The Words She Left Behind
679 Words
The night felt quieter than usual.
Isolde sat on the bench, her bag resting beside her.
The streetlights stretched long shadows across the empty road, the faint hum of passing cars fading in and out like distant echoes.
She hadn’t planned to stop.
Her feet had simply… given in.
“…I’m tired,” she murmured under her breath.
Not just from work.
Not just from the day.
But from thinking.
From feeling something she couldn’t understand.
You’ll remember eventually.
She let out a quiet breath, leaning back slightly.
“…Remember what?”
Silence.
Her fingers curled loosely in her lap.
“You ever feel like…” she whispered, more to herself than anyone,
“…you’re just holding on for no reason?”
She didn’t expect an answer.
“…Someone once told me to find a reason to live.”
Her breath stilled.
The voice was calm.
Low.
Familiar—
In a way she couldn’t explain.
Isolde turned slowly.
Lucian stood a few steps away.
She hadn’t heard him approach.
Her heart began to beat faster.
“…What?”
His gaze rested on her—not intense, not sharp—
Just steady.
“…Maybe for h—”
He paused.
Then stopped.
Silence followed.
Isolde frowned slightly, her chest tightening.
“…For who?”
Lucian didn’t answer.
Instead, he shifted his gaze slightly, as if the rest of the sentence didn’t need to be said.
Something about that—
That unfinished thought—
Pulled at her.
“…That sounds like something I would say,” she admitted quietly.
A pause.
“…But I don’t remember saying it.”
Lucian looked at her again.
There it was.
Not memory—
But recognition.
“You talk like that,” he said.
“…Like what?”
“As if things are simple.”
Isolde let out a small breath, almost a quiet laugh.
“…They’re not.”
“I know.”
The answer came too easily.
She looked at him again, this time more carefully.
“…You keep saying things like you know me,” she said.
Lucian didn’t deny it.
“I do."
Her heart skipped.
“…That doesn’t make sense.”
“It doesn’t have to.”
Silence settled between them again.
But this time—
It felt different.
Not distant.
Not tense.
Just… close.
Isolde looked away first, pressing her lips together slightly.
“…I should go,” she said quietly.
She stood, reaching for her bag.
Before she could take a step—
“I’ll walk you.”
She paused.
Then shook her head lightly.
“…That’s not necessary.”
“It is.”
His tone wasn’t forceful.
But it wasn’t optional either.
Isolde hesitated.
“…I’ll be fine.”
Lucian didn’t argue.
Didn’t insist again.
He simply waited.
And when she finally took a step forward—
He followed.
Isolde noticed almost immediately.
“…You don’t have to do this,” she said without turning back.
No response.
Her grip tightened slightly on her bag.
“…I mean it.”
Still—
No response.
She stopped walking and turned.
Lucian stopped too.
A few steps behind her.
Watching.
“…Why are you like this?” she asked softly.
A pause.
Then—
“Because I can’t ignore you.”
Her breath caught.
The answer was simple.
Too simple.
And yet—
It didn’t feel like a lie.
Isolde looked at him for a moment longer…
Then turned again.
This time—
She didn’t tell him to stop.
And he didn’t step back.
They walked the rest of the way like that.
Not together.
Not apart.
Just…
Within reach.
When they reached her street, Isolde slowed.
“…You can stop here,” she said quietly.
Lucian didn’t move immediately.
Then—
He stopped.
And for a brief moment—
Neither of them spoke.
“…Goodnight,” she said softly.
Lucian inclined his head slightly.
“Goodnight, Isolde.”
She turned and walked away.
This time—
She didn’t look back.
But she knew.
He was still there.
Watching.
And for the first time—
It didn’t feel entirely unsettling.
- Writer
