in my hand.
“You got one too.” I nodded.
“I don’t know who’s sending them,” he said quietly. “But they’re not wrong.”
I stared at him, pulse racing. “What do you mean?”
For the first time, Francis didn’t look past me. Didn’t look at the street.
He looked only at me and smiled.It was soft and real.
**My phone buzzed again.**
I glanced down.
**Don’t fall for him.**
I looked up, and I notice Francis was already gone.
---
I stood there, heart pounding.The quiet night felt suddenly heavy.Because the messages, the smiles, the moments they all hinted at something more.
But who was warning me? and why?
I wanted to follow him. To ask
**Buzz.**
Another message:
**Some secrets don’t want to be uncovered.**
I swallowed hard.
Then—**footsteps.** slow,steady and it’s getting closer,I turned and no one was there
But I wasn’t alone anymore.
- Writer
