Chapter 4
1520 Words
Luna couldn’t shake him.
All day his face kept flashing behind her eyes—those piercing blue eyes during the lecture, the quiet way he’d said her name when she asked about the reading, the brief, electric pause when their gazes locked. Every time she tried to focus on notes, on food, on the girls’ chatter in the hostel, Ethan slipped back in like smoke.
By late afternoon she gave up.
“I need air,” she told Aria, who was sprawled on the floor scrolling t****k.
“Take your pepper spray,” Zara called from her desk without looking up.
Luna slipped out, hoodie up, earbuds in but no music playing. Just the rhythm of her sneakers on the pavement. She walked past the campus gate, down the quieter residential streets lined with jacaranda trees dropping purple blossoms like confetti. The sun was dipping low, painting everything gold and soft.
She told herself: *Walk him out of your system. Just breathe.*
But the more she walked, the louder the thoughts got. His voice explaining Plato. His small, amused smile when someone asked a dumb question. The way his forearms flexed when he wrote on the board.
Her steps slowed. Head felt light. Too light.
The world tilted.
Black spots danced at the edges of her vision.
Then nothing.
---
Ethan was on his evening run—same route every day, earbuds blasting an old playlist, trying to burn off the restless energy that had settled in his chest since seeing Luna in class again. The same quiet girl who barely spoke but whose gaze felt like it saw straight through him.
He rounded the corner near the small park and saw her.
She was crumpled on the sidewalk, hoodie half-off one shoulder, face pale against the concrete.
“Luna!”
He sprinted the last few meters, dropped to his knees, checked her pulse—steady, thank God—then gently turned her face toward him. No blood. Breathing shallow but even. Fainted. Probably dehydration, stress, heat. He didn’t wait to guess.
He scooped her up carefully—bridal style, her head resting against his shoulder—and carried her the four blocks to his house. Heart hammering harder than any run ever made it.
Inside, he laid her on the guest bed, pulled off her sneakers, covered her with a light throw. Sat on the edge of the mattress for a long minute, watching her chest rise and fall, fighting the wave of protectiveness that felt too big, too dangerous.
Then he went to the kitchen. Started cooking. Rice, stew, fried plantain—simple, grounding things. Something to do with his hands so he wouldn’t just sit there staring at her like a creep.
---
Luna woke slowly.
Soft sheets. Unfamiliar ceiling fan turning lazy circles. A faint scent of cedar and spices in the air.
She sat up too fast—dizzy, head throbbing—and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Bare feet on cool hardwood. She padded out of the room, down a short hallway, into an open-plan sitting room that stopped her cold.
High ceilings. Clean lines. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves packed with hardcovers. A sleek leather sectional. Abstract art on the walls that probably cost more than her entire tuition. Everything screamed quiet wealth—tasteful, understated, expensive.
*Whose house is this?*
She followed the soft clatter of pots downstairs.
And froze on the landing.
Ethan stood at the island in the open kitchen, stirring something on the stove. Casual gray T-shirt clinging to his shoulders, sleeves pushed up, hair still slightly damp from a shower. He looked up—and their eyes met.
“You’re awake,” he said, voice low and relieved. A small smile curved his mouth. “Good.”
Luna’s brain short-circuited.
She mumbled, half to herself, “I was literally running away from you… and now there’s no escape.”
Ethan’s smile turned wry. “You fainted on the street. I was out running. Saw you go down. Brought you here. You scared the hell out of me.”
“Oh God.” Her face burned. “I’m so sorry. For the trouble. I should go—”
He shook his head. “It’s almost 2 a.m. Look.”
He nodded toward the wall clock. Sure enough—2:03.
“Streets aren’t safe for a woman alone at this hour,” he continued gently. “There’s been chatter about some security incident downtown. Roads might be restricted. Just… stay till morning. I have food ready.”
Luna glanced at the pot—steaming jollof rice, plantain sizzling in another pan. Her stomach growled traitorously.
She nodded, mortified but too tired to argue.
He plated the food, set it on the island with a glass of water. “Eat. Slowly.”
She sat. Took a bite. The flavors hit—perfectly spiced, comforting. For a second she forgot everything.
Then her eyes drifted to him—leaning against the counter opposite her, arms crossed, watching her with quiet concern.
And the imagination kicked in again.
In her head: she set the fork down, stood, walked around the island. Looked up at him. Whispered, “I can’t stop thinking about you.”
He’d reach out—slow, careful—cup her face. Thumb brushing her cheek. Then pull her in. Kiss her deep and slow. Lift her onto the counter. Hands sliding under her hoodie. Mouth on her neck. Her legs wrapping around him. Whispering filthy things while she—
Luna choked on her rice.
Coughed. Eyes watering.
Ethan was at her side in a second, hand on her back. “Hey—easy. You okay?”
She waved him off, face flaming. “Fine! Just… swallowed wrong.”
He rubbed slow circles between her shoulder blades—innocent, soothing. “Take your time.”
In her head she screamed: *Luna, have some shame! The man just saved your life and you’re turning his kitchen into a porno set in your brain.*
She cleared her throat. “Sorry. Again.”
He chuckled softly. “Stop apologizing. You’re here. You’re safe. That’s what matters.”
They talked then—really talked.
About books (he loved history non-fiction; she confessed to rereading Adichie when anxious). About late-night walks (they both did them to think). About how solitude could feel like the safest place and the loneliest at the same time.
Luna felt the knot in her chest loosen. His voice was calm. Steady. No pressure. No expectations. Just… presence.
She felt safe.
Calm.
Wanted.
After the plates were cleared, he disappeared upstairs and came back with a folded gray T-shirt and soft joggers.
“These should fit better than what you’ve got on,” he said. “Guest bathroom’s down the hall. Towels are fresh.”
She took them—fingers brushing his for half a second. Electric.
“Thank you.”
He nodded. “I’ll be in the living room if you need anything.”
She changed quickly—his T-shirt fell to mid-thigh, soft and worn-in, smelling exactly like him. She hugged her arms around herself for a second, breathing it in.
Then her phone buzzed—loud on the nightstand.
Aria calling. Group FaceTime.
She answered on speaker.
“Luna! Where the hell are you?!” Aria’s voice exploded through the speaker. “We’ve been calling for hours!”
Layla jumped in: “We were about to call the police!”
“I’m fine,” Luna said quickly. “I… fainted on my walk. A friend—Sofia—found me. I’m at her place. I’m so sorry I didn’t call.”
Zara’s voice, calmer: “You scared us. But you’re okay?”
“Yeah. Just shaken.”
Then Aria: “Babe, did you hear? There’s some security thing downtown. They’re saying no movement for three days. Full lockdown. Roads blocked, everything.”
Luna’s eyes widened. She glanced toward the doorway—Ethan was leaning against the frame, arms crossed, clearly hearing every word.
“I… had no idea,” she said. “I’ll stay with Sofia then. I’m safe.”
They talked a few more minutes—relief, teasing, promises to check in tomorrow—then hung up.
Silence settled.
Luna looked at Ethan. “I’ll find a way out tomorrow. I’m really sorry for inconveniencing you like this.”
He shook his head, smile soft. “You’re not inconveniencing me. Stay as long as you need. Seriously.”
She laughed—a small, nervous sound. “You’re too nice.”
“You’re too hard on yourself.”
They ended up back in the living room—couch, low lamp light, talking about nothing and everything. Music. Childhood. Dreams they were afraid to say out loud.
Hours slipped by.
Eventually he stood. “I should let you sleep.”
She nodded.
He showed her back to the guest room. Lingered at the doorway. “Goodnight, Luna.”
“Goodnight, Ethan.”
He left.
She crawled under the covers—still in his T-shirt—and fell asleep almost instantly.
Safe.
Warm.
Surrounded by the faint scent of him.
- Writer
