The room was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of fabric as Ayla curled herself tighter into the corner of the sofa. The dim lighting cast long shadows against the walls, making the unfamiliar space feel colder than it should have. She held her arms around herself, fingers gripping the thin scarf draped over her shoulders, as if it were the only thing keeping her from falling apart completely.
The gown she wore was no longer the pristine white it had once been. The fabric, wrinkled and stained, clung uncomfortably to her body, a painful reminder of everything she had left behind. The weight of the night sat heavily on her, pressing against her chest, making it hard to breathe. She had run away, left everything—her family, the expectations forced upon her, the life that had been decided without her consent. And now she was here. Sitting in a place that wasn't hers, in front of a man who had once been a distant, unreachable dream.
Ayla didn't know what she had expected. Maybe that he would turn her away, that he would look at her with cold eyes and ask her to leave before she even had the chance to explain. Maybe that he would demand answers, force her to relive every painful moment of how she had ended up at his doorstep, alone and desperate. But Silas had done neither. He had simply let her in. Without a word. Without a question. As if she wasn't a burden, as if she wasn't an inconvenience.
She should have felt relieved. But instead, she felt hollow.
Then—
A soft clink of glass against the table.
She flinched at the sound, her body tensing before her eyes lifted hesitantly. A glass of water sat beside her, clear and still, the only offering in the suffocating silence between them.
"Drink."
His voice was even, detached. It held no warmth, but it also held no cruelty. He was simply stating a fact, a command given without expectation.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she reached out, hesitating before wrapping around the cool surface of the glass. She brought it to her lips, sipping cautiously, the water soothing her dry throat. The act should have been simple, but for some reason, it felt overwhelming.
A moment later, a low, humiliating growl echoed from her stomach.
Ayla froze.
Her fingers tightened around the glass, the warmth of embarrassment crawling up her neck. She swallowed hard, willing herself to disappear, to somehow erase the sound that had given away just how weak she had become.
Silas said nothing.
He didn't laugh. He didn't sneer. He didn't even acknowledge it.
But the silence between them changed.
And then, without another word, he turned and walked away.
Her heart pounded. Was he leaving? Was this the moment he decided she wasn't his responsibility, that whatever impulse had made him let her in had faded?
Panic bubbled in her chest, but she bit down on her lip, forcing herself to stay still. She wouldn't beg. She wouldn't plead. If he told her to go, she would go.
But then—
The sound of cabinets opening. The clatter of a pan against the stove. The soft sizzle of something cooking.
Ayla's breath caught.
He wasn't leaving.
He was making food.
For her.
The scent of something warm filled the space, curling around her, settling deep in her bones. It was nothing elaborate, nothing special, but to her, it was everything. She couldn't remember the last time she had eaten a proper meal, the last time she had sat at a table without feeling like a ghost haunting a home that no longer belonged to her.
When he returned, he placed the plate in front of her without a word.
She stared at it for a long moment, her fingers twitching against her lap.
"Eat."
It was not a request.
Her gaze lifted, searching his face, but there was no expectation, no pity. Just quiet acceptance. As if feeding her wasn't an act of kindness, but a natural response, something done simply because it needed to be done.
Ayla swallowed the lump in her throat and picked up the spoon.
Her first bite was slow, careful. But the moment the warmth spread through her body, the moment her stomach clenched in desperate hunger, she couldn't stop. Each spoonful disappeared too quickly, her hands shaking slightly as she tried to pace herself, but her body refused to listen.
She could feel him watching her. Not with judgment, not with amusement—just watching.
She hated that she was like this. Hated that she had become so desperate, so weak.
But she didn't stop.
Because this was the first time in a long time that she wasn't starving.
And she didn't know when she would get another chance.
When the plate was empty, the warmth in her stomach was overshadowed by the shame in her chest. Slowly, hesitantly, she lifted her head. Her voice came out hoarse, uncertain.
"Can I stay?"
She didn't try to explain. Didn't try to justify why she was here, why she had nowhere else to go.
She just asked.
Because if she asked, maybe—just maybe—he would say yes.
Silence stretched between them, heavy and unbearable.
She was almost afraid to look at him, afraid to see the rejection on his face.
But then—
A nod.
A single, simple nod.
Ayla's breath left her in a shaky exhale. She bowed her head, her fingers curling against her lap, struggling to keep the overwhelming wave of emotions from swallowing her whole.
She wanted to cry.
Not out of sadness. Not out of relief.
But because, for the first time in a long time, someone had said yes.
That night, as she lay curled upon the sofa, her mind drifted to the people she had left behind.
Her uncle, his voice hoarse with emotion as he told her to go, to find her happiness, have no regrets.
Her aunt, asking her to never return to that city again, whispering that she deserved more than a life of regret.
Amy, gripping her shoulders, eyes fierce and determined as she said, "If you don't do this now, you'll never forgive yourself."
They had given her everything they could. Their love, their support, their last hope that maybe, just maybe, she could find a life worth living.
And she had taken that chance.
She had left behind a life she never wanted.
She had run to the only person she had ever truly longed for.
And now she was here.
Lying in a home that wasn't hers.
Inside the home of the man who was no longer the boy she had once loved.
And yet, for the first time in years—
She didn't feel completely alone.
But even as sleep pulled at her, even as exhaustion made her body heavy, one fear clung stubbornly to the edges of her thoughts.
What if he changed his mind?
What if tomorrow, he told her to leave?
Ayla shut her eyes tightly.
She wouldn't think about that.
Not tonight.
Tonight, she had a place to stay.
And for now, that was enough.