The Umbrella in Her Chest

There were days when Elena could pretend he was just a dream. A flicker in the corner of her mind, nothing more.

And then, something would happen to remind her.

Like the girl at the café who accidentally spilled hot tea on her hand. The burn hadn't been terrible, just sudden — enough to make Elena yelp quietly and reach for a napkin. But before she even got to the counter to ask for ice, someone else handed her a small, cold can of soda from behind.

No one was there.

The hallway outside the café was empty, but the can remained in her hand — untouched, unopened.

She knew.

The same way she'd known when she walked out of her classroom to find her broken headphone wire replaced with a new pair, same brand, same color. Or when her campus login page refused to load one day, and by the next morning, her university fees had miraculously been marked "fully covered."

No one had said anything. No announcement, no email.

It wasn't possible.

And yet it kept happening.

Elena found herself glancing over her shoulder more and more. She wasn't scared. Not exactly. But she was something.

Tense.

Exposed.

Sometimes, when she walked home, she moved slower. Part of her waited for footsteps behind her. Not because she wanted danger — but because she missed the silence that used to follow her so closely. She missed him, even if she didn't have a name.

Not yet.

Liam had noticed her distraction. He'd started walking her to the school gates when he could, chatting about assignments and lecturers. Elena appreciated it, even liked him — but there was something too open about Liam. Too obvious.

She didn't want obvious.

She wanted the quiet.

The kind of quiet that felt like someone was listening to her breathing. Watching her blink. Following her, just enough to make her feel seen but never truly caught.

She caught herself touching the umbrella sometimes — the one he left that night. Her fingers traced the carved word again and again, like reading Braille made for her alone.

Mine.

Why would someone like him — someone who didn't know her — care?

She kept asking herself that.

And she kept remembering that he had known her name long before she ever knew his face.

One night, she sat by her window, the umbrella in her lap, her phone buzzing with Liam's message:

"Are you okay? Haven't seen you much today."

She stared at it.

Did she want to answer? Did she want Liam to fill the silence?

Or did she want him — the silence itself?

Across the street, by the lamp post, she saw a shadow shift. Not fast. Not threatening.

Just… watching.

Her heart squeezed. The light buzzed above the figure, casting only enough detail to show a hooded shape, tall and still.

She stood slowly. Her fingers trembled.

"Are you there?" she whispered to no one. "Why don't you come closer?"

But he didn't move.

Just watched.

Like he always did.

And when she blinked — when a car passed for only a second — he was gone.

Only the quiet remained.

But this time, it was heavier.

Like the umbrella inside her chest had opened again — and it was raining from the inside out.

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