The morning sunlight spilled across the guest room floor in soft, muted layers. I stood near the window, watching the city breathe awake beneath me. For the first time in days, the world outside felt reachable, almost gentle. I pulled in a long breath, letting the familiar tug of homesickness settle in my chest.
A single permission slip sat on the counter—signed, stamped, and sealed.
A day off.
When I told the man I worked for that I needed a break to visit my family, he had simply studied my face for a long moment before giving a short nod. No questions. No arguments. Just a quiet, unreadable look that followed me long after I left the penthouse.
By the time I reached home, my mother's arms wrapped around me before I even stepped fully inside. The scent of sandalwood soap and warm spices clung to her clothes, the scent I had grown up with, and a comfort I didn't realize I had been craving so deeply.
"Oh, sweetheart… you look tired," she murmured, cupping my cheeks between her hands.
"I'm okay," I said, smiling, leaning into her touch. "Just busy."
My little brother burst into the living room a second later, eyes bright and energy overflowing. "You're here! Finally! Are we going to get something sweet? We have to! You promised last week!"
I laughed, ruffling his hair. "Yes, I promised. And yes, we're absolutely getting cake today."
It was a small thing, but it made him glow.
We spent the morning sitting around the old dining table, talking about school and silly things, the house echoing with laughter I had missed more than I realized. But even in the warmth of home, a name kept drifting into my mind—uninvited, unwelcome, persistent.
The man whose presence lingered even in silence.
I shook the thought away every time it surfaced.
This day wasn't for him.
This day was for my family.
By afternoon, Liam tugged at my hand, insisting we go for cake before all the good slices were gone. Mom handed me her wallet despite my protests, and we stepped out into the bright, bustling street.
We reached the bakery and were halfway through choosing pastries when a familiar voice called out from behind us.
"Well, this is a surprise."
I turned, and there he stood—someone from a very different time in my life. The older friend who used to visit his sister at my school, the one I used to quietly admire from afar. He looked exactly the same—warm, grounded, effortlessly charming.
"You're here too?" I asked, smiling before I even realized it.
"Day off," he said, shrugging lightly. "Thought I'd walk around the city a bit. And look who I ran into."
My brother beamed up at him. "She promised me cake! And ice cream!"
He laughed softly. "Then it's a special day. Mind if I join you two for a while?"
I should have hesitated. I should have politely declined. It would have been the mature thing to do.
But I didn't.
We spent the afternoon at an amusement park—riding the ferris wheel, trying out silly games, watching my brother run from one attraction to another with pure excitement. The warmth of the sun, the sound of laughter, and the familiarity of an old connection made everything feel simple. Almost too simple.
For a moment, it felt like stepping back into a younger version of myself, the version who didn't have contracts or complicated adults orbiting her life.
By the time the sky turned violet, he offered to drive us home.
My brother fell asleep on the backseat halfway through the ride. Outside the window, the streetlights glowed like small embers in the falling dusk.
When we arrived, he helped me gently carry my brother to the front door. I guided the sleepy boy inside, tucked him onto the sofa, and returned to the porch to thank him properly.
"Today was… really nice," I said softly. "It felt like old times."
He leaned against the railing, arms crossed loosely. "It was good seeing you again. You always had this… spark about you."
I laughed, flustered. "Don't tease me."
"I'm not. You were always memorable."
That comment shouldn't have made my heart trip the way it did. Maybe it was nostalgia, maybe it was the warmth of the day, maybe I was simply overwhelmed with the familiarity he brought with him—familiarity I had been starved of lately.
The words slipped out before I could stop them.
"I… used to like you."
Silence stretched between us.
I felt the weight of the moment press down on my shoulders, heat gathering behind my ears.
He blinked, genuinely surprised. "You… liked me?"
My breath tightened. "Back then. When I was in school. You probably never noticed, but… yeah. I did."
The expression that crossed his face wasn't discomfort—it was something gentler, almost understanding.
"You were a sweet kid," he said quietly. "And even now, you're still someone anyone would be lucky to know. But I always saw you as… someone I needed to protect. Not someone to date."
It didn't sting as badly as I expected, but it did sink into my chest with a quiet heaviness.
"I understand," I whispered.
He smiled reassuringly and placed a small teddy bear in my hands. "A tiny gift. For old times' sake. Don't make it awkward the next time we meet, alright? Let's just pretend you told me the weather forecast."
Despite everything, I laughed. "I'll try."
As he walked away, streetlights casting long shadows behind him, I turned the teddy bear over in my hands. Its small button eyes stared up at me like they knew more than they should.
That was when I sensed it.
Not seen. Not heard.
Sensed. A shift in the air.A quiet presence.
A tension that hadn't been there a moment ago.
I turned slowly, and at the far end of the street—just where the shadow swallowed the light—I caught sight of a tall silhouette leaning casually beside a sleek parked car.
The posture was relaxed.Too relaxed.As if the person had been there longer than he should have.
As if he had watched the scene unfold from start to finish and said nothing.
He didn't approach. Nor he didn't call out.He didn't interrupt.
He simply stood there, unreadable under the dim glow of the streetlamp.
And for a fleeting second, a cold prickle crept up my spine—not from fear, but from the sudden realization that this private moment… might not have been as private as I hoped.
The figure shifted slightly, then disappeared into the car, the engine humming to life before driving away without a trace.
I held the teddy bear tighter, unsure why my heart suddenly felt heavier than it had all day.
Tomorrow, life would return to normal.
But tonight…something had changed.
And I wasn't sure yet whether it was a beginning—or the beginning of a storm.