Notes Between Seasons

For a moment, the world fell away.

The hum of traffic beyond the windshield, the faint ticking of the dashboard clock, even the low thrum of the engine it all faded into silence. There was only her.

Elias found himself looking at her really looking. Not just at the tear tracks glistening on her cheeks or the tremble still clinging to her lower lip. Not just at the rawness of her expression or the blush blooming across her face. But through all of it. Past it.

She wasn't composed or polished or hiding anymore. She wasn't trying to be brave. She wasn't saying anything at all and somehow, that said everything.

Her lips were parted, chest rising and falling in uneven rhythm, and her eyes God, her eyes held galaxies of emotion he didn't know how to name. Hurt, yes. Pain, clearly. But threaded through it all was something softer, trembling and unspoken. Relief, maybe. Trust. A kind of emotional nakedness that dared him not to look away.

And he didn't. He couldn't.

His chest tightened with something too big for language. A slow, aching swell of want yes but not just want. Not just desire. He wanted to reach her. To hold her where it hurt. To gather up all the broken pieces and kiss each one into something whole.

He didn't say anything.

Words would've been too small anyway.

So he reached out, slowly, gently, like approaching something wild and wounded. His fingers brushed her lips barely. A featherlight touch, tentative and reverent. A whisper of a question. An invitation he wasn't sure she'd take.

And then,

Her breath caught.

He felt it more than heard it, like the world paused around that one sound. Her eyes widened, lashes still wet. She looked at him like he was something terrifying and beautiful all at once like he was the edge of a cliff and she didn't know whether to jump or step back.

Her whole body stilled except for the tremor in her fingers, resting still in her lap. But her posture leaned just a fraction closer, as if something deep inside her was moving toward him, despite the fear, despite the weight of everything left unsaid.

It was dizzying.

That fragile, impossible space between could and did.

Where everything might change.

And Elias wanted it wanted her with a kind of desperation that made his throat tight and his heartbeat thunder in his ears. Not for the sake of a kiss. Not for the sake of anything as simple as touch. But because she was right there. Open. Unshielded. And she was letting him see her.

And somehow, impossibly, it felt like she saw him too.

But just before the moment could bloom into something more, his phone rang.

A harsh, mechanical sound that cleaved the silence in two.

Reality surged back…

Anya blinked, lashes damp. Then, like a spell had broken, she shifted abruptly pulling back into her seat with a quiet, almost imperceptible gasp. It was the kind of movement that didn't say no, but whispered not now. Her gaze dropped, and she turned slightly away from him, wiping hastily at the last of her tears with the back of her hand. Not for comfort, but concealment. Like she was afraid of being caught vulnerable. Afraid of being seen too much.

Elias exhaled through his nose, slow and tight, his jaw working against a tension he didn't voice.

He didn't want to answer the phone. Whatever it was could wait. Should wait.

But reality had already seeped back in its sharp edges slicing through the fragile stillness between them.

Still, he couldn't bring himself to let go of her.

Her hand remained in his, small, delicate, trembling slightly. His palm nearly swallowed hers. His fingers, broader and rougher from years of working with tools, with weight, with effort, cradled hers like they were something breakable. Like she was a secret he hadn't earned the right to keep.

He held on with the kind of care that said I see you, even if she wouldn't meet his eyes.

With his free hand, slow and reluctant, he reached for the phone on the console.

"Yeah?" he said, his voice low, flat. The warmth that had been blooming moments before had cooled into something more brittle, more guarded.

The voice on the other end spoke fast, too fast. Elias listened in silence, offering only clipped replies "Mm-hm." "Yeah, I've got it." "Tomorrow's fine."

But his attention was elsewhere.

His gaze never left her. Not once.

Even as her shoulders curled inward, even as she kept her face turned from him, pretending to study the streetlights bleeding across the windshield, Elias's eyes stayed on her like a tether. Not to demand anything but to remain. To be steady when everything else felt like it might shift again.

And though her fingers didn't tighten in his, she didn't pull away either.

It wasn't a promise.

But it wasn't goodbye.

"So…" he started, voice low, unsure how to begin again.

"I think I better go now," Anya said suddenly, cutting him off.

The words hit the air like a blade soft, but sharp.

She wasn't looking at him. Her gaze was fixed somewhere just past the windshield, unfocused, like if she concentrated hard enough, she could pretend none of this had just happened.

Her voice had steadied, but only just. She reached for her seatbelt, fingers fumbling a bit. Not for the door handle, though it almost looked like she might bolt but just to put space back where too much closeness had begun to gather.

Elias watched her.

Her retreat wasn't dramatic. If anything, it was quiet. Practiced.

"You're always like that," he said softly, a note of both resignation and affection threading through his voice.

Anya's head turned slightly toward him, but she didn't fully meet his eyes.

"Like what?" she asked, barely a whisper.

"Jumping before you even know where the edge is."

That made her pause.

Her fingers stilled on the seatbelt, and for a beat, silence bloomed again between them—thicker now, heavier.

She didn't answer.

Instead, she gave a soft, almost imperceptible shrug, like there was too much to say and none of it was safe. Like she couldn't afford to be open for too long, not even with him.

Elias ran a hand through his hair and sighed.

"What are you going to eat tonight?" he asked, changing the subject with a gentleness that didn't quite mask the ache beneath.

She blinked, surprised by the sudden shift.

"I have leftovers," she said. "From yesterday."

He nodded quietly, accepting her answer without pressing further. But when they reached the familiar stretch of road near the cluster of restaurants, he pulled the car into a spot in front of one of the most well-known Chinese places in the city.

"Wait here," he said before she could ask.

And with that, he was out of the car, dashing through the light rain that had started up again, misting the windshield in a whisper-soft drizzle.

Anya sat in stunned silence.

What was he doing?

She watched him disappear inside, trying to decipher the twist in her chest. Gratitude? Guilt? Both?

Ten minutes later, he returned, umbrella in one hand, two steaming bags in the other. His shirt was slightly damp at the collar, curls beaded with rain. He handed her one of the bags through the open passenger door.

It was warm. Heavy. The smell hit her immediately ginger, garlic, something rich and sweet and savory all at once. Her stomach grumbled, traitorously.

"Elias…" she started, brows drawing together.

"It's just food," he said, but there was something deeper in his voice.

Her eyes searched his face.

"But why?"

He gave her a small, crooked smile. "Because hot food is good on rainy nights. And because you looked like you needed something warm."

The way he said it so simple, so casual made her chest tighten.

She didn't know what to say. So she nodded.

Until they reached her building, the conversation drifted easily between them, skimming over light, inconsequential things. The rain had slowed to a soft drizzle, and the streets shimmered faintly under the glow of street lamps. The air smelled fresh, the kind of clean scent that follows a storm.

They talked about the weather how unpredictable it had been all day and a quirky podcast both had accidentally stumbled upon, laughing quietly at some of the stranger episodes. Elias mentioned a song he'd been playing on repeat lately, and Anya found herself telling him about an old playlist she'd been meaning to revisit. Nothing heavy. Nothing that required the weight of words left unsaid. It was a gentle balm, a momentary refuge from everything pressing around them.

The warmth from the food bag between her hands contrasted with the cool night air that drifted through the slightly open car window. She could still feel the lingering tremors in her chest, the echo of what almost was and what wasn't.

When Elias finally pulled up in front of her building, the rain had stopped entirely. The pavement glistened under the streetlights, reflecting the faint glow like liquid silver. The car fell quiet, the silence settling in thick but somehow softer now less suffocating, more electric.

He looked at her, his eyes holding something that was too complicated for words.

"Good night," he said softly, voice barely more than a murmur. It wasn't just a goodbye it was something heavier, charged with all the things they hadn't said.

Anya met his gaze, her own eyes steady despite the fluttering in her chest. She nodded, voice low but sure. "Good night, Elias."

She opened the door and stepped out into the cool night air. For a brief moment, she glanced back at the car, at Elias sitting there, watching her with a quiet intensity that made her heart skip. Then she turned toward the entrance of her building, the warmth of the food bag still pressed between her hands, a small comfort against the cold.

And then she was gone.

…..

The shower was quick, almost mechanical. She didn't bother to scrub away the lingering tension or the faint scent of rain still clinging to her skin. Her mind remained tangled in the car, stuck in the moment that never quite unfolded the almost-kiss, the fragile thread of connection that slipped through her fingers.

Wrapped in the familiar comfort of her oversized hoodie, she settled onto the edge of her bed, the dim light casting soft shadows around the room. Her fingers trembled slightly as she reached for the food bag Elias had left her. She peeled back the paper, and then froze.

Her eyes widened in disbelief.

No way.

There it was the dish. The same one she'd hovered over weeks ago, on a rainy evening just like tonight. She remembered staring at it through the glass, craving it with a hunger that wasn't just about food but something deeper. Yet she had walked away then, her practical mind winning the battle too expensive, too indulgent, not a luxury she could allow herself.

And now, here it was still warm, still fragrant, carrying with it the subtle promise of something more.

She scooped a spoonful of the rice and closed her eyes, savoring the first bite.

It was… perfect.

A delicate mix of comfort and longing, warmth and memory, wrapped up in flavor that spoke to parts of her she rarely let surface.

Without thinking, she grabbed her phone and typed quickly:

Anya: It's delicious.

Her fingers hovered for a moment, then sent the message.

The small act felt heavier than it should an unspoken thank you, a bridge across the quiet space between them.

…..

He was home, but the apartment felt too quiet too empty. The leftovers still sat on the counter, untouched. The warmth of the food didn't reach him. He hadn't been hungry since she left.

His mind kept drifting back to her the way her hand fit into his, small and warm against his larger one. The way her eyes held that wild, scared softness just before everything cracked. The touch of his finger on her lips, so light it felt like a secret between them.

His phone buzzed, breaking the silence.

Anya's name lit up the screen.

He smiled without thinking.

Two simple words.

It's delicious.

To him, those words meant everything.

He typed back quickly, trying to keep his voice steady even though his heart was racing.

Elias: I'm glad. You deserved it.

After sending the message, he stared at the screen longer than necessary. The glow illuminated the quiet room, but his mind was far away still wrapped in the feel of her hand in his, warm and small beneath his larger one. Still haunted by the memory of her eyes when he touched her lips, that fragile, wild moment before the phone had shattered their silence.

He knew something had shifted between them tonight. Not everything no, that was impossible but enough.

Enough to change the shape of what came next.