Alina got home in silence.
No music. No phone calls. No distractions.
Just silence.
The kind that didn't comfortit pressed.
She closed the door behind her slowly, like even sound felt too loud for her now. Then she stood there for a moment, unmoving, as if her body hadn't caught up with her mind yet.
Her chest still felt tight.
Her thoughts still weren't settled.
And worst of all…
Lucien was still there.
Not physically.
But everywhere else.
She dropped her bag on the bed and sat down carefully.
Too carefully.
Like she was afraid sudden movement would make everything real again.
Her fingers curled slightly against her palms.
"I don't understand," she whispered to herself.
Because she didn't.
Not anymore.
The man she had just seen…
Wasn't the man she had been carrying in her mind.
Or maybe
That was the problem.
Maybe the man in her mind was never real to begin with.
She exhaled slowly and leaned back, staring at the ceiling.
Her thoughts began to replay everything.
The first meeting.
The rain.
The pull.
The kiss.
His voice.
His hands.
The way he looked at her like she mattered.
And then
Today.
Cold. Calm. Detached.
"I don't," he had said.
"There's nothing to act on."
Alina closed her eyes tightly.
"No…" she whispered.
But the doubt had already started growing.
Because what if
What if she misread everything?
What if it was just her?
What if she built meaning where there was none?
Her heart tightened painfully at the thought.
She stood abruptly and walked to the mirror.
Stared at herself.
Really looked this time.
Her expression looked… off.
Tired.
Uncertain.
Like someone who had lost something she couldn't name.
"Get a grip," she said softly.
But her voice lacked conviction.
Because how do you get a grip on something you can't even confirm was real?
Her phone vibrated on the bed.
She turned quickly.
Too quickly.
Then paused.
It wasn't him.
Just a message from a colleague.
Her shoulders dropped slightly.
"…of course," she muttered.
Then she sat back down again.
And that was when it hit her.
Not sadness.
Not anger.
Something quieter.
Heavier.
Humiliation.
Because she had stood there… vulnerable… questioning him… questioning herself…
And he had looked at her like she was nothing more than a passing moment.
Her throat tightened.
"No," she whispered again, firmer this time.
But her eyes were already glassy.
"I'm not crazy."
Silence answered her.
And that silence hurt more than anything he had said.
She pulled her knees slightly to her chest, sitting on the bed now.
Smaller.
Quieter.
Like shrinking herself might reduce the noise in her head.
But it didn't.
Because now, every memory felt dangerous.
Every detail felt questionable.
Every emotion felt unreliable.
And that was the worst part.
Because she didn't know what to trust anymore.
Not him.
Not the memory.
And now
Not even herself.
Elsewhere in the city…
Lucien stood alone in a dim-lit room.
Still.
Controlled.
His phone lay untouched on the table.
But his mind wasn't quiet.
It never had been since her.
His jaw tightened slightly as he looked out the window.
"Too soon," he murmured to himself.
Not regret.
Not confusion.
Something closer to restraint.
As if something inside him had reacted… and he had forced it back into place.
He exhaled slowly.
Then turned away.
Back in her room, Alina lay down slowly.
Eyes open.
Staring at nothing.
Trying not to think.
Failing anyway.
Because now, the most dangerous thing wasn't Lucien's presence.
It was his absence.
And the space he left behind…
Was starting to feel like it had always belonged to him.