Chapter 27
1967 Words
✨ Borrowed Lights.✨
Flora Pov
Flora woke the next morning with the strange certainty that something had changed. She tried to analyse everything.
Nothing in the room looked different. The boardinghouse still smelled faintly of dust and boiled tea. The light crept in through the thin curtains the same way it always did. Her bag sat where she’d left it, half-unpacked, stubborn and ordinary.
And yet—her chest felt too full.
She lay still, staring at the ceiling, and then it came back to her with startling clarity: Nasir’s hand steadying her, the quiet of the rooftop, the warmth of his breath—and then his lips, brief and gentle, pressed to her forehead.
Her stomach flipped.
“Oh,” she whispered to no one.
She rolled onto her side, pressing her face into the pillow like it might muffle the feeling. It didn’t. The kiss replayed anyway, not dramatic or hungry, but slow and deliberate, as if he had been careful with her in a way no one ever had.
It followed her through the day.
As she brushed her hair, she caught herself pausing, fingers lingering at her hairline where his lips had been. When she dressed, she wondered—absurdly—if he would have noticed the color of her dress, if he would have thought it suited her. She laughed at herself quietly, embarrassed by how easily her thoughts bent toward him.
She hadn’t eaten much, forgetting again until her stomach complained. Even then, she ate distractedly, staring out the window at the street below, half-expecting to see him there, leaning casually against a post like he belonged anywhere he chose.
He didn’t come again.
Still, she felt him everywhere.
When anxiety crept in—as it always did—it didn’t tighten as sharply as before. She found herself counting her steps without thinking. One, two, three. Breathing until her hands stopped shaking. The note stayed folded in her pocket, edges soft from being touched too often.
Each night, when she lay in bed, the kiss returned uninvited.
She would close her eyes and feel it again—the way it hadn’t startled her, hadn’t sent her into panic. How it had steadied her instead. How safe it had felt. That frightened her more than the kiss itself.
Safe was dangerous.
Safe made you careless.
By the third day, she started smiling at nothing.
By the fourth, she caught herself humming softly while she cleaned the room.
By the fifth, she felt the ache of his absence like something physical, a dull pressure behind her ribs. She wondered if she’d imagined the meaning of it, if the kiss had been nothing more than kindness.
But kindness didn’t linger like this.
Kindness didn’t make her heart race when footsteps passed her door.
On the seventh night, she sat on the edge of the bed, knees drawn to her chest, replaying it again—his calm, his closeness, the weight of that single, careful gesture. She pressed her fingers to her forehead and laughed quietly, breathless and bewildered.
“It was just a kiss,” she told herself.
But it hadn’t been.
It had been a beginning.
And that realization scared her more than being alone ever had.
Because now, when she thought of the future—when she imagined days beyond this town—he was there. Standing just ahead of her. Waiting.
And somewhere deep inside, a fragile, foolish part of her whispered a dangerous truth:
She was already hoping he wouldn’t disappear again.
Even if it meant her heart was learning to believe a lie.
---
Flora had never owned anything meant to make her look beautiful.
That thought came to her as she sat on the edge of the narrow bed, feet tucked beneath her, staring at the open bag on the floor. Inside it lay the entirety of what she had brought with her when she ran—clothes folded thin from use, colors faded into one another, fabric softened by too many washes.
Trump had bought her and Cambilly clothes, yes. But they had never been clothes meant to be seen in.
Two plain dresses.
Two skirts.
Two blouses.
All sensible. All modest. All chosen without asking what she liked or who she wanted to be. They had been garments meant to cover her, not adorn her. Meant to make her disappear quietly into corners.
She had never questioned that before.
Until Nasir.
The things he had given her—left folded carefully in the wardrobe the day she returned from the boutique—still felt unreal. Dresses with fabric that moved when she touched it. Soft sweaters. A blouse that caught the light in a way that made her pause every time she saw it.
She hadn’t worn any of them yet.
They felt like promises she wasn’t sure she deserved.
Flora sighed softly and leaned back against the wall. She’d been sitting there too long, waiting for nothing in particular, replaying the same thoughts until they knotted together. Her stomach growled sharply, reminding her she hadn’t eaten since morning.
The boardinghouse kitchen would close soon.
She stood, slowly, as if the decision might disappear if she moved too fast.
“Just food,” she murmured. “Nothing else.”
She brushed her hair, carefully, tugging through the knots with more patience than usual. She hesitated in front of the wardrobe, fingers hovering, then—heart racing—reached for one of the dresses Nasir had given her.
It was simple. Dark. Elegant without being loud.
Her hands shook slightly as she pulled it on.
When she looked at herself in the mirror, she barely recognized the girl staring back.
She didn’t look transformed. She didn’t look glamorous.
But she looked… noticed.
“That’s silly,” she whispered, cheeks warming. “No one’s noticing.”
She slipped on her shoes, grabbed her bag, and turned toward the door.
That was when the knock came.
She froze.
The sound echoed through her chest like a struck bell.
Another knock—soft, patient.
Her heart thudded as she opened the door.
Nasir stood there.
For a second, she forgot how to breathe.
He wasn’t dressed for the town. He wasn’t dressed for business. He wore dark trousers and a coat that fit him like it had been designed with him in mind, broad shoulders and quiet authority wrapped in clean lines. His hair was neatly styled, his expression calm—but his eyes softened when they landed on her.
Flora’s mind did something strange.
It tilted.
She had seen him before. Many times. But never like this. Never standing in her doorway, looking like he belonged in a world she had only glimpsed from afar.
“Oh,” she said faintly.
His mouth curved slightly. “Hello.”
“I—I was just going to eat,” she blurted out.
“I know,” he said easily. “The kitchen closes early.”
Her stomach betrayed her again with a loud growl.
Nasir smiled. “I thought we’d go out.”
Her pulse jumped. “Out?”
“For dinner.”
“I—I don’t—” She gestured vaguely. “I was just—”
“Flora,” he said gently, stepping closer. “You don’t have to explain.”
She swallowed. “Okay.”
He looked her over slowly, not in a way that made her feel examined, but as if he were taking in a painting he hadn’t expected to find.
“You look beautiful,” he said.
Her face burned instantly.
“I don’t,” she protested weakly.
He tilted his head. “You do. And you know it.”
“I really don’t.”
“That’s unfortunate,” he teased. “Because I do.”
She laughed despite herself, covering her face with one hand. “You’re doing that on purpose.”
“Doing what?”
“Trying to make me panic.”
“It’s working.”
She dropped her hand, eyes narrowing playfully. “You’re terrible.”
“And yet,” he said, offering his arm, “you’re coming to dinner with me.”
She hesitated only a moment before taking it.
They walked together into the night, her steps careful at first, then easier. He led her not to the usual places near the boardinghouse, but farther—into a part of town that glowed warmly under strings of lights.
The restaurant was small, intimate. Quiet music. Candlelit tables.
Flora stopped just inside the door, overwhelmed.
Nasir leaned closer. “Too much?”
She shook her head. “Just… new.”
He nodded, understanding.
Dinner was a revelation.
Not just the food—rich, warm, comforting—but the way he watched her try everything like it was an event worth witnessing. She laughed when she realized how hungry she truly was, how easily the conversation flowed when she wasn’t afraid of saying the wrong thing.
“You disappeared,” she said quietly, halfway through dessert.
His expression softened. “I know.”
“You scared me again.”
“I know.”
“I’m not angry,” she added quickly. “Just… confused.”
“That’s fair.”
They sat in silence for a moment.
“My birthday’s coming up,” he said lightly.
She stiffened. “Okay.”
He smiled. “There’s a small thing,” he added quickly. “Nothing serious. Just… people. Food.”
A pause. “I’d like you to come.”
“You sure,” she said, voice small.
“I am.”
Her nerves flared instantly. “I don’t know how to do that.”
“You don’t have to do anything,” he said calmly. “Just be yourself.”
“That’s what makes it worse.”
He chuckled. “They’ll love you.”
“You say that like it’s simple.”
“It is.”
She stared at him. “You’ve never seen me nervous.”
“Oh, I have,” he said dryly. “You’re entertaining.”
She gasped. “Nasir.”
He laughed, genuinely, and reached across the table, brushing her fingers. “I’ll be there. The whole time.”
Her heart steadied at that.
After dinner, he stopped them outside a small shop glowing softly in the night.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“A mistake,” he said lightly, already opening the door.
Inside, the cases sparkled.
Her breath caught.
“No,” she said immediately. “No, absolutely not.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You haven’t even seen anything yet.”
“I don’t need jewellery.”
“You don’t need air either,” he countered. “But it helps.”
She shook her head fiercely. “Nasir, I can’t—”
He picked up a simple necklace. Nothing loud. Just a delicate chain.
“For not seeing you all week,” he said quietly.
Her throat tightened.
“No one,” she whispered, “has ever given me anything like this.”
“That’s unfortunate,” he replied softly. “Because I want to.”
It took him five minutes to convince her.
Five minutes of gentle teasing, calm reassurance, and one quiet, devastating smile when he clasped it around her neck himself.
“There,” he murmured. “Now you belong to yourself a little more.”
She didn’t trust her voice.
As they walked back, he leaned closer. “You know, you really are beautiful.”
She rolled her eyes, smiling. “You’re not getting another reaction.”
“I’ll keep trying.”
She laughed again, heart light, steps steady.
For the first time in her life, she wasn’t wearing borrowed fear.
She was wearing borrowed light.
And it terrified her how much she wanted it to be real.
- Writer
