The night air felt colder than usual as Alex guided Iram toward his car. The city lights blurred behind them, glowing softly against the dark sky. Iram could barely walk straight; her steps were slow and uneven, and she kept muttering half-finished sentences that didn't make much sense.
"I can't go home," she said again, her voice heavy and tired. "They'll know… they always know."
Alex opened the passenger door carefully and helped her sit inside. He didn't ask too many questions. He could tell she wasn't in the state to explain anything clearly, and pushing her would only make things worse.
"Alright," he said calmly. "You don't have to go home tonight."
The drive was quiet. Soft music played in the background while streetlights passed one after another like fading memories. Iram leaned her head against the window, eyes half closed, fighting sleep. Every now and then she glanced at Alex as if trying to remember something important, but the thought never stayed long enough.
After some time, the car slowed and stopped in front of a large modern house standing behind tall iron gates. Warm golden lights shone through wide glass windows, making the place look almost unreal.
Alex parked and stepped out, then walked around to help her again. Iram blinked in surprise as she looked at the house.
"You live… here?" she asked, her words slightly slurred.
Alex gave a small, awkward smile. "Yeah."
The house was quiet when they entered. Inside, everything looked carefully designed — marble floors reflecting soft ceiling lights, elegant furniture arranged perfectly, and walls decorated with minimal artwork. It felt luxurious, yet strangely empty, like a place admired more than lived in.
Iram looked around slowly, trying to focus. "It's… beautiful," she whispered.
But Alex didn't respond right away. To him, the silence of the house was louder than any noise.
He suddenly realized something — despite the size of the place, there was only one bedroom. He had never needed more. Living alone meant fewer rooms felt unnecessary.
He hesitated for a moment, unsure how to explain, then said gently, "You can take the bedroom. You need rest."
Iram shook her head weakly. "I'm fine… I don't want to cause trouble."
"You're not," Alex replied firmly but kindly. "You just need sleep."
He guided her down the hallway into his bedroom. The room was spacious but simple compared to the rest of the house — a large bed, a bookshelf near the wall, and a window overlooking the city lights. It felt more personal, less perfect.
Iram sat on the edge of the bed, trying to steady herself. The exhaustion finally caught up to her, and her eyes began to close.
Alex placed a glass of water on the bedside table. "Drink some if you wake up. It'll help."
She nodded faintly, already drifting away from consciousness.
As she lay down, the tension in her face slowly disappeared, replaced by a peaceful calm. Within minutes, she was asleep.
Alex stood near the doorway for a moment, unsure why he felt responsible for someone who had entered his life so suddenly. The quiet house didn't feel as empty anymore, yet something about the situation made his thoughts restless.
He turned off the main light, leaving only a dim lamp glowing softly in the corner, and quietly stepped out of the room, closing the door halfway.
For the first time in a long while, the silence of the house felt different — not lonely, but uncertain.
And somewhere between comfort and confusion, Alex realized that tonight might change more than either of them expected.