Chapter 25
1859 Words
✨ Counting Steps.✨
Flora Pov
Flora stared at the folded paper in her hand as if it might burn her.
Nasir watched her in silence, unreadable, the hallway light cutting sharp lines across his face. The space between them felt too small, charged with everything that had gone unsaid for a week.
“Well?” he murmured softly.
Her fingers trembled as she unfolded it.
Inside was not a letter.
Not words.
Just an address.
And beneath it, written in his careful, deliberate hand:
I'll always he waiting.Midnight. Rooftop on Mercer Street. If your hands shake, breathe until they don’t. I’ll be there before you arrive.Count your steps if your thoughts get loud. I’ll be waiting.
Her breath caught.
“That’s all?” she whispered.
“It’s enough,” he said quietly.
She hesitated only a second longer before nodding.
He didn’t stay long.
After a moment, Nasir gave a small nod, almost imperceptible, and stepped back toward the stairwell.
---
Flora held the folded paper like it was fragile glass, as if one wrong touch could shatter everything inside it. She sat cross-legged on the floor, the dim lamplight catching the edges of the ink. Her fingers traced the words slowly, carefully, almost reverently:
I’ll always be waiting. Midnight. Rooftop on Mercer Street.
Her heartbeat stumbled at the thought of him waiting there, alone in the dark for her. The city outside her window buzzed softly—cars passing, someone yelling far off, a dog barking—but none of it felt real. All she could feel was the weight of the words.
If your hands shake, breathe until they don’t.
Her fingers trembled, just slightly. She pressed the note to her chest and took a shaky breath, counting silently in her head. One… two… three… four. By the time she reached ten, the tremor had softened. She exhaled slowly, letting it leave her body in waves. It was almost laughable how much control a piece of paper could give her, but she didn’t laugh. Not yet.
I’ll be there before you arrive. Count your steps if your thoughts get loud. I’ll be waiting.
She closed her eyes. Counting her steps had always helped. When she had been a child, she would pace back and forth in her room when nightmares came, her small feet keeping rhythm with her heartbeat until the fear ebbed. Now, she stood, gripping the paper tightly, and walked to the door.
“One… two… three…” she whispered, pacing the small apartment. Her mind tried to race ahead—what if he wasn’t there? What if someone was following her? But then she remembered the words, and she slowed. “Four… five… six…” Each number a small anchor. Her anxiety hissed at her, urging her to stop, to hide, to curl into the bed again, but she kept moving.
The streets outside were almost empty, save for a few stray headlights. The note had been folded and tucked in her pocket, pressed against her heart. Every time her hands shook, she brushed her fingers against it, letting the words anchor her again.
“Count your steps if your thoughts get loud,” she murmured, taking a long, deliberate breath. Her steps became a rhythm, slow and steady: one… two… three… She imagined him waiting, calm, composed, watching the city as if it belonged to him. And for the first time since leaving the boardinghouse, Flora felt a flicker of courage.
By the time she reached the street, the tremor in her hands was almost gone. She paused, looking up at the faint outline of the rooftop on Mercer Street. The building wasn’t large, and the stairs were narrow, but the note had made it feel like a promise rather than a risk.
Her feet carried her upward, each step counted silently in her head: one… two… three… Her pulse matched the numbers. She didn’t glance over her shoulder. She didn’t hesitate. She trusted that he was there, waiting, as the note promised.
Finally, she reached the top. The rooftop was empty, save for the soft hum of the city below. She pressed herself against the wall, catching her breath, and let herself listen—to the distant cars, to the night air, to the quiet whisper of her own heart.
And then she saw him.
Nasir stood at the edge, leaning slightly, hands in his pockets. He looked at her without surprise, without accusation, just the calm certainty of someone who had been expecting her. His presence was a shield and a promise all at once.
“You came,” he said simply. His voice carried across the space between them.
“I… I counted,” she admitted, almost sheepishly. “Just like you said.”
He stepped closer, slow, measured. “Good.”
For a moment, nothing else existed. The city, the danger, the emptiness—all of it receded. All that remained was the space between them, and the quiet assurance of his presence. Flora’s trembling hands rested on the railing, and she realized she was no longer shaking, not really.
“I’ll always be here,” he said softly, and she knew he meant it.
Flora smiled, letting herself feel the words sink into her. She hadn’t just followed directions. She hadn’t just counted steps. She had trusted someone—finally—and that trust had carried her through her fear.
And for the first time in a long while, she felt like she might be able to believe in something more than running, more than hiding, more than being alone.
Her gaze lifted to Nasir’s. “Thank you,” she whispered.
He didn’t say anything else. He just reached out his hand, letting her fingers brush his. A small, simple touch, but it held everything: protection, patience, understanding.
For Flora, that was enough.
Enough to breathe. Enough to step forward.
Enough to hope.
---
The next evening found her standing outside the boardinghouse again, coat pulled tight around her, heart racing with a familiar mix of fear and longing.
When Nasir appeared from the shadows, relief hit her so hard she nearly cried again.
He didn’t speak at first.
Just offered his hand.
This time, she took it.
They walked in silence through streets she didn’t recognize, farther from the town center, farther from safety. The buildings thinned, the lamps grew sparse, and the air turned colder, sharper.
Finally, he stopped before an old iron gate half-hidden by vines.
Beyond it rose a narrow staircase winding up the side of an abandoned warehouse.
“What is this place?” she asked.
“A mistake I bought years ago,” he said. “Come.”
At the top was a small room — forgotten, overlooked — with the entire town spread below them in a scatter of gold lights and shadow.
And there, impossibly, stood a single lantern burning low.
And two cups of coffee.
And a blanket folded neatly against the wall.
Her eyes filled.
“You did all this… for me?”
“For you,” he said simply.
The ache in her chest finally broke.
“You scared me,” she whispered.
“I know.”
“I thought you left because I was foolish.”
“No,” he said, stepping closer. “I left because I was afraid.”
That stunned her.
“You?” she breathed.
His jaw tightened. “Of what I wanted. Of what touching you did to me. Of what I would become if I didn’t stop myself.”
Her pulse thundered.
“I didn’t trust myself to come back and not ruin you,” he continued quietly. “So I stayed away until I could be certain I would only give you what you chose.”
Tears slid down her cheeks.
“You hurt me,” she said.
“I’m here to fix that,” he said.
Slowly, carefully, he brushed his thumb beneath her eye, wiping the tear away.
“This time,” he whispered, “I won’t disappear.”
She believed him.
That was the lie her heart chose.
He kissed her again.
Not desperate this time.
Not rushed.
Deep. Intentional. Like a vow he wasn’t saying out loud.
She melted into it immediately, hands fisting in his coat, breath leaving her in soft, broken sounds she didn’t recognize as her own. The town vanished again, the fear receded, and all that existed was the warmth of his mouth and the steady way he held her like she was something precious.
When he pulled back, her eyes were glassy, her lips swollen.
“Stay with me tonight,” he murmured.
Not command.
Request.
Her heart stuttered.
“I don’t know how,” she admitted.
A faint, dangerous smile touched his mouth. “Neither do I.”
He wrapped the blanket around her shoulders, sat beside her against the wall, and pulled her gently into his chest.
They didn’t rush.
They talked quietly.
He told her stories about the town.
She told him about wanting work.
About feeling small.
About being afraid of being left again.
His arm tightened around her.
“You won’t be,” he said.
At some point, without quite realizing when, her head ended up on his shoulder. His hand traced slow, absent circles at her waist, grounding, steady, learning the shape of her.
When he kissed her again, it was softer.
Slower.
Intimate in a way that made her chest ache.
She felt herself opening — not her body, not yet — but something deeper.
Trust.
Hope.
The part of her that had learned how easily a heart could be persuaded.
The lantern burned low.
The town slept.
And somewhere far below, unseen, a figure paused at the edge of the street and looked up at the rooftop.
Watching.
Waiting.
While Flora, held in Nasir’s arms, finally believed she was no longer alone.
---
Before he turned toward the stairwell, Nasir stepped closer, close enough that the warmth of him brushed against her. For a brief moment, he reached up and pressed his lips lightly to her forehead.
Flora froze, caught between surprise and a strange, fluttering calm. The gesture was small, protective, and intimate all at once—less a kiss than a promise.
“I’ll see you later,” he said softly, his voice low enough to melt into the quiet hum of the night.
Her fingers lingered where his hands had brushed hers. She swallowed, her chest still racing, a mixture of relief, excitement, and the lingering echo of fear slowly unraveling.
He turned and disappeared down the stairs, leaving her alone on the rooftop. The city hummed below, distant and unaware.
Alone—but no longer empty.
Flora folded the note carefully, pressing it against her chest. The words were simple, steady, and unshakable:
I’ll be waiting.
For the first time since she had fled, she let herself believe it.
And for a long while, she stayed there, counting the quiet, steady pulse of the night—and of her own heartbeat—until the rooftop was no longer scary, and the city no longer felt so vast.
- Writer
