Mira's POV
I didn't notice how late it was until the silence felt louder than usual.
The building behind me had already dimmed, its glass reflecting the quiet night like it was holding onto the last pieces of the day.
I adjusted the straps of my backpack on my shoulders and walked toward the parking area, my steps soft against the empty ground.
"…it's really quiet…"
Too quiet.
Not uncomfortable.
Just… unfamiliar.
My thoughts followed me, slower than usual.
Not rushing.
Not tangled.
Just… lingering.
"…today felt different…"
I reached my scooty and placed my hand on the handle, fingers brushing lightly over the worn surface.
Familiar.
Comforting.
Something that belonged to me.
I inserted the key and turned it.
Nothing.
I tried again.
Still nothing.
A small pause.
Then I leaned forward slightly, eyes shifting to the fuel meter.
Empty.
Completely.
"…I forgot…"
A soft sigh escaped me, not frustrated—just a little helpless.
"…of all days…"
I stepped back slowly, adjusting my backpack again, looking around.
The parking area was almost empty.
No movement.
No sound.
Just the faint hum of distant night.
"…I can walk…"
It would take time.
But I didn't mind walking.
Not really.
"…maybe it's okay…"
"That would take longer than you think."
I stilled.
That voice.
Low.
Familiar.
Close.
I turned.
And there he was.
Azael.
Standing a few steps away, the dim light catching just enough of him to make everything else feel less real.
"…sir…"
My voice softened without asking me.
It always did.
His gaze shifted briefly to the scooty, then back to me.
"Out of fuel."
"…yes…"
A small pause.
"I didn't check…"
Silence.
Then—
"Come."
I blinked.
"…sir…?"
"My car."
No explanation.
No hesitation.
Just that.
I held onto my backpack strap slightly tighter.
"…I don't want to trouble—"
"You're not."
The answer came before I finished.
Not sharp.
Not harsh.
Just… certain.
And somehow—
that made it harder to refuse.
"…okay…"
Soft.
Quiet.
I followed him.
---
The car stood under the dim light.
Black.
Still.
A black Mercedes.
It didn't look like something that belonged to the night.
It looked like something the night made space for.
Azael reached the passenger side first.
Opened the door.
Effortlessly.
Naturally.
Like it was expected.
"…thank you…"
I said softly as I stepped in.
The seat felt cool.
The air inside—quiet.
Controlled.
He closed the door gently.
Walked around.
Got in.
And just like that—
the world outside faded.
---
The engine started.
Smooth.
Silent.
The car moved.
And I watched the road.
Because I didn't know where else to look.
"…why does it feel different…"
We didn't speak immediately.
But it wasn't uncomfortable.
Just… quiet.
A kind of quiet that didn't demand words.
"You always carry that."
My fingers tightened slightly on my backpack.
"…yes…"
A pause.
"…I've had it for a long time…"
His gaze flicked toward it briefly.
Then back to the road.
"You don't change things often."
It wasn't a question.
"…not really…"
A small smile formed.
"…if something feels right… I keep it…"
Silence.
Then—
"You're consistent."
"…is that good…?"
"Yes."
Simple.
Clear.
My heart softened slightly.
"…no one says that…"
"They don't notice."
A pause.
"I do."
The words settled somewhere deeper than they should.
I looked outside again.
"…why does it feel like…"
"…he sees things others don't…"
---
The car turned smoothly.
Streetlights passed one by one, their glow slipping through the window in soft intervals.
"You live alone."
"…no…"
I shook my head slightly.
"…with my grandparents…"
Silence.
Then—
"Parents."
A single word.
But it carried weight.
I looked down slightly.
"…I don't have any…"
The words came out quietly.
Not heavy.
Not broken.
Just… true.
Azael didn't interrupt.
Didn't soften it.
Didn't react the way people usually do.
"…it's always been like that…"
I continued softly.
"…I don't really remember them…"
A pause.
"…but my grandparents… they never let me feel like something was missing…"
The memory warmed me.
Gently.
"…they're very simple…"
"…they don't know much about the world outside ours…"
A small smile formed.
"…but they know how to take care of things…"
"Things."
I nodded slightly.
"…the house… the garden…"
"…me…"
Silence.
Then—
"You're attached to them."
"…yes…"
Without hesitation.
"…they're my home…"
The word felt right.
Not the place.
The feeling.
"They rely on you."
"…a little…"
I hesitated.
"…I rely on them more…"
A small breath left me.
"…I think I always will…"
---
A pause settled.
Not empty.
Just… thoughtful.
Then—
"Your uncle."
I blinked.
"…how do you know…?"
"You mentioned it."
A pause.
"…once."
I didn't remember when.
But he did.
"…he lives nearby…"
"…we don't talk much…"
The words came slower now.
"…he took over something that belonged to my grandparents…"
Azael didn't interrupt.
"…a factory…"
"…they never complained…"
A small pause.
"…they just… continued living the same way…"
Silence.
Then—
"And you."
"…what about me…?"
"You didn't question it."
I looked down slightly.
"…I did…"
A pause.
"…just not out loud…"
"…they didn't seem hurt…"
"…so I didn't want to make it worse…"
The words felt small.
But real.
"…I thought… maybe some things aren't meant to be fought…"
Silence.
Longer this time.
Then—
"They are."
I blinked.
"…not always…"
"Always."
His voice didn't rise.
Didn't force.
But it didn't leave space either.
"…even if it breaks things…?"
"Yes."
I looked out the window.
"…I don't want to break what's still good…"
A pause.
"…I just want to protect it…"
Silence.
Then—
"You're selective."
"…maybe…"
"…I just choose what matters…"
---
The car slowed.
Closer now.
Familiar roads.
Familiar silence.
"…almost home…"
But something in me—
didn't want the conversation to end.
"…why…"
"You don't react like others."
I looked at him.
"…is that bad…?"
"No."
A pause.
"Unpredictable."
"…I don't feel unpredictable…"
"You are."
His gaze remained steady on the road.
"I can read intent."
A pause.
"Patterns."
Another.
"People."
My fingers tightened slightly.
"…and me…?"
Silence.
Then—
"You don't follow any."
My breath slowed.
"…I don't understand…"
"That's the point."
A pause.
"I don't understand you."
The words should have felt distant.
But they didn't.
They felt… close.
"…is that why you're asking…?"
"Yes."
Simple.
Honest.
No hesitation.
"…then… what do you see…?"
I asked quietly.
Azael didn't answer immediately.
The car stopped.
In front of my home.
The gate.
The garden.
Soft shadows of flowers resting under the night sky.
Silence filled the space.
Then—
"You don't try to be seen."
A pause.
"But you stay."
My heart softened.
"…I just exist…"
"Yes."
A quiet breath.
"…is that enough…?"
Azael's voice lowered slightly.
"For you—yes."
The answer settled somewhere deep.
Warm.
Steady.
Unshaken.
---
I reached for the door.
Paused.
"…sir…"
He didn't look away.
"…thank you…"
Not just for the ride.
For listening.
For asking.
For… understanding without changing it.
Silence.
Then—
"Go inside."
Soft.
But certain.
I nodded.
"…good night…"
"…Mira."
My name.
Again.
And again—
it felt different.
I stepped out.
The night air touched my skin.
Cool.
Gentle.
Real.
I adjusted my backpack and walked toward the gate.
Opened it.
Stepped inside.
But before closing it—
I turned.
The car was still there.
He hadn't left.
Not yet.
"…why does it feel like…"
I watched for a second longer.
Then slowly—
the car moved.
And disappeared into the quiet road.
---
I stood in the garden.
Surrounded by flowers that had known me longer than anyone else.
"…he said he couldn't understand me…"
I looked at my hands.
"…but he still tried…"
A small smile formed.
Soft.
Unforced.
"…that's enough…"
The night felt calmer.
Warmer.
Closer.
And for the first time—
I didn't feel like I was standing alone in it.