I was sitting in the living room with Clara, watching as she carefully arranged the hair pieces I had brought home from the salon. Each wig she held, inspected, and set in place reminded me of the hours I had spent preparing them — labeling, checking textures, making sure every order was perfect. The quiet rhythm of her hands moving over the wigs was oddly soothing.
Then, without warning, she increased the volume on the television. The sound startled me slightly, and I opened my mouth to ask her to turn it down when my eyes caught the screen — and I froze.
Two teenagers were being led by the police, handcuffed and struggling, their faces pale and scared. The words on the ticker confirmed what my stomach had just realized: arrested for murder. My breath caught. My pulse quickened.
And then my gaze shifted, lingering on the uniforms … the exact same pattern I had seen in Daniel's neighborhood. The teenagers where actually putting the exact uniform.
My chest tightened. My heart skipped.
I didn't speak. I didn't move. The world seemed to narrow down to that screen, the sight of those uniforms, and a creeping sense of dread.
I grabbed my phone, my hands suddenly cold and trembling. I dialed Daniel's number, my mind racing with questions, fears, possibilities. But the line wouldn't connect. I tried again. And again. Still nothing.
Clara noticed my silence. She tilted her head, frowning.
"What's wrong? You're… looking really worried."
I swallowed hard, keeping my eyes fixed on the screen a moment longer.
"It's… nothing," I muttered, forcing my voice calm.
But the tightness in my chest betrayed me.
I called Daniel again. Nothing. My frustration grew with every beep and every unanswered attempt. Finally, I dropped a voice message, my words clipped but urgent: "Daniel, it's me. Call me back as soon as you can."
I put the phone down, exhaling sharply. Something was wrong. I could feel it.
"Clara…" I said quietly, standing up and brushing the edge of the couch.
"Change into something comfortable. I need to step out for a while."
She glanced up at me, concern flickering in her eyes.
"What… where are you going?"
"I'll explain later," I said firmly. "Tell Mom I have to check on something. And please… park the remaining wigs back at the store. I'll handle the rest when I get back."
Clara didn't argue. She simply nodded, her hands still holding the carefully sorted hair. I could see the worry in her face, but I didn't have the time to explain — not now.
I grabbed my car keys from the counter, the metal cool and familiar in my palm. My mind was a storm of thoughts, adrenaline and concern mingling together.
Daniel could be in danger. Or maybe he wasn't — but the sight of those uniforms, the teenagers… something felt off. Something felt connected.
I slipped into my car, the engine purring to life. The street outside felt different somehow — sharper, more urgent. Every passing car, every pedestrian, every shadow seemed amplified. I clutched the steering wheel tighter, telling myself to stay calm, to think clearly, to focus on getting there safely.
But inside, I couldn't shake the image from the television, the uniforms, the helplessness in the teenagers' eyes.
I started the drive toward Daniel's neighborhood, every street familiar yet suddenly charged with tension. My mind raced with possibilities — and the one thing I kept coming back to was the same thought I had tried to push aside: Something is happening. And I need to be there before it gets worse.
The drive to Daniel's house was tense, every second stretched by the pounding of my own thoughts. The sky darkened rapidly, heavy clouds gathering above like a warning. Then the first drops of rain began to fall, sharp and cold against the windshield.
At first, I barely noticed. My focus was elsewhere — on Daniel, on those uniforms, on the unanswered calls and the image of the teenagers on TV. But soon the rain came harder, drumming against the roof of the car, blurring the streetlights, turning the roads slick and treacherous.
Traffic slowed to a crawl. Cars piled up ahead, honking impatiently, tires skidding slightly on wet asphalt. The water pooled in the low spots of the road, reflecting the neon signs and red taillights in distorted, trembling shapes. I gripped the steering wheel tighter, knuckles white, but I didn't care. I needed to get there. I had to.
I dialed Daniel's number again. Nothing. The line went straight to voicemail. My heart thudded violently. Why wasn't he answering? Why is he not answering? The question circled in my mind like a knife.
By the time I neared his street, the rain had become a steady downpour, drenching everything in a cold, silver sheen. My car hit a slick patch, spun slightly, and slammed against the curb. I froze, breath catching in my throat. The engine sputtered, and then, mercifully, died.
I sat there for a moment, chest rising and falling, listening to the relentless rain. The fear I had been pushing down surged up, and I finally admitted it to myself: I cared. I cared more than I wanted to admit. I cared enough to drive recklessly in a storm, to worry myself nearly into panic.
I grabbed my bag, slammed the car door, and ran into the rain, wrapping my arms around myself as the water soaked through my clothes almost immediately. The road was slippery, puddles soaking my shoes, but I didn't care. All that mattered was reaching his house.
I pounded on the front door, water dripping from my hair and sleeves. "Daniel! It's me! Open up!" My voice cracked, swallowed by the storm. Silence.
I knocked again, harder this time, but still nothing. No sound. No footsteps. Not even the faint creak of furniture or his usual voice.
Panic rose, coiling tight in my chest. I glanced around, rain plastering my hair to my face, every shadow outside seeming like it moved, like someone — or something — was watching.
Then I noticed it. The back door. Slightly ajar.
I ran around to the back, mud splashing beneath my heels. The door creaked as I pushed it wider, and the smell of wet earth and rain mixed with the faint, familiar scent of his home — tea, clean linen, faint traces of his cologne. My heart hammered in my chest.
Inside, the house was dark, the only light coming from the dim glow of the rain through the windows. The floor was slick with droplets tracked in from outside. I called his name again, my voice shaking now: "Daniel! Are you here? It's me!"
No answer.
I moved cautiously, stepping over wet footprints, my eyes scanning the room. Every shadow seemed larger, more threatening. My breath came in short, sharp bursts. I could feel the tension in my shoulders, my pulse hammering as if it might burst right out of my chest.
And still, no answer.
I wrapped my arms around myself again, shivering, more from fear than cold. But I couldn't stop. I had to find him. I had to make sure he was safe.
The rain fell harder outside, drumming against the roof, sliding down the windows in shimmering rivers. My hands were trembling, and yet, somehow, I forced myself forward, stepping deeper into the house, calling his name over and over, willing him to answer, willing him to be okay.
I froze mid-step, my heart hammering so hard it felt like it could be heard over the rain. From somewhere inside the house, a voice — loud, sharp, unmistakably annoyed — cut through the pounding storm.
"Who the hell is knocking at my door in this weather?"
The words snapped me upright, my hand still on the doorknob of the back door. I hesitated, unsure whether to answer or run. But the voice came again, louder this time, echoing down the hallway and making my pulse spike.
"Who's out there?!"
I swallowed hard, calling back, my voice trembling despite my effort to stay calm. "It's… it's me! Please, I need to see Daniel!"
There was a pause. I could hear rapid footsteps approaching — heavy, urgent, unmistakably someone coming my way. I pressed myself closer to the wall, rain dripping down my shoulders, water pooling along the edges of my soaked clothes. My fingers clutched my bag like a lifeline.
The door swung open abruptly. My eyes adjusted to the dim light, and for a heartbeat, I didn't recognize him. Then his gaze softened, his brow furrowed as he took in my soaked form, the rain plastering my hair to my face, water dripping from my sleeves onto the floor.
"Wait… it's you?" His voice shifted instantly, from anger to concern, a weight of relief washing through it. "Oh… oh my God, you're soaked!"
I blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift. This wasn't Daniel. Not quite. This was someone taller, broader, the kind of presence that filled the room just by standing there. And yet… there was something familiar, something comforting in the tone of his voice.
"I… I'm sorry," I stammered, shaking off the rain from my hair with a quick flick of my hand. "I didn't mean to alarm anyone. I… I had to check on Daniel. It's important."
He took a step closer, eyes scanning me carefully, assessing, almost protective. "You… you shouldn't be out here in this rain. You look like you've been swimming."
A small laugh escaped me despite the tension, half disbelief, half relief. "It… it's fine. I couldn't wait. I had to make sure he was okay. I tried calling, but he didn't answer…"
He let out a low whistle, shaking his head slightly. "I can see that. And here you are, drenched, standing at my door like a warrior braving a storm." His lips twitched with a smile that softened the edges of his serious expression.
"You… you're Daniel's brother?" I asked, realizing it just now.
He nodded. "Yeah. The one yelling at strangers in the rain." His tone was teasing, but his eyes were sharp, alert, and full of concern. "And you… why didn't you call first?"
"I… I tried," I admitted, my voice quieter now. "I couldn't get through. I was worried. I needed to see for myself that he was safe."
His expression softened even more. He stepped closer, reaching out to brush water off my shoulders. The touch was gentle, careful, almost tentative, but it sent a shiver down my spine — partly from the cold, partly from the unexpected closeness.
"Damn, you're soaked," he said again, more to himself than to me. Then, with a small shake of his head, he added, "You shouldn't have come like this. You could have gotten hurt — slippery roads, traffic…"
I sighed, trying to shrug off the cold and embarrassment. "I don't care about that. I just…" My voice broke slightly, and I swallowed. "I just needed to make sure he was okay."
He studied me for a long moment, and I could see the calculation in his eyes — concern mixed with slight annoyance, protective instincts battling with relief. Then, finally, he stepped aside and gestured toward the doorway.
"Come in," he said firmly. "You're going to catch a cold standing there. Quick — come inside before you start shivering too much."
I hesitated only for a heartbeat, then stepped into the warm hallway, shaking water from my sleeves as I tried to regain some dignity. The interior of the house smelled faintly of tea and clean linen, the same scent I had noticed when I first came in, and it somehow grounded me amidst the chaos of the storm outside and the tension I had felt racing over the streets.
He moved quickly, grabbing a thick towel from a nearby hook. "Here," he said, pressing it into my hands. "Dry off. Don't worry about looking silly. I'm more worried about you getting sick than your pride."
I took the towel, the fabric warm and comforting against my chilled skin. "Thanks," I murmured, letting my head dip slightly as I pressed the towel against my hair and shoulders. "I… I really appreciate it."
"You're crazy," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head, though the corners of his lips twitched like he was trying to hold back a smile. "But… I get it. I know why you're worried about him."
I looked up at him, surprised. "You… you do?"
He nodded, eyes serious now. "Yeah. Daniel… he's stubborn. Doesn't answer his phone half the time, doesn't want to worry anyone… but you? You came here. In the storm. That tells me everything."
I couldn't help but smile, despite the rain still clinging to my clothes and the cold seeping into my bones. "I just… I care," I admitted softly.
He nodded again, more to himself than to me. Then, with a small shrug, he added, "Well… don't ever do this again. Next time, call me first. I'll make sure he's okay before you come running through a storm like a lunatic."
I laughed lightly, finally letting some of the tension drain from my shoulders. "I'll… try. But I can't promise. I couldn't wait this time."
He smiled then — a small, reassuring curve of his lips. "I know. I can see that. And… thank you. Really."
I felt a strange warmth spread through me, contrasting sharply with the chill from the rain outside. Even amidst the fear, the unanswered calls, and the storm I had driven through, there was a sense of relief here, a quiet understanding.
"You should go get changed," he said, motioning toward the living room. "I'll call Daniel for you. Just… sit down, dry off, and warm up. You look like you've been through a battle."
I nodded, finally letting myself relax, and moved toward the couch, letting the towel cling to me a moment longer. The rain still fell outside, relentless, but inside, the warmth of the house — and the concern in Daniel's brother's eyes — made it feel a little less like a storm and a little more like home.