I'd been awake for an hour, maybe two.
Sleep had become optional these days, a fragile thing that never stayed long. My body was tired, but my mind wouldn't listen.
It kept circling around the same name, the same face that had started to blur into someone else's.
Ken.
I wasn't sure what I wanted from him.
Maybe a distraction.
Maybe something to do other than smoke and think about the things I tried not to think about.
So, I did something out of character, something reckless in its simplicity.
I waited for him.
Outside my apartment.
Still in my hoodie, hair tied back, no makeup. Just me, stripped down to the version of myself the world rarely saw.
The morning air smelled of rain, thick and damp.
Somewhere, a tricycle engine coughed to life, a dog barked at nothing, and life went on like I wasn't there.
Then the door next to mine opened.
Ken stepped out, fixing the strap of his watch, his hair still damp from the shower. He froze when he saw me.
"Oh. You're up early."
"Couldn't sleep," I said, leaning against the wall. "You going somewhere?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Work. Why?"
I shrugged. "You have breakfast already?"
He blinked, taken aback. "No, not yet."
"Good." I looked at him directly. "Cook for me."
His lips parted slightly, like he wasn't sure if I was joking. "You're… serious?"
"Do I look like I joke a lot?"
He laughed under his breath, that soft, careful kind of laugh that didn't dare touch the air too long. "Noted. Alright, come in."
His apartment was a mirror of mine, only cleaner.
Books stacked neatly on the coffee table, a faint smell of coffee lingering in the air.
I sat on one of the chairs near the counter while he busied himself in the small kitchen.
"You're lucky I bought groceries yesterday," he said, pulling out eggs and bread. "Otherwise, we'd be eating instant noodles."
"I don't mind noodles."
"I figured," he said with a grin, cracking eggs into the pan.
The sound of oil sizzling filled the silence.
I watched him move, efficient, calm, comfortable in small spaces.
He wasn't like most men I'd known; he didn't try to fill the air with unnecessary noise.
It was… unfamiliar.
Peaceful, even.
"Why the sudden breakfast request?" he asked without turning.
I crossed my arms. "I was bored."
"That's all?"
"Do I need another reason?"
He glanced at me, smiling faintly. "You're a mystery, you know that?"
"I get that a lot."
"Not surprised."
He slid a plate toward me, scrambled eggs, toasted bread, coffee.
Simple.
Human.
I took a bite, not realizing how hungry I was until the taste hit me.
Warm.
Real.
"This is good," I admitted.
"Thank you. That's a rare compliment coming from you, I assume."
"Don't get used to it."
He laughed again, quiet and genuine. "I'll take my chances."
—
We ate mostly in silence.
Every now and then, he'd glance at me like he was still trying to figure me out, what I was doing here, why I'd suddenly appeared at his door when I'd been so distant before.
When he finished his meal, he stood and grabbed his coat. "I have to go. Duty calls."
I nodded, sipping my coffee. "You always this early?"
"Depends on the shift." He paused by the door. "You sure you're okay, Ysabelle?"
I looked up, meeting his gaze. "Why wouldn't I be?"
He studied me for a moment, long enough to make me uncomfortable.
Then he smiled again, softer this time.
"No reason. Just… don't skip meals, alright?"
"Doctor's orders?"
"Something like that."
And then he was gone.
The apartment felt colder after that.
I sat there, staring at the empty plate, the half-drunk coffee.
For a while, I listened to the quiet again, that same heavy, breathing silence that filled the space whenever I was alone.
I hated it.
It reminded me too much of the hotel rooms, the sets after filming, the afterglow of applause that never really reached my chest.
People said fame was loud.
They never talked about how deafening the quiet was after it ended.
Hours passed.
I didn't bother keeping track.
I just knew the light shifted, shadows moved, and still, I was sitting there, restless.
Eventually, I stood up, grabbed my hoodie, and pulled a cap low over my head.
Maybe I just needed to walk.
Or maybe… I wasn't ready to stop thinking about him yet.
—
I pulled my hoodie tighter and kept my head down as I walked.
The morning heat was gentle but familiar, the kind that clung to your skin without asking permission.
People barely looked at me.
That was the point.
In the city, my face was a headline.
Here, it was just another face.
I passed by small stores with faded signs, fruit stands that smelled of overripe mangoes, a bakery that spilled warm air every time its door opened. T
he simplicity of it should've felt comforting. Instead, it felt strange, like I didn't belong anywhere anymore.
I didn't realize where my feet were taking me until I looked up.
The hospital.
It wasn't big, maybe three floors at most.
The paint was peeling, and the front garden had more weeds than flowers.
But it was alive, buzzing quietly with the kind of chaos that belonged to ordinary people just trying to survive.
And somewhere inside that building was Ken.
I stood across the street, watching the entrance like some kind of criminal.
Then I saw him, walking through the front door in his white coat, hair slightly tousled, a stethoscope hanging loose around his neck.
He looked… different here.
In control.
Grounded.
Like this was his world and I was just trespassing.
I told myself I'd just stay for a minute.
Maybe two.
Just to see.
But minutes have a way of lying.
I ended up sitting on one of the benches near the small garden outside the hospital.
From where I was, I could see parts of the hallway through the open windows.
Nurses passed by, patients shuffled in and out.
And there he was, Ken.
Talking to an elderly man, smiling softly, scribbling something on a clipboard.
He laughed once, that quiet laugh I'd heard before, the one that didn't demand attention.
It caught me off guard, how… human he looked.
How kind.
For a moment, something twisted inside me, a feeling I didn't want to name.
Because kindness, in my world, always came with a price.
I shouldn't have stayed.
But I did.
Hours blurred. I bought water from a vending machine, fed crumbs to a stray cat that sat near my bench.
I watched the sun move across the sky, the way the light shifted from gold to gray.
And I watched him.
He didn't see me, not once.
Or maybe he did, but decided not to say anything.
—
It was almost evening when he finally stepped outside.
The light hit his face just enough to make him squint, and when his eyes found me sitting there, something flickered in them, surprise, then something softer.
"You've been here all day?" he asked, walking toward me.
I shrugged. "Maybe."
"You shouldn't stay out that long without eating."
"I wasn't exactly starving."
He sighed, shaking his head lightly. "You're impossible, you know that?"
"I've been told."
"Come on." He nodded toward the road. "Let's walk. It's not safe out here when it gets dark."
We walked side by side, though "side by side" might've been generous.
I kept a small distance, enough space for the air to breathe between us.
He carried his coat over his arm, sleeves rolled up, the faint scent of hospital disinfectant still clinging to him.
"I didn't know you were the type to wait around for people," he said after a while.
"I'm not."
"Then why me?"
I looked straight ahead. "I don't know yet."
He smiled at that. "That's honest."
"Would you prefer a lie?"
"No," he said quietly. "You're fine as you are."
That made me stop.
Not because of what he said, but how he said it.
Calm.
Unaffected.
Like it wasn't meant to sound like anything special.
I didn't reply.
I didn't have to.
We kept walking until the road narrowed into our quiet street, where the lights flickered and the air smelled faintly of rain again.
When we reached the apartment complex, he paused by his door. "Thanks for the company."
"I didn't do much."
"You showed up. Sometimes that's enough."
I looked at him, searching for sarcasm, but found none.
"Goodnight, Ysabelle," he said.
"Goodnight," I whispered back.
I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.
The silence was still there, but different.
Lighter.
I didn't understand why.
Maybe because for the first time in a long while, someone didn't want anything from me.
No scripts.
No cameras.
No expectations.
Just… presence.
Still, I told myself it meant nothing.
People like him didn't stay.
And people like me?
We didn't belong anywhere, not even in our own lives.
But as my eyes drifted shut, I saw it again, that same flicker, that same pull.
Like the universe was trying to remember me from another place.