The first time Ava saw him, it was during a blackout.
She was in Apartment 3B, fumbling through drawers for matches, when the entire building went dark. A summer storm had rolled over the city like a mood—thunder cracking through humidity, rain pounding windows in waves. The hum of her old fan died. Silence took over. And then—
A knock at her door.
She paused. Another knock, this time softer, followed by a voice.
"Hi. Sorry—uh, it's Theo from 3A. I've got candles if you need some."
She opened the door cautiously. In front of her stood a man about her age, late twenties maybe, holding two stubby white candles and a flickering lighter. His dark hair was damp from the humidity, and he smiled sheepishly, as though aware of how weird the moment was.
Ava blinked. "You're the guy who always plays Radiohead at 2 a.m."
Theo laughed. "Guilty. I'm also the guy who has too many candles and figured you might not want to die tripping over your couch in the dark."
She hesitated, then stepped aside. "Come in."
He entered, lit one candle, and placed it on her kitchen counter. The soft glow filled the room like a hush.
"Thanks," she said, watching him.
"No problem. I figured it'd be weird just sitting alone with lightning for company."
"You get used to it," she said. "But yeah… weirdly thoughtful of you."
He smiled again, and for a moment they stood there, two neighbors who'd never spoken beyond nods in the hallway, now sharing dim light and awkward silence.
They sat on her floor, backs against the couch, sipping warm juice from the fridge.
"So, Ava, right?" he asked.
"You've lived next to me for a year and never learned my name?"
"I knew it. I just needed confirmation."
She gave him a skeptical look. "Sure."
He held up a hand. "Okay, I admit I knew your name because you get really loud phone calls sometimes. You once yelled at someone named Danielle about 'spiritual betrayal.' I was invested."
Ava laughed, surprised. "Oh my God. That was my ex-best friend. She dated my ex-boyfriend, thinking I'd be cool with it."
"Were you?"
"No."
"Fair."
Outside, thunder rolled again. The lights stayed off.
Theo leaned back and looked at her ceiling. "It's weird how quiet the world is without electricity. Like you can hear your own heartbeat again."
She tilted her head. "That was unexpectedly poetic."
"I get like that during storms."
They talked. About small things. Big things. He told her about his job at a used bookstore that smelled like dust and nostalgia. She told him about her photography gigs and how she was slowly falling out of love with her camera. He mentioned a dog he used to have. She talked about her grandmother's garden, long gone now, but still living in her memory as the safest place on earth.
It was the kind of conversation you don't plan. It just spills—raw and real this things.
An hour passed. Then two.
The candles burned lower.
Theo stood. "I should head back. Leave you to your darkness."
She followed him to the door. "Thanks for the light."
He glanced back. "Anytime."
As he left, she caught herself watching him longer than necessary. His silhouette disappeared into the hallway, and the door clicked softly behind him.
The lights returned around 3 a.m.
Ava didn't notice right away.
She was lying on the floor, smiling up at the ceiling, wondering why she hadn't spoken to Theo before. She wasn't looking for anything. Not love. Not even a friend. But sometimes, a storm does more than knock out power—it knocks down walls.
The next morning, she opened her door and found a candle sitting outside with a note:
*"Raincheck on more blackout juice?" – Theo
She laughed.
Wrote a reply on the back:
"Only if you bring music that isn't Radiohead"
She slid it under his door.
They started spending evenings together. At first, under the pretense of casual neighborly bonding. Sharing takeout. Watching old movies. Pretending to argue about pineapple on pizza.
One night, she caught him watching her instead of the screen.
"What?" she asked.
He shook his head. "Nothing. Just… glad the lights went out that night."
She felt it too. That shift. Like something gentle was growing between them, something warm and unspoken.
The first kiss wasn't planned.
It was a week later. Another storm. No blackout this time. Just rain tapping the windows, music playing low, and her head on his shoulder.
He turned to say something. She didn't hear it.
Their lips touched.
And just like that, something fragile became something real.
Ava had always believed love came with fireworks. Chaos. Grand gestures.
But Theo came with quiet. With calm. With candles in the dark and playlists that made you feel things you didn't have words for.
He never tried to fix her. Never asked her to shrink. He just listened, like every piece of her story mattered.
And in return, she stopped pretending to be fine when she wasn't. She stopped hiding behind sarcasm. She let him see the soft parts.
Months passed.
The candles he brought that night stayed on her windowsill—one melted halfway, the other untouched. A reminder of the night the storm didn't scare her.
They were still two people figuring things out. Still flawed. Still messy. But when the lights flickered again one late August night, she didn't reach for the drawer.
She reached for his hand