part 24 :caught in the quite

The wind tugged at the hem of Fiona's cardigan as she walked, her steps slow, deliberate, like her heart was still trying to decide whether to open or close. The path ahead was scattered with rose petals, soft from the day's sun and now kissed by the night's hush. The scent was gentle, nostalgic—like something she couldn't quite remember but still longed for.

He walked beside her without trying to fill the silence, without needing to prove anything. That alone made her chest tighten. She had known men who demanded space, who filled it with fire or ice. But this one? He just was—steady, calm, patient.

She didn't dare look at him. Not yet. The weight of his earlier words still lingered in the air like cello strings humming against her ribs.

"Because when you finally listen... I want the music to be worth the wait."

Fiona wrapped her arms tighter around herself, not from the cold, but from the way his words slipped beneath her skin, warm and unwanted and almost welcome. She hated how much she wanted to believe him. How much she wanted the music to be for her.

They reached a bend in the path where the roses gave way to lavender again—this town seemed to whisper in colors, in scents. And maybe... maybe it was whispering to her, too.

"You really believe people can start over?" she asked, voice low like a secret.

He glanced at her, hands still in his pockets. "Not just start over. I think sometimes we meet people who remind us who we were before the world told us who we had to be."

Her breath caught.

She had spent so long forgetting. Burying the girl who laughed too loud, who trusted too quickly, who believed in signs and stars and impossible love. She had worn armor built from silence and sharp comebacks. But now, under this moonlight, beside someone who didn't press—just offered—she felt that girl stirring again.

Still, she gave a wry smile. "That sounds dangerous."

"It is," he agreed, softly. "But so is hiding."

They reached the top of the hill, and the town stretched below them like a painting. Lights in the windows, the ocean murmuring in the distance, the world somehow both vast and small.

Fiona stood still, the wind tugging at her hair now, brushing strands across her face. She closed her eyes for a second. Just one.

"I don't want to fall," she whispered.

He took a single step closer, not touching her, just enough for his warmth to reach. "Then don't fall," he murmured. "Walk into it. On your terms."

She opened her eyes, turning to him slowly. And for the first time, she really looked.

The scar along his jaw. The quiet beneath his eyes. The stillness of someone who had lived through storms but didn't wear them like armor.

"Your name," she said. "You never told me."

He smiled like it wasn't important. "Does it matter?"

Fiona tilted her head. "Maybe not. But I'd like to know it anyway."

He held her gaze. "Elias."

It felt like something clicked. Like a note resolving in a melody she hadn't known was unfinished.

Fiona nodded once, then looked ahead again, her voice almost lost in the wind. "Okay, Elias. Just a little more walking."

He didn't answer. He just stayed beside her, footsteps quiet, respectful—matching her pace, meeting her where she was.

Not chasing. Not forcing.

Just… enough.