Trust him?

The night outside her window was a quiet, suffocating blanket of darkness, but inside, her heart raced so loudly she could almost hear it. She crept closer to the window, peeking out just enough to see the shadow of the boy still lingering in her garden. She couldn't make out his face clearly through the fogged-up glass, but his sudden movements, a shift here, a glance there, made her freeze.

A sharp noise broke the silence—he was moving toward her window.

Before she had time to process it, she ducked under the window, crouching low. What is happening?Her breath hitched in her throat, her fingers trembling as she pressed them against the cool floor, steadying herself. Who is he, and why does he keep looking up here? The questions swirled in her mind, only heightening the tension in her body.

And then—knock, knock.

The sound was soft, barely audible, yet distinct enough in the quiet of the night that she couldn’t mistake it for anything else. Her heart raced even faster now, a cold sweat forming on her palms. He’s knocking at my window?

For a moment, she froze, her mind reeling. What was she supposed to do? Call for help? Run? Stay hidden? The fear anchored her in place, but her curiosity, mixed with some strange sense of urgency, made her slowly peek above the edge of the window again.

The boy was closer now, so close that he could easily see her if he looked directly through the glass. He was crouched low, his face partially concealed by the hood of his jacket, but there was something oddly familiar about him. She couldn’t place it, but his silhouette, the way he carried himself, stirred something in her memory.

Her breath caught as their eyes met again. This time, the fear was mutual, not just in her, but in him too. He raised his hands quickly, palms open, signaling to her. The gesture was so unexpected that it stopped her in her tracks. He wasn’t trying to get in, wasn’t trying to force anything—he was asking, pleading even. His lips moved soundlessly, but she understood the message: It’s okay. Please don’t be scared.

She hesitated for a long moment, her mind racing through the possibilities. She didn’t know who he was, but something about his presence, that flicker of familiarity, made her stay. He wasn’t acting like someone dangerous, but she couldn't ignore the fact that he was still a stranger. Why here?

Suddenly, the muffled sound of distant voices reached her ears, drawing her attention away from the man at her window. Someone was nearby, a group of people walking in the distance. They were talking, their voices low but urgent. The boy outside glanced over his shoulder toward the sound, his posture stiffening as if preparing to flee. That same silent plea returned to his eyes as he looked back at her, desperation now unmistakable.

Without fully understanding why, she found herself making a decision. The moment felt like it had slipped out of her control. Slowly, carefully, she unlocked the window and slid it open, just enough to allow the cool night air to spill inside. The boy’s relief was palpable. He didn’t say a word, but the look in his eyes said enough—he was grateful.

“Hurry,” she whispered, her voice barely audible above the wind.

The boy slipped through the narrow gap and into her room with practiced ease, moving quickly but quietly.

The room was dark, but it didn’t seem to slow him down as he swiftly moved to hide behind the thick curtains by the corner of the room. She could barely breathe as she closed the window again, trying to remain as silent as possible. The cold night air still lingered in the room, making the hair on her arms stand on end.

     Just as she latched the window shut, footsteps echoed outside, louder and more distinct this time. The voices she’d heard earlier were now closer—too close for comfort. She knelt down by the side of the window, pressing herself flat against the wall to avoid being seen. Her mind raced, and her heart pounded so hard she feared they might hear it.The boy behind her remained silent, hidden away behind the curtains, but she could feel his tension. He was holding his breath, just like her, waiting for the voices to pass.

"He couldn’t have gone far,” one of the voices said, rough and frustrated.

    “I swear I saw someone run this way,” another replied, equally on edge.

   Her throat tightened. They’re looking for him, she realized. She could see the faint outline of shadows passing by the window as they moved closer to her house, their boots crunching against the gravel in the driveway. She clamped a hand over her mouth, stifling the panic that threatened to rise. What if they came inside? What if they knocked on her door? What was she supposed to do?

The boy behind the curtain shifted slightly, his figure barely visible in the dim light. He remained still but alert, ready to act at any moment. She dared not turn around to look at him, afraid that even the slightest movement would draw attention. She could only hope they would pass by and leave without noticing anything.

One of the men outside paused, his shadow lingering near the window. She could hear the sound of him exhaling deeply, as though frustrated with the search. “Let’s move on. If he’s not here, we’re wasting time,” he muttered.

   After a moment that felt like an eternity, the footsteps began to fade, the group moving away from her house. She didn’t move until the last of their voices disappeared into the distance, and even then, she waited several more moments, afraid they might return.

  When the silence settled back over the house, she finally exhaled, realizing she had been holding her breath the whole time. She stood up slowly, her legs shaky from the tension, and turned around to face the stranger. He was still hiding behind the curtains, but now he stepped forward cautiously, his eyes scanning her face for any sign of anger or fear.

   “Thank you,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. It was the first time he’d spoken, and she wasn’t sure what she expected, but there was something almost soothing about it.

"What’s going on?” she finally asked, her voice more steady than she felt. “Why are they looking for you?"

The boy didn’t answer right away. He lowered his head, seemingly debating how much to tell her. His face, now more visible in the dim light of her room, was young—maybe a few years older than her, with sharp features softened by exhaustion. He seemed familiar, but she still couldn’t place where she’d seen him before.

The silence after the group outside left was almost deafening. She let out a shaky breath, her pulse slowly starting to calm as the tension in the room lifted. The boy stepped out from behind the curtains, his eyes scanning her face, a soft, almost relieved smile curling on his lips.

But before she could respond, the boy’s legs wobbled. His smile faded as his body swayed, and then, as if the weight of everything had finally caught up to him, he collapsed to the floor with a dull thud.

“Hey!” she gasped, rushing toward him, her heart pounding again, this time with panic. Her hands trembled as she quickly flicked on the light, her fingers fumbling over the switch.

The room was suddenly bathed in a soft yellow glow, and for the first time, she could see him clearly. His face was pale, lips slightly parted, as if he’d been struggling to breathe. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his chest rose and fell unevenly. Kneeling beside him, she gently shook his shoulder, her voice frantic.

"Hey! Are you okay? Wake up!"

The boy groaned softly but didn’t open his eyes. His head lolled to the side, and that’s when she saw them—his eyes. Even closed, their bright blue color stood out, as if the faintest sliver of his eyelids still revealed them. They were a startling shade of blue, the kind of blue that reminded her of the sky on a cloudless day, deep and endless. I've seen those eyes before, she thought, the feeling of familiarity washing over her.

But now wasn’t the time to dwell on that. His condition looked serious.

“Please, wake up!” she urged, her voice breaking slightly as she leaned closer, shaking him again.

The boy stirred slightly, letting out a soft groan, but his body remained limp. Panic surged through her as she glanced around the room. She had no idea what to do. Call an ambulance? No... If she did that, she’d have to explain why there was an unconscious stranger in her house. And worse, those men outside—they were clearly looking for him. If they found him in her home, there would be consequences.

Forcing herself to stay calm, she grabbed the blanket from her bed and gently draped it over him. His breathing was shallow, but at least it was steady. She crouched down beside him, her mind racing.

What have I gotten myself into? she thought, staring at the boy’s unconscious face.

His soft, ragged breaths filled the room as she sat down beside him, trying to piece together the situation. There was no denying it now—she recognized him. Those eyes. But from where? From when?

She leaned in closer, studying his features. His messy brown hair fell over his forehead, damp with sweat, and his sharp jawline, softened by his youth, seemed familiar. She bit her lip, trying to remember. Maybe from her school days? Or some distant memory from childhood?

Suddenly, the boy stirred again, this time with more effort. His eyes fluttered open briefly, just long enough for her to catch another glimpse of that brilliant blue. “W-what... happened?” he mumbled, his voice hoarse, barely audible.

“You collapsed,” she replied, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside her. “Do you... remember anything? Why are you being chased?”

His eyelids drooped again, his body too weak to fully wake. “I... I didn’t... do anything,” he muttered. His words were slow, slurred by exhaustion. “Nothing bad at least. They just... They just don't have a sense of humor"

“Who are they?” she pressed, leaning closer to catch every word. The boy chuckled a little and then suddenly groaned in pain.

But his head rolled to the side, and his breathing slowed again. He was unconscious. She let out a frustrated sigh, sitting back on her heels. This is bad. She didn’t know who “they” were, why they were after him, or why he had chosen her house as his safe haven.

She sat beside him for a while, the silence stretching on, only broken by his uneven breaths. She stood up and walked over to the window, peeking outside. The street was deserted again, no sign of the group that had passed by earlier. Maybe they’d given up, or maybe they were still searching somewhere nearby.

She turned back toward the boy, now lying motionless on her floor, and sighed deeply. This whole situation was spinning out of control. She could feel it in her bones. But now that he was here, she couldn’t just turn her back on him. She had to figure out what to do next.

“Who are you?” she whispered softly, half to herself, half to the unconscious boy.

A part of her wanted to wake him up again, shake him until he gave her the answers she needed. But another part of her knew that would do no good. He was too weak, too exhausted to tell her anything useful. She’d have to wait until he recovered—if he recovered.

The minutes dragged on, and eventually, she found herself sitting down beside him again, her back against the wall. The faint hum of the night outside crept into the room, but her mind was elsewhere, replaying the events that had just unfolded. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something much bigger was happening. Something she had unwittingly been dragged into.

Hours later, the boy stirred again. This time, he blinked, his blue eyes clearer, though still clouded with fatigue. He looked at her and sighed. He slowly sat up, groaning as he clutched his side. “I... I’m sorry,” he muttered, glancing around as if he was unsure where he was.

“Don’t be,” she replied, crossing her arms as she sat beside him. “Just tell me what’s going on.”

He nodded weakly, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. “I’ll explain... but... not everything... it’s not safe for you to know.”

Her patience wore thin. “Not safe for me?” she repeated, incredulous. “You barged into my house, nearly passed out on my floor, and now you’re telling me it’s ‘not safe’ for me to know what’s happening? You can’t be serious.”

He winced at her sharp tone, but his expression remained solemn. “It’s... complicated.”

“Start with your name, at least,” she said, her tone softening slightly.

He hesitated for a moment before finally speaking. “It’s Loid,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Loid,” she repeated, watching his face carefully. The name rang no bells.

“I really didn’t want to involve you,” he continued, his gaze dropping to the floor. “But I had no choice. They would’ve found me if I hadn’t hidden here.”

“Who are they?” she asked again, this time more gently.

He shook his head. “They think I did something... something bad. But I swear I didn’t.” His voice cracked slightly, and he looked up at her with those piercing blue eyes, pleading for her to believe him. "I just wanted to show them we are friends."

“And you expect me to trust you?” she said, though there was no anger in her voice now—only confusion and concern.

Loud exhaled slowly, pressing his hand against his side where he was clearly in pain. “I don’t expect anything,” he said quietly. “But... I promise, I’m not lying.”

The silence stretched between them once again, but this time, it wasn’t as suffocating. She studied his face, her thoughts swirling in a whirlwind of uncertainty. Could she really trust him?

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