A Taste of Him

---

A Taste of Him

Elena couldn't sleep.

It was past midnight. Her apartment was still. Her blankets were tangled around her ankles, and her pillow was damp with sweat.

But it wasn't the summer heat that kept her awake.

It was the feeling again—that invisible tether between her and something out there. Or someone.

Him.

She sat up slowly, pressing her palm to her lower stomach. A soft flutter—barely anything—whispered beneath her skin. She wasn't even sure if it was real. The doctor said it might take another month to feel the baby move, but this… this felt like something.

Not just in her body.

In her heart.

She wrapped a hand around her wrist, grounding herself. She had to stop this. She couldn't keep chasing shadows.

But it was getting harder.

---

When she walked into the kitchen the next morning, her breath caught.

Again.

A meal sat waiting for her on the table.

This time it wasn't just croissants.

It was a plate of hot, buttery scrambled eggs, seasoned just right. Toast, perfectly golden. A bowl of fresh strawberries. And beside it, a glass of warm milk.

She hadn't heard a sound in the night. Not a creak. Not a door. Not a single breath of wind.

Yet someone had been here.

He had been here.

Luca.

She walked toward the table like she was approaching an altar. Her fingers hovered over the edge of the plate, then curled into a fist.

Why did he keep doing this?

Why couldn't he just knock? Just say something? Why leave her aching like this?

She sat down slowly, whispering to the empty room. "Do you think this makes it better?"

The silence answered.

But the food smelled good. Warm. Safe.

She hated that it made her feel something close to comfort.

---

Outside, Luca sat on the rooftop across the street, crouched low, watching her through the crack in her kitchen curtain.

She was eating. Slowly. Thoughtfully. Her eyes flicked up now and then, as if sensing him.

He should leave.

He had told himself that after she went to the clinic, he would back off again. But he couldn't.

The moment he saw her sit alone in that sterile room, filling out her forms with trembling fingers, something in him shattered.

He couldn't stay away anymore.

Even if she hated him.

Even if she never forgave him.

He had left her once. That was enough.

Now he would stay close. Even if it was just in the shadows.

---

That afternoon, Elena walked to the library.

It was cloudy—soft gray skies pressing over the city like a wool blanket. The streets weren't busy, and her thoughts swam in silence.

She was wearing the sweater he left in the bag. She told herself it was because it was warm. But the truth was simpler:

It smelled like him.

It made her feel like someone was walking beside her.

At the crosswalk, she paused, glancing over her shoulder.

A man in a leather jacket stood near a parked car. His head was bent, his arms crossed.

Too far to see clearly.

But something in his stillness made her breath catch.

Luca?

No. It couldn't be. He wouldn't just stand there where anyone could see.

She turned away, heart racing.

---

In the library, she tried to read. But the pages blurred.

She kept thinking about the baby. About the way her life was splitting into pieces she couldn't glue back together. She hadn't told anyone about the pregnancy yet. Not Liam. Not her professors. Not even the neighbor who always asked too many questions.

But the secret was growing—literally.

And so was her confusion.

He was stalking her, yes.

But he had also never hurt her.

And now… he was helping. Silently. Devotedly.

She didn't understand what it meant. What he wanted from her.

But something deep inside whispered:

He doesn't want anything.

He just wants you.

---

When she walked home, the sky was darker. It looked like rain.

She stopped by the convenience store to buy some soup and tea. She didn't want to rely on whatever Luca might bring next. She needed to act normal. Be normal.

But as she stepped outside, the clouds opened up.

Rain poured down in heavy, silver sheets. The streets were slick in seconds. Her sweater soaked through instantly.

She stood under the store awning, shivering. She didn't have an umbrella. Her apartment was fifteen minutes away on foot.

Then headlights flicked on from across the street.

A black SUV. The same one she'd seen a few times over the past weeks. Always at the corner. Always silent.

Her pulse jumped.

The door didn't open.

The engine didn't start.

But she knew. It was him.

Watching.

Waiting.

Protecting.

She didn't wave. Didn't move.

But for the first time, she whispered something aloud she never thought she'd say.

"…Thank you."

Then she turned and walked home through the rain.

When she reached her apartment door, her groceries were still dry.

A plastic bag had been neatly tied over them.

Her key was already in the lock.

She hadn't put it there.

---

Later that night, wrapped in dry clothes and warm tea, Elena opened her laptop and stared at the blank document for her class essay.

Then she opened another file.

"Journal — Private."

She typed.

> I don't know what you want from me.

But you're still here.

Even after everything.

I think part of me is starting to want you here.

Is that wrong?

Does that make me like you?

She paused. Then added:

> Why does your silence feel safer than anyone's words?

---

Luca stood in the hallway, outside her apartment door.

He hadn't knocked. He wouldn't.

But he had to be close. Just for a while.

His palm rested flat on the wall, eyes closed.

He could smell the tea she was drinking. Could hear the faint hum of her heater.

And something inside him felt calm for the first time in weeks.

He wouldn't touch her.

Wouldn't force anything.

But he would be near.

Always.

---