Beneath the Quiet Hours
The Man in the Paint
The city was quiet in the way only late nights could make it—soft, silvered, and still. Rain tapped lightly against Rose’s apartment window, not enough to be loud, just enough to remind her she wasn’t alone.
She sat cross-legged on the floor, her back to the wall, a large sketchbook resting in her lap. A smear of crimson oil paint streaked across the page, the beginnings of another faceless man. Another dream she couldn’t shake.
Her hands worked from memory, guided by instinct more than thought. Sharp jawline. A subtle furrow in the brow. The ghost of a smile that never reached the eyes.
She didn’t know his name. She never had. But she’d drawn him for years.
Her phone buzzed beside her. She jumped
Samuel Everett
Unknown Number:
You shouldn’t be awake right now.
Rose Martin
Her breath hitched.
Rose Martin
She stared at the message, frowning. Heart ticking just a little faster.
Rose Martin
Rose:
Who is this?
The reply came before she could blink.
Samuel Everett
Unknown Number:
You always ask that first.
Rose Martin
The hairs on the back of her neck rose.
Rose Martin
She scanned the room slowly, though she knew no one was there. Still, the walls felt closer now, like the shadows leaned in a little too far.
Rose Martin
Rose:
If this is a joke, it’s not funny.
Samuel Everett
Unknown Number:
It wasn’t a joke the last time either.
Rose Martin
Her fingers hovered over the screen. Then—
Rose Martin
Rose:
You have the wrong person
Samuel Everett
Unknown Number:
You painted me last night. Black background. Crimson edges. You stared at it like it scared you.
Rose Martin
Her eyes snapped down to the sketchbook. The half-finished face. The deep, red paint drying on her fingertips.
Rose Martin
She hadn't posted it. She hadn't shown anyone.
Rose Martin
Her chest tightened.
Rose Martin
Rose:
How do you know that?
Samuel Everett
Unknown Number:
Because I was there. You just didn’t turn around.
Rose Martin
She stood up so fast the sketchbook fell with a thud.
Rose Martin
She scanned the dark corners of the room, heart pounding. Her breaths came short and shallow now.
Rose Martin
Rose:
What do you want?
There was a pause this time. A beat of silence that made her throat tighten.
Samuel Everett
Unknown Number:
You.
When Strangers Feel Like Home
The rain had stopped sometime around dawn, but the sky still wore its sorrow in grey tones. Rose hadn’t slept—at least, not fully. Her eyes had closed, but her mind never settled.
Rose Martin
She kept seeing the painting.
Rose Martin
Kept seeing him
Rose Martin
She didn’t go to campus that day. Instead, she wandered. The streets were quieter than usual. Or maybe she was just listening harder now, tuned to some hidden frequency.
Rose Martin
When she stopped in front of the little bookstore on 7th, she felt it again.
Rose Martin
She stepped inside without thinking, fingers trailing along the spines of forgotten novels and old poetry. In the back corner, on the second shelf, her hand hovered over a red book with no title. She didn’t know why she reached for it—but her hand moved like it remembered.
Rose Martin
The air shifted behind her.
Rose Martin
Only dust motes in light.
Samuel Everett
[Message — 9:12 PM]
Unknown Number:
You touched the red book today.
The one with no name.
Rose Martin
Rose:
Are you watching me?
Samuel Everett
Unknown Number:
No.
I told you.
I’m remembering you.
Rose Martin
Rose:
You knew where I was. What I did.
That’s not memory. That’s surveillance.
Samuel Everett
Unknown Number:
You always get defensive when you're close.
You almost turned around.
Rose Martin
Rose:
Where?
Where did we meet?
Samuel Everett
Unknown Number:
It was snowing.
You were wearing gloves that didn’t match—one was mine.
You laughed and told me it made you feel like someone loved you.
Rose Martin
Rose:
That’s not something that happened to me.
Samuel Everett
Unknown Number:
Then why did your hand stop on that page?
Why do you draw my face?
Rose Martin
She stared at the message, pulse ticking louder in her ears.
Rose Martin
Rose:
Tell me your name.
Longer this time. Like hesitation. Or restraint.
Samuel Everett
Unknown Number:
Say it.
You already know it.
Say it, Rose.
Rose Martin
Her breath hitched.
Rose Martin
The word was already on her lips before she typed it.
The Distance Between Her Heartbeats
Samuel Everett
Furthermore, he watched the candle burn down beside the window, a flickering sliver of light trying to hold back the night. He hadn’t lit it for light. He never needed light to find her.
Samuel Everett
Furthermore, he’d always found her in the dark.
Samuel Everett
She said his name again in his head. Not typed. Not written. Just spoken, in that soft, breathless way she used to whisper it when she thought he was sleeping. Back when things were different. Back when the world was slower and the silence between them meant safety—not distance.
Samuel Everett
He pulled out the drawer from the desk and opened the small wooden box.
Samuel Everett
Letters. Fragments. A photograph of her from years ago—though she wouldn’t remember posing for it. Her smile in it wasn’t quite full, as if even then, some part of her knew something was missing.
Samuel Everett
She was always missing something in each life. Sometimes her memories. Sometimes her trust.
Samuel Everett
Sometimes him
Samuel Everett
He pressed his fingers to the paper where she’d signed a letter once with just a heart. No name. She had said he’d know it was her.
Samuel Everett
He always did.
Samuel Everett
[Draft Message — Unsaved]
You dreamed of me again last night, didn’t you? You held my hand in the dark, like you always do when you’re scared. I didn’t pull away. I never do.
He stared at it. Deleted it. Typed again.
Samuel Everett
[Draft Message — Unsaved]
You’re remembering in pieces. Let them come slowly. If it all returns at once, it will break you.
Samuel Everett
He deleted that too.
Samuel Everett
He closed his eyes.
Samuel Everett
She wasn’t ready. But she was close.
Samuel Everett
Closer than ever.
Samuel Everett
He picked up a charcoal pencil from the desk and began sketching. Her outline came first. Then her eyes. Wide, searching, afraid—but curious. Always curious.
Samuel Everett
And then something new.
Samuel Everett
He paused, narrowing his gaze at the curve of her lips.
Samuel Everett
This time, she was smiling.
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