Episode 4 — The First Nearness
818 Words
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Episode 4 — The First Nearness
Anaya’s POV
The village notices newcomers before they announce themselves.
It starts with whispers—low, curious, almost excited. By the time I hear about it, half the village already knows.
“A family moved into the empty house near the neem trees,” Amma says while kneading dough. “City people, they say.”
I pause.
“That house?” I ask.
The one no one’s lived in for years. The one too quiet, too far from the center of things.
“Yes. A man, his parents… and a couple who help them.”
Parents.
I don’t know why that detail settles something uneasy in me.
“Will you take some food later?” Amma adds. “It’s polite.”
I nod, even though a strange reluctance coils in my stomach.
By late afternoon, I find myself walking the familiar path—basket in my hands, thoughts scattered. The house comes into view slowly, like it’s emerging rather than appearing.
It looks… changed.
Clean. Awake.
As I step closer, the door opens.
And I stop breathing.
He stands there.
Not the man from the hill.
Not the watcher from the distance.
This one is real. Solid. Close enough that I can see the sharp line of his jaw, the calm darkness of his eyes.
For a second, neither of us moves.
Then I realize how ridiculous I must look—frozen, staring.
“I—I’m Anaya,” I manage. “My mother sent this.”
I hold out the basket like a shield.
He takes it.
Our fingers don’t touch.
Something in his gaze shifts, subtle but unmistakable. Like recognition settling into place.
“Thank you,” he says.
His voice is lower than I expected. Steady. Controlled.
“I’m Salar.”
Just the name.
No explanation. No smile.
Behind him, an older woman appears, her presence warm and deliberate. She smiles at me kindly.
“You must be the girl everyone talks about,” she says. “I’m his mother.”
Mother.
The word lands strangely.
“I’m glad you came,” she continues. “Please, come inside sometime.”
I nod, my head light.
“Yes. Welcome,” I say, though the word feels thin.
As I turn to leave, I feel it again.
That sensation of being watched.
Not followed.
Seen.
And it stays with me long after I walk away.
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Salar’s POV
This is different.
Watching her through screens, from distance, from shadows—none of it prepared me for this.
She’s smaller up close. Not fragile—contained. Like she doesn’t realize how much space she occupies.
She looks at me once, properly.
And something in my chest tightens hard enough to hurt.
Her voice reaches me, soft and careful, like she weighs words before letting them go.
“I’m Anaya.”
I already know.
Still, hearing it from her feels like possession turning real.
I take the basket from her without touching her. Not because I don’t want to.
Because I want to too much.
“My name is Salar,” I tell her.
I let my “mother” step forward, let the scene unfold the way we planned. Normal. Safe. Unremarkable.
She believes it.
Of course she does.
Anaya leaves quickly. Too quickly.
I watch her walk away, posture straight, steps light. She doesn’t look back.
Good.
Min-jae appears beside me once the door closes.
“You shouldn’t have let her come this close,” he says quietly.
“I had to,” I reply.
“Why?”
Because obsession from afar is imagination.
This—
This is real.
“She needed to see me,” I say. “And I needed to see who she is when she isn’t being watched.”
“And?”
I think of her eyes. The pause before she spoke. The way she held the basket like it mattered.
“She’s exactly what I thought,” I answer.
“And worse.”
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Anaya’s POV
That night, I can’t focus.
I fold clothes twice. I forget what I’m doing halfway through. My thoughts keep circling back to his face—calm, unreadable.
Polite. Distant.
Dangerous, a voice whispers.
I don’t know why.
I lie down, staring at the ceiling.
He lives here now.
Not in the distance.
Not in passing.
Near.
And the realization settles in my chest with a strange mix of unease and something I don’t yet have a name for.
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Salar’s POV
The village sleeps early.
I don’t.
From the window, I can see the faint outline of her house. One light flickers on, then off.
She’s home.
Safe.
For now.
I loosen my cuffs, exhaling slowly.
This was the first step.
No shadows.
No distance.
Just proximity and patience.
I didn’t fall in love with her today.
That will come later.
What happened today was worse.
I arrived.
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- Writer
