Chapter 33: Stillness in the Middle of the Rush

The light filtered in faintly through sheer curtains, washing the bedroom in soft gold. A quiet warmth lingered in the sheets; body heat, mingled scents, and memory. The early morning hum of the city outside was distant, muffled by glass and dreams.

Anya stirred first. She blinked awake slowly, lashes brushing against Elias's shoulder. His arm was slung loosely around her waist, breath slow, steady. She could feel the rise and fall of his chest beneath her cheek. He smelled like musk, sleep, and something impossibly familiar him.

Elias shifted under her, groggy but aware. "Mmm... what time is it?"

She glanced at the clock. "Nearly eight. You said you have a call at nine, right?"

"Damn," he muttered, voice thick with sleep. "Yeah. But I could spare twenty more minutes..."

She lifted herself slightly, resting her chin on his chest. "We already played the five-more-minutes game two days ago."

He opened one eye, grinning. "And yet... here we are. Tempted again."

Anya laughed softly, and before she could respond, he rolled on top of her, catching her lips in a kiss. She melted into it, threading her fingers through his hair.

"I'm going to miss this when I leave," he murmured, lips brushing her neck.

Her breath caught. "Don't say that yet."

Their bodies found rhythm in the hush of morning, moving gently in sync like a slow, familiar dance practiced only by them. The soft brush of skin against skin, the warmth of their breath mingling in the small space between, created a cocoon of quiet intimacy. Outside, the city was just beginning to stir; a faint murmur of distant traffic, the occasional bird's tentative song, and the subtle hum of awakening life threading through the window. But inside, time felt suspended, slowed to a tender heartbeat shared between two souls.

He traced lazy circles along the curve of her spine, fingers mapping a silent language of comfort and longing. She responded with a sigh, fingers weaving through his hair, clutching at the silk-soft strands as if anchoring herself to this moment. Their whispered names were breathless and soft, barely audible confessions carried on the edge of dawn's light. It was a love made unhurried and quiet; a secret sanctuary carved out from the rush of the world, something sacred and fragile, known only to them.

Each touch was a promise, every sigh a vow to hold on to this fragile stillness. In this small room, with only the slow rise and fall of their chests and the mingled scent of skin and sleep, they built a sanctuary that neither needed to speak aloud. Here, love was felt in the space between heartbeats, in the gentle press of palms and the warmth of whispered names; a soft beginning, slow and steady, like the dawn itself.

....

By 8:45, Elias was dressed in slacks and a white shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows. He adjusted his watch, glancing at her over his coffee mug. She stood by the window in his oversized hoodie, eating an apple.

"Four o'clock shift today?" he asked.

"Yeah." She leaned against the sill. "Evening rush, table 14 nightmare and all."

He forced a chuckle, eyes flickering toward the restaurant entrance. "Max'll be there… I guess he's usually around when you need backup."

She caught the slight edge in his voice and smirked. "Max only backs me up when it suits him."

Elias hesitated, buttoning his cuff slowly. "Just… be careful, yeah? You know how he can be."

She raised an eyebrow. "You don't like me talking to Max, do you?"

He looked away for a moment, then nodded. "It's nothing… just want to make sure you're okay."

Anya raised an eyebrow. "You jealous?"

"Only if you flirt back."

She grinned. "I'll make sure he sees my 'taken' face."

Elias crossed the room and kissed her forehead. "I'll see you at the restaurant later... unless I get swamped. Text me?"

"I always do."

With that, he left, leaving behind the fading scent of his cologne and a quiet that hung in the air like the end of a melody.

.....

4:05 PM : Back of House

The shift had already begun. The kitchen hissed with the sound of onions hitting oil. Waitresses bustled by, trays balanced and order tickets flying. Anya tied her apron behind her back as she stepped onto the floor, scanning for him.

But Elias wasn't there.

She expected to catch his eye by the espresso machine or buried in his tablet, coordinating schedules. But instead, she caught Max leaning against the drinks counter, sipping an iced mocha with a straw.

"Anya Banana," he greeted with his usual smirk.

"Max, you're a walking HR violation," she muttered, grabbing a pad from the hostess stand.

"Whoa," he said, falling in step beside her. "You've got that glow."

She rolled her eyes. "It's called being hydrated."

"Nah. This is something else." He tilted his head. "Did someone have a 'morning'? You look... soft around the edges."

Anya felt her cheeks flush. "Mind your business, Casanova."

Max laughed, holding up his hands. "Hey, no judgment. You just... seem lighter today. Happier."

Anya lifted a brow, cautious. "Do I?"

He nodded, eyeing her with a mock-detective squint. "Yeah. Almost like someone made you breakfast in bed or whispered sweet nothings before your shift."

She smirked but didn't say a word. Her silence was louder than a confession.

Max let out a low whistle, teasing. "Wow. Someone's got a secret."

She rolled her eyes, brushing past him with a tray. "You're imagining things, Max."

He grinned. "Sure I am. But if you ever need to spill some tea, I'm just a barista with a big mouth and an even bigger coffee machine."

The night picked up pace. Orders flew in. Anya found herself juggling trays and dodging toddlers. Still, every time she rounded a corner, her eyes searched instinctively—for him. But Elias didn't show.

....

Friday

He texted mid-morning:

Elias: Got pulled into back-to-back meetings. Long day ahead. I'll call later. Stay caffeinated. ❤️

Anya: Don't forget to eat. I made enough dinner last night for an army.

Work blurred again. She cleaned a wine spill, wrangled a double booking, smiled through passive-aggressive customers. But when the shift ended, she came home to silence and his hoodie draped over her chair like a placeholder.

...

Saturday

Elias and Anya texted throughout the day; brief moments caught between service, short laughs, reminders to hydrate.

Anya: Are you avoiding me, Mr. Manager?

Elias: Never. Just trying not to get fired for PDA.

Anya: Weak excuse.

Elias: Then meet me at mine tomorrow. After your shift. I'll make that lemon pasta you like.

Anya: Deal. Only if there's wine.

Elias: Already chilling.

…..

Sunday Evening

By the time she walked back into his apartment, it felt like exhale.

"You're late," Elias called from the kitchen, teasing. "I was going to eat without you."

Anya stepped out of her shoes, setting her bag down gently. "Blame the couple at table six who ordered dessert after paying. Who does that?"

"I bet Max charmed them into staying longer just to mess with you."

"He did offer them extra whipped cream..." she said, eyes narrowing.

Elias grinned, wiping his hands on a towel before pulling her into a long hug.

"You smell like fried calamari," he murmured.

"You smell like basil and good decisions."

They laughed together, forehead to forehead.

Over dinner, they caught up. She told him about the kitchen chaos. He told her about a project delay that might keep him in town a little longer.

"How long?" she asked, twirling pasta on her fork.

"A week. Maybe more," he said carefully.

Anya paused. "You extended your trip?"

He looked at her, unreadable for a beat. Then: "I didn't want to leave yet."

Silence stretched for a second, filled only by the clink of forks.

"You stayed for me?" she asked quietly.

"I stayed because the thought of not waking up next to you anymore felt... wrong."

Her eyes shimmered. "Elias... that's a lot."

"I know. And I don't expect anything. I just; needed you to know."

She reached across the table, took his hand. "I'm glad you stayed."

They finished dinner in comfortable quiet, the kind that only comes with knowing someone sees you completely.

...

Later, lying tangled on the couch with his arm draped over her waist and her head on his chest, they watched a documentary neither of them paid attention to.

"You're going to make it hard when you leave," she said softly.

He brushed a hand down her back. "Then maybe I don't leave."

Anya pulled back just enough to look into his eyes.

"Don't say things you don't mean."

"I'm not." His gaze didn't waver. "I've done this job a long time. I can talk to the board; maybe work remotely for a few months. Rotate cities differently."

"You'd do that?"

"I'm already doing it."

She blinked, trying to understand. "Elias... I'm still figuring things out."

"I know," he whispered. "That's why I'm not rushing you. I'm just trying to match your pace."

Her throat tightened.

"I want to be in your world, Anya. Not just for two weeks. Or one month. Longer. However long you'll have me."

Tears stung the edges of her eyes.

"Don't cry," he whispered.

She laughed into his chest. "I'm not. I'm just... happy. Terrified, but happy."

He tilted her chin. "We can be scared together. Just don't shut me out."

She nodded. "Never."

He kissed her then; slow, deep, certain.

Outside, the city hummed on. Inside, it was quiet; soft arms, warm lips, and the unmistakable feeling of something real taking root.