Notes Between Seasons

Anya stood frozen under the dim, flickering glow of the old streetlamp, the world around her seeming to hold its breath. Her chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths as she stared down the road he had taken just moments ago. Her hands trembled slightly at her sides, but she quickly fisted them, forcing control she barely felt.

Tears pooled in her eyes, but she blinked them away harshly.

No. Not here. Not now.

She refused to let them fall, not where anyone could see. Not where he might have once turned around and caught her breaking.

But he didn't turn.

Instead, she saw him.

Elias.

Casually walking ahead with his phone pressed to his ear, his broad shoulders relaxed, his posture effortlessly confident as always.

Not once did he glance back.

Not calling her name.

Not stopping.

Not even looking.

The silence between them was louder than any words he could have said. And still, she stood there, rooted to the pavement as if the cold had fused her to the concrete.

She watched him disappear around the corner, swallowed by the shadows of the narrow alley leading to the car park. And with him, he seemed to carry the last ounce of fight left in her.

Her throat closed, tight and dry, like a scream was stuck somewhere deep inside but too afraid to come out.

Her heart didn't shatter all at once.

It broke slowly. Carefully.

Like porcelain falling in slow motion cracking from the inside before even touching the ground.

She swallowed hard and clutched the strap of her bag tighter, the canvas rough under her fingers. Her knuckles turned white with the pressure, as if squeezing hard enough could somehow hold everything together.

She finally forced her legs to move, step by reluctant step.

Her boots echoed softly on the damp pavement, the hollow sound eerie in the quiet night.

Every step toward the station felt heavier, as if she were dragging the weight of every memory behind her. Each corner of this street held remnants of him of them. Their laughter. Their fights. Their silences. Her hopes.

The air was bitterly cold now, biting at the exposed skin of her neck, seeping through her coat as if determined to punish her for being foolish enough to feel. Her breath came out in wispy clouds, but even that felt like too much noise in the stillness.

And though her body moved forward, her mind stayed back replaying every word she should've said, every moment she should've taken, every wall she shouldn't have built so high.

It was all her fault, wasn't it?

She had pushed him.

Again and again.

Afraid to let him in, but more afraid to let him go.

And now… maybe he was done.

Maybe she had pushed him too far this time.

A faint gust of wind rustled the trees lining the pavement, their skeletal branches swaying above like silent witnesses to her unraveling. A car drove past in the distance, headlights briefly washing the world in white before it vanished again, leaving her in half-light and shadow.

She didn't wipe her tears this time.

She let them sit on her cheeks, cool against her flushed skin.

Because what was the point of pretending anymore?

She was alone.

Again.

Only this time, it felt different.

It felt final.

And yet, even as her heart ached and her eyes blurred, a tiny flicker of something stubborn stirred in her chest. Not hope… not yet. Just… a whisper. A question.

Was he really gone?

Or was this just another silence before the storm?

Until…

A soft hum of tires broke through the stillness behind her.

She didn't think much of it at first. Just another car passing, another reminder that the world kept moving even when hers felt stuck.

But then the hum slowed.

The sound shifted from passing to hovering, lingering.

A car pulled up beside her, smooth and deliberate.

The passenger-side window lowered with a quiet mechanical whir, and the interior lights spilled faintly onto the curb.

She turned her head, half-expecting a stranger, a question, a mistake.

But it wasn't.

It was him.

Elias.

Those unmistakable blue eyes found hers through the dusk. Not cold this time. Not distant. But… careful. Searching. Warm in a way that unraveled her all over again.

"Mind for a ride?"

His voice soft, low, unassuming was a quiet thread through the night air. Calm on the surface. But beneath it… something else. A note of vulnerability. Of hope, maybe. Of regret.

Anya froze, breath caught mid-inhale.

Her eyes widened, and her body went still except for the slight tremble in her fingertips.

Tears welled so fast it felt like her whole body betrayed her. The ache she'd been holding back all night surged to the surface, breaking through like a dam cracking under pressure.

She blinked rapidly, fighting it.

No. Not now. Not in front of him.

But the wave was too strong. Too raw.

Her vision blurred entirely, the streetlights splitting into streaks of gold and white. Her chest rose with a sharp breath, but it shuddered on the way out.

She didn't speak. She couldn't. Her throat was too tight, her lips parted but frozen, and her heart was pounding against her ribs like it was begging her to feel everything she had tried so hard to ignore.

He waited…silent. Patient. The engine idling quietly beneath them like a heartbeat.

She swallowed thickly, nodded once. A tiny, robotic motion.

Her hand fumbled with the door handle as if it weighed more than it should. And when she slid into the passenger seat, the warmth of the car wrapped around her like a shock, too different from the cold she'd grown used to.

She shut the door.

The silence between them was palpable, thick with the words neither of them knew how to say yet. For a second, all she heard was the sound of her own heartbeat and the faint instrumental hum from the radio.

Elias glanced at her, once. Quickly. His jaw clenched, then softened.

Still, she said nothing.

Because if she opened her mouth, she knew she knew she'd break completely.

So she sat still, hands in her lap, and stared out the windshield, her cheeks wet and shining.

And beside her, Elias exhaled slowly, like he was trying to hold something back too.

...

She sat motionless in the passenger seat, her fingers twisting the fabric of her coat as if it could hold her together. The leather was cool beneath her palms, but her skin felt like it was burning from the inside out raw and exposed.

The car's interior smelled faintly of Elias's cologne a smoky, woody scent layered with subtle notes of vanilla and musk. It curled through the air like an unspoken promise, wrapping around her like a fragile shield. The scent made her chest tighten with a mix of comfort and heartbreak, stirring memories she didn't want to confront yet.

Outside, the world was muted. Rain had started to fall, tiny beads tapping softly against the windshield, a steady rhythm that somehow made the silence between them heavier.

She could hear the faint hum of the engine, steady and calm, a stark contrast to the storm swirling inside her.

Her heart was a wild drum in her ears, each beat echoing louder than the last. She was afraid more afraid of what she might say than anything outside these walls.

When his voice came, it was like a feather brushing against her skin gentle, tentative.

"Are you tired?"

The simplicity of his question cracked open the dam she'd been desperately holding closed.

A broken, shaky breath escaped her lips, barely more than a whisper. The sound was fragile, like the first tremor of ice cracking beneath weight.

Her throat tightened, and the tears welled up, warm and urgent, blurring her vision.

They spilled over, hot and unrelenting, tracing salty paths down her cheeks.

She made no move to stop them.

Why bother?

The ache that had been buried deep inside all week the loneliness, the fear, the exhaustion it all found its way out in that moment.

….

He heard it just a tiny, fractured sound but it cut through the silence like glass.

He didn't need to look to know what it meant. But he did.

And when he saw her… it hollowed something out inside him.

Anya sat hunched in the passenger seat, arms wrapped tightly around herself like she was trying to hold her body together. Her face was turned slightly away, but he could still see the tears catching the glow from the dashboard. Her lips trembled, her chest rising and falling with uneven breaths as she tried desperately to hold everything in.

It wasn't working.

The dam had broken.

And he was the one who had cracked it.

His heart twisted, and for a second, the road in front of him blurred. This wasn't what he'd wanted. Not even close. A part of him had hoped stupidly, maybe that this distance he'd created would give her space to miss him, to understand how much she meant. But all it had done was show her what it felt like to be alone. And that… that wasn't fair.

He tightened his grip on the steering wheel, jaw clenched. He wanted to rewind the night, the past few days even the moment he walked away under that streetlamp.

He glanced at her again, her tears now silent but steady, her body trembling like a leaf caught in a windstorm. And he couldn't keep driving. Couldn't pretend this wasn't unraveling right in front of him.

With a soft sigh, he flicked on the signal and slowly pulled the car to the side of the empty street. The rain outside softened the world, making everything feel quieter, more fragile.

He turned off the engine. The sudden hush felt sacred.

His voice was barely above a whisper. "Anya…"

She didn't answer. Just covered her mouth with one hand, shoulders quaking with another sob she couldn't suppress.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," he said. "I was trying to reach you in the only way I knew how. But I think… I did it wrong."

Still no reply. But she didn't flinch when he reached across the center console and gently placed his hand over hers. That was something.

"I didn't walk away because I wanted to," he continued. "I just didn't know how else to make you see me. Not as a friend. Not as someone convenient. But as someone who's been standing here waiting for you to stop running."

….

She didn't remember the last time she'd cried like this.

Not in front of anyone. Not with this kind of rawness.

Her breath hitched in her chest, too fast, too shallow like her lungs had forgotten how to hold air properly. Her hand stayed over her mouth, not to muffle the sobs, but to keep everything else inside. The confessions. The regrets. The desperate apologies she hadn't known how to say.

But now it was spilling out anyway, in the way her body trembled, in the way her heart ached. And Elias… he wasn't going anywhere.

He wasn't pulling away.

His hand was warm over hers strong, steady, real. She could feel the calm in his touch. The quiet promise. And it did something to her something she hadn't expected.

It steadied her.

Not completely. But enough to speak.

Her voice came out hoarse, cracked. "I didn't know how to let you in."

His eyes were on her, open and waiting. She didn't dare look at them yet.

"I've always been the one to leave first," she admitted, eyes fixed on the dashboard. "It's easier. Safer. I thought if I kept it casual, if I kept things light... I'd stay in control."

She paused, throat tightening. "But then you asked to see me. And I wanted to say yes, Elias. I wanted to. But I panicked. I pushed you away… and then I hated you for walking."

Her fingers curled under his. "And I hated myself even more for caring that you did."

The silence between them was heavier now but not empty. It was full of everything unspoken. Everything she'd carried. Everything he'd waited for.

…..

He listened.

Every word felt like a key turning inside his chest, unlocking all the spaces he'd built walls around too.

Her honesty floored him. It wasn't perfect. It wasn't pretty. But it was real and that's what he'd been waiting for.

"I didn't want you to say all the right things," he said after a moment. "I just wanted you to meet me halfway."

He reached out, brushing a strand of hair away from her damp cheek. Her skin was warm with tears. Her eyes red and swollen looked up at him like a child bracing for punishment.

Instead, he smiled softly.

"I'm still here."

Her lower lip quivered. "Why?"

He didn't even hesitate.

"Because even when you push me away… you still pull me back. And I think you've done that since the moment I met you."

The words hung there, suspended between them like fragile thread.

Then slowly hesitantly she leaned her head against his shoulder, her breath catching once more before it evened out. Her fingers tightened slightly around his.

They sat like that. No music. No distractions. Just rain, skin, breath, and the quiet rhythm of healing.