CHAPTER 9 – When Your Name No Longer Feels Foreign in My Heart

Since that visit to the bookstore, Claire realized something she had never allowed to happen before: Elliot's presence was no longer just a routine she had to tolerate. He had begun blending into her days—in the small conversations, in the silences that no longer felt awkward, and through the simple habits that had unconsciously taken root.

She started noting things in her mind: the sound of Elliot's footsteps when he came home, the rhythm of his breathing from the other room, and the way he stayed quiet when he didn't know what to say—yet refused to leave.

Claire had never liked chaos. But now, she felt restless when everything was too orderly.

Meanwhile, Elliot kept a small notebook in his jacket pocket. Not a textbook, not a diary. It was filled with fragments of sentences he'd heard from Claire—not because he wanted to preserve them like memories, but because he feared... one day, that voice might disappear.

That afternoon, Claire came home earlier than usual. She found Elliot asleep in the living room, a stack of papers on his lap and a note he hadn't had time to put away.

She approached quietly, and as she reached to pick up the paper so it wouldn't fall, her eyes unintentionally read its contents.

Elliot's handwriting, neat yet slightly hesitant:

*"If someone stays in your life long enough, without you ever calling them by the right name... will they remain, or will they eventually leave to find another name somewhere else?"*

Claire froze.

She didn't know when Elliot's words had begun to shake her so deeply. She didn't know when she had stopped referring to him as "the kid." And she had never once called him a "friend." But she knew one thing for sure: Elliot was no one—and that made him more dangerous than anyone.

Claire placed the note back without waking him.

Yet that night, she stood in front of the mirror longer than usual. She stared at her calm but empty face. And in the silence, she asked herself a question she had never allowed to surface before:

*"What is truly growing inside me?"*

Henri, who never interfered in Claire's personal affairs, began noticing something. When he delivered a report to her office, he found Claire no longer spending her nights in front of her computer. That book—*The Silence Between Two Names*—lay open on her desk, turned to a page with just one line:

*"Some names are too heavy to say... because behind them lies a feeling that refuses to be judged."*

Henri stayed silent. He wasn't a man of many words. But the next morning, when he ran into Elliot in the kitchen, he said without looking directly at him:

*"Sometimes, what frightens a person the most... isn't loss. It's admitting they want something."*

Elliot only nodded—and for the first time, said nothing in return.

That day, Claire stared at her name on her business card. It read: *Jayde Claire, Founder & CEO.*

Then she glanced at the unframed photo tucked in the corner of her desk. Emilia had taken it secretly—showing Claire sitting in the backyard with Elliot reading beside her. They weren't close. But there was something tying them together, even without touching.

Claire picked up the photo. She traced it gently.

And in her heart, for the first time, she spoke a name.

*"Elliot..."*

Not as a kid. Not as a guest.

But as the only name... that no longer felt foreign in her heart.

Days passed, yet something lingered between them—a distance not born of discomfort, but of the awareness of something growing, not yet ready to be named.

Claire now often fell silent when sharing a room with Elliot. Not because she had nothing to say, but because she feared her words might trigger questions she couldn't yet answer. She had never imagined that the presence of someone so much younger, with a background so different from hers, could make her world tremble—like a crystal glass on the edge of a table, waiting to fall.

Meanwhile, Elliot... chose to stay home more often than going out. He was beginning to realize that the time he spent near Claire wasn't just an escape from the outside world. Nor was it just comfort. It was something subtler, more complicated. He felt... bound.

Not by rules. But by feeling.

One quiet night, Claire stepped out of her office and found Elliot sitting alone on the stairs, the dim hallway light casting shadows. He wasn't sleeping, nor reading. Just sitting. Like someone waiting for something uncertain to arrive.

*"You're not asleep?"* Claire asked softly.

Elliot turned, slightly startled, then shook his head. *"I just don't want today to end too soon."*

Claire went quiet. The words were simple, yet unusual.

She walked closer and sat two steps above him. Not touching. Not looking directly. But the distance between them... wasn't as wide as before.

*"Sometimes I feel... the days here pass too quickly,"* Elliot murmured. *"Too quiet. Too comfortable. And that's what scares me."*

*"Scares you?"* Claire repeated, her voice barely audible.

*"Yes,"* he said. *"Because anything too comfortable... usually doesn't last."*

Claire inhaled slowly. She turned slightly, studying Elliot's profile in the faint light.

*"If something makes you comfortable,"* she said, *"then you have the right to hold onto it. Even if you don't know for how long."*

Elliot closed his eyes briefly. Then, in a voice so soft it was almost inaudible, he said:

*"I don't want to call you 'home,' Claire... because homes can be sold. Moved. Left behind."*

Claire held her breath.

*"But if I could choose one place to return to, every time the world rejects me..."* Elliot opened his eyes, turning slowly to look at her, *"...I'd want it to be you."*

Time seemed to stop. No other sound filled the house except the ticking of the wall clock, indifferent to the quiet tremors in their hearts.

Claire didn't answer.

But for the first time, she didn't walk away. She stayed there. In silence, in restlessness, in a nameless feeling... slowly taking shape.

And that night, without another word, they both knew: something had changed.

Not because it was spoken.

But because it was felt.