Chapter 82: Chapter 82
A knock came almost before the sound of his footsteps had faded from the hallway.
Amara was still halfway to setting her mug on the counter when she heard it. From the knock, she could already tell that whoever that was knocking, carried the faintest curve of a smile.
She already knew who it was.
Her hand brushed the handle, and she opened the door without asking who stood on the other side.
Elias.
He was leaning one shoulder against the doorframe. His hair was damp from the drizzle outside. And he had that half-smile tugging at his mouth like it had nowhere else to be.
"It’s barely two minutes since you left," she said, raising a brow.
"I know." His voice had that warm timbre again, the one that made ordinary words sound deliberate. "I was hoping we could take a walk."
The invitation caught her off guard. She blinked at him, half ready to ask why, but something in his eyes made her simply nod. There was no urgency in his gaze, just a steady sort of openess.
"Let me get my coat."
They stepped out into air still smelling faintly of rain. Elias matched her stride without comment, his hands in his pockets, letting the silence between them stretch.
They turned two streets over before he angled toward a narrow corner shop she’d never noticed before. Its windows glowed amber against the damp night, and the faint lettering across the glass read: Fable & Fern — Books & Tea.
Inside, the air was warm with the scent of paper and spiced tea leaves. Old shelves lined the walls, and some were leaning just enough to give the place character. A bell above the door chimed gently when they entered.
"Didn’t peg you for a bookshop person," she murmured.
He glanced at her sideways. "Everyone’s a bookshop person. Some just forget until they walk into one." He smiled.
While he wandered toward the non-fiction shelves, Amara let her fingers trail along the spines in the poetry section. She wasn’t looking for anything in particular.
Well, not until a slim, clothbound book caught her eye. Its cover was a faded sea-green, with the title embossed in gold: Maps of the Quiet Places.
She opened it at random.
There are rooms in the heart no one enters without permission. However, poetry steps into that part of her heart without asking questions.
Her thumb brushed over the words before she shut it and put it back. By the time she found Elias again, he was already at the counter paying for something.
She didn’t think much of it. Not until they stepped back outside and he handed her a small paper bag.
She frowned. "What’s this?"
"Something that was looking at you as much as you were looking at it."
She opened the bag and saw the sea-green cover. For a second, she couldn’t find the words.
"You didn’t have to—"
"I wanted to." His tone was light, but there was no casualness in his eyes.
The drizzle had stopped by the time they started back. Their steps slowed, the street quieter now, and their conversation unfolded, as Amara loosened a bit.
They talked about small things first before the edges softened and something deeper slipped in.
He told her about losing his uncle when he was seventeen, how the absence had settled into their house, and destroyed a lot of things for his family.
She listened, then spoke of her own losses in smaller pieces, like she wasn’t ready to lay them all down at once. How some people left without warning, and some left while still sitting across from you.
"You ever think about what you would’ve done differently?" he asked quietly.
"Every day," she said, her voice barely above the sound of their footsteps. "But that’s the thing about the past. It stays where it is no matter how fast you run toward it."
They walked in silence for a beat, and then she added, "I used to think I’d write a book someday. Nothing big. Just... something with my name on the spine. Something that would outlast me."
He looked at her like she’d just said something that mattered. "You still could."
"Maybe." She shrugged, eyes on the slick pavement. "Life got in the way with crazy writers block."
"Life always will. You just have to decide if you want to wait for it to move or write around it."
Her gaze flicked to him. He wasn’t smiling, but the words had a warmth that stuck. She smiled, but her next smile dropped when he added.
"You’ve been telling stories since you were six," he said without thinking.
She froze. "I never told you that."
He blinked, as if replaying the sentence in his own head, and then shrugged it off with an easy, "You just seem like the type."
She nodded, but something in the back of her mind filed it away. She kept a mental note of it, and blinked at him suspiciously.
When they reached her door, she turned the key in the lock, then looked up to find him watching her.
The air between them shifted.
He didn’t move, but she could tell he was waiting. He faintly lean forward, and held his breath without realizing. She stepped closer, so close her coat brushed his arm, and met his eyes.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Amara remained still, searching his blue eyes. She wondered what he wanted from her, and at this same time, dared him with her gaze to ask her for sex.
Then she laughed, sudden and quiet, her breath misting in the cold.
The tension broke immediately.
She stepped back, unlocking the door fully. "Goodnight, Elias."
Something flickered in his eyes — surprise, maybe, or the faintest curve of surrender — but he smiled anyway. "Goodnight, Amara."
When she closed the door, her chest felt lighter than it had in weeks. And heavier.
Elias lingered outside for a moment longer than he needed to, as if memorizing the sound of her voice saying his name.