A KNOCK THAT KNEW HER NAME

The morning air felt too ordinary. Birds chirped outside the window, and the soft rustling of leaves hinted at a breeze moving through the neighborhood. It should have been comforting, but Sophie felt the opposite. Nothing inside her felt still. Not after the night before.

She had barely slept. Her dreams were thick with shadows and impossible eyes that glowed red like coals in a dying fire. She had replayed the conversation with James at least a hundred times, hearing again and again the impossible truth he had whispered:

"I'm not human. I'm immortal."

Those words had split her world in two.

Her aunt had gone out that morning, humming lightly as she stepped out. Sophie remembered the sound of the front door closing, the thud of her aunt's slippers on the walkway, and then, silence.

She had barely moved from the couch when it came.

A knock at the door.

Not urgent. Not impatient.

Just steady.

She walked slowly, pulse thudding like a second knock in her chest. When she opened the door, she half expected a package or maybe a neighbor.

But it was James.

He stood quietly, dressed simply, almost humbly. His eyes held something fragile beneath their calm.

"James?" she asked, disbelief thick in her voice. "How do you know where I live?"

He offered a tired, almost apologetic smile. "That's a story for another day."

Her fingers tightened on the doorframe.

"May I come in?" he asked. "Just for a moment."

Sophie hesitated. The words from yesterday echoed in her mind. Immortal. Not human. Red eyes. Something primal inside her urged her to say no. To close the door and pretend this had never happened.

But her heart made the decision before her mouth could.

She stepped aside.

---

James didn't sit.

Sophie didn't either.

They stood in the narrow living room, the morning light creeping across the rug like a slow tide.

"You shouldn't be here," she said finally.

"I know," he replied.

"Then why are you?"

He looked at her with something deep in his eyes—sorrow, maybe. Or regret.

"Because I don't want you to feel alone with this. With what I am. With what you saw."

Sophie folded her arms.

"What I saw... doesn't make sense. It doesn't fit in the world I live in."

"No," James said. "It doesn't. But it's real. I'm real."

She walked a few paces to the window, needing distance. Needing space for her thoughts to stretch.

"How long have you been... like this?"

"Long enough to know what forever feels like."

"You killed them," she said, her voice quieter now. "The men who took me. That was you, wasn't it? The red eyes?"

"Yes."

She swallowed. "Why? Why do you look like that?"

He paused. "It's part of what I am. I don't turn into that unless I have to."

She looked at him. Really looked. And for a moment, she couldn't reconcile the calm man before her with the creature who had torn down a door like it was paper.

"I should be terrified of you," she whispered.

"You are," he said softly.

"No," she replied. "I'm... confused."

James stepped closer, careful, deliberate. "Sophie, I don't expect you to accept this easily. I only want you to know that I never meant to drag you into my world. But when I saw you... when I met you, something inside me woke up. After centuries, I felt something again. Something I thought I'd lost."

Sophie looked away.

"And now?"

"Now I just want to be honest. You deserve that. Even if you never speak to me again."

---

The room fell into a thick, quiet stillness. Sophie didn't know what to say. A part of her still wanted to run. Another part just wanted to cry. But most of all, she just wanted to understand.

"Thank you for saving me," she said finally.

James gave a small nod.

She took a breath. "But I think you should go now."

He didn't protest. "Alright."

He walked to the door, paused, and turned back.

"I know this is a lot. But if you ever want answers, or anything else... I'll be here."

Then he stepped out.

And was gone.

---

Sophie stood at the door long after he left.

She didn't cry.

She couldn't.

Instead, she sat at the small table near the window and stared outside at the street, where sunlight touched the rooftops like gold.

She thought about the truth.

About her illness. Her shrinking days. Her numbered breaths.

And then she thought about James.

Strange, eternal, not-quite-human James.

And she whispered aloud:

"If I don't have much time left... why not spend it with someone who doesn't run out of time?"

Her heart fluttered at the thought.

She didn't know if it was foolish or brave.

But she knew it was honest.

She pulled her notebook from the shelf and opened to a fresh page.

Then, with a careful hand, she wrote:

> I think I like him. More than I should. And maybe that's okay.

She closed the book.

And smiled.