The door clicked shut behind him, the sound soft but final.
He didn’t speak. Didn’t move closer. Just stood there, hands in his pockets, letting me have space. It was maddening and comforting at the same time.
I ran a hand through my hair, suddenly aware of the state I was in oversized tee, bare feet, sleep-tousled, emotionally wrecked. And yet, he looked at me like I was something rare. Untouchable, but worth trying.
I walked over to the window, watching the last of the fireworks fizzle out in the street below. The board he made had tipped slightly in the wind, the words still glowing faintly: Happy Birthday.
I swallowed. “No one’s done something like this for me before.”
He didn’t respond with sympathy. Instead, his voice came quiet, steady. “Then they’ve all been idiots.”
That pulled a short breath of a laugh from me. The kind that hurts because it’s been buried for too long.
I turned toward him, arms crossed like a shield. “So what now? You’ve done your part. Celebration over?”
He tilted his head, and a hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Not yet.”
From behind his back, he pulled out a small box, wrapped in matte black paper with a single red ribbon tied around it. Minimal. Precise. Like he knew I’d hate anything too flashy.
He extended it toward me.
I hesitated. “What is it?”
He shrugged. “Open it and find out.”
With shaking fingers, I took the box and slowly unwrapped it. Inside was a necklace simple, silver, with a small charm shaped like a key.
I looked up, confused.
“It’s not just a key,” he said quietly. “It’s the exact replica of the one from your childhood diary. Page thirty two. The one you used to draw when you couldn’t sleep.”
My heart stopped.
How did he…?
I felt cold and warm at the same time. “You read my diary?”
He looked almost guilty for a second. “No. I… I saw you sketching it once. Years ago. I remembered. That’s all.”
I stared at him, breath shallow.
Because it wasn’t just a necklace. It was proof.
Proof that someone saw me. That he’d been seeing me all along.
I pressed my lips together, the weight of it too much, too fast. “You remember the page number?”
He nodded. “I remember everything.”
The silence between us grew thicker, but it wasn’t uncomfortable anymore. It was charged. Magnetic.
“Why are you doing this?” I whispered. “Really.”
He looked at me then not just with his eyes, but with everything in him. Like he was about to say something that could either break me or rebuild me from the ground up.
“Because I’ve been protecting you from threats outside your walls for two years. But the real danger has always been the way you stopped letting people in.”
He stepped forward. Slowly. Giving me time to stop him.
I didn’t.
“I’m tired of watching from the outside,” he said, voice low. “And I think… you might be tired of being alone.”
My throat tightened. My hand clutched the little key like it was the only thing anchoring me.
“I don’t know how to let someone in,” I admitted.
He smiled soft, devastating, patient.
“Then start with me.”
His words hung in the air.
"Then start with me."
So simple. So dangerous.
Because he didn’t ask for everything. Just… a start. And that’s what terrified me the most. That I wanted to.
My fingers still curled around the key cool against my palm, but it burned in its own way. A symbol. A tether.
I nodded slowly, like something inside me had been waiting for permission to believe in someone. Anyone. And for reasons I couldn’t explain, it was him.
I motioned toward the couch, unsure, vulnerable in a way I hadn’t been in years. “Do you… want to come in?”
He gave a small smile reassuring, not smug. “I’d like that.”
He walked in slowly, like he understood this space wasn’t just a room, but a battlefield. The air between us hummed with something unspoken as he took a seat on the edge of the couch, hands resting on his knees. Always alert. Always calm. Always watching.
I sat opposite him, curling my legs underneath me, the gift still in my lap. For a moment, neither of us spoke. It wasn’t uncomfortable it was cautious. Like stepping onto ice and hoping it would hold.
I glanced at him. “So… you’ve been watching me all this time. Protecting me. But I don’t even know your name , like you never told me your name yourself .”
He looked faintly amused. “You never asked.”
I blinked. “I thought it was some protocol. Keep it professional, distant.”
He gave a small shake of his head. “You built the distance. I just respected it.”
I stared. “So what is it?”
He looked me dead in the eye and said, “Elias.”
The name suited him. Strong. Sharp. Carved from silence.
“Elias,” I repeated softly, testing it on my tongue like a secret. “Why does that sound… familiar?”
Something flickered in his expression. Barely there. But I saw it.
He shifted. “We’ve crossed paths before.”
My heartbeat stuttered. “Where?”
He hesitated.
And that hesitation… that single breath of silence… told me everything.
There was more. Something unsaid. A connection deeper than bodyguard and client. Something older.
“You’re not just here because of your job, are you?” I asked, voice barely above a whisper.
Elias looked at me then, like he was debating whether to tell me the truth or let me keep sleeping in the comfort of not knowing.
Finally, he spoke.
“I was assigned to you because I requested it.”
My stomach twisted. “Why?”
His eyes held mine, unwavering.
“Because years ago… you saved my life. And you don’t even remember.”
Everything went still.
The firecrackers had stopped. The night outside was quiet. But inside me, a storm was brewing.
“I—what do you mean?”
Elias leaned forward slightly, his voice lower now, like this part was sacred.
“You were twelve. There was a fire in the apartment next to yours. You didn’t run. You dragged out a kid covered in soot and coughing blood. You never saw his face he was barely conscious. That was me.”
I stared at him, stunned, words lost to the gravity of it.
“I found you again years later,” he said, softer now. “And I swore… I’d protect the girl who risked everything for someone she didn’t know. Even when she forgot how to protect herself.”
Tears welled in my eyes before I could stop them.
He leaned back, giving me space again, letting the truth settle.
And for the first time, the silence didn’t feel lonely.
It felt like a bridge finally built.
