Chapter 13
1660 Words
✨Threads The World Had Already Pulled.✨
Nasir pov
Nasir did not go far.
He crossed the street, slowed his steps, and entered the neighboring shop—a narrow storefront selling cigarettes, canned goods, and nothing anyone truly wanted. From the window, he could still see the boardinghouse.
Its brick façade was uneven, the mortar darkened with age, the upper windows fogged as though the building itself breathed shallowly.
Inside the shop, a man waited for him.
The man was seated backward on a chair, arms folded over its top, posture relaxed in a way that meant the opposite. He was thick through the shoulders, scar slicing one eyebrow in half. He smiled without warmth.
“You’re late,” the man said.
Nasir’s gaze flicked once—briefly—back to the boardinghouse window. Then he turned fully to the man. “I’m not.”
The man snorted. “Word is you’re passing through. Taking care of something.”
“I am.”
The man leaned forward. “Something valuable?”
Nasir’s smile was thin. “Everything is valuable to someone.”
The man studied him for a moment longer, then nodded toward the door. “Come on. We shouldn’t talk here.”
Nasir followed—but his attention did not leave the boardinghouse until the door shut behind him.
---
Nasir stood across the street from the boardinghouse long after he had no reason to.
His business could wait.
Some things announced themselves as inevitable. He had learned to listen.
Through the window, he saw her silhouette cross the room, pause, then sit heavily on the bed. The shape of her loneliness pressed against the glass as clearly as her reflection had pressed against the bus window earlier.
This town would not keep her.
Neither, he suspected, would the world.
And somewhere between the place she had fled and the place she would become, their paths had already crossed—stitched together by choices neither of them had fully understood yet.
Nasir turned away, the knowledge settling deep in his bones.
Some meetings were not beginnings.
They were confirmations.
Nasir had not planned to stay at the boardinghouse that night.
He told himself that as he stood outside his room, key still in his hand, listening to the building settle. Wood contracting. Pipes groaning. Voices rising and falling like the place itself breathed unevenly.
He had business to finish. Loose ends to consider. Names to keep straight.
Instead, his thoughts kept circling back to the girl in the lobby.
Flora.
She hadn’t belonged there. That much had been obvious the moment her bag spilled across the floor—too much care, too much panic, the way her hands shook like she expected the world to punish her for taking up space.
People who grew up safe didn’t move like that.
Nasir leaned against the railing and closed his eyes briefly. He didn’t make a habit of noticing strangers. Especially not ones who looked like they might complicate things.
And she would complicate things.
He’d seen it the moment she looked at him—startled, wary, trying to be brave anyway. Like an animal that hadn’t learned yet that it was allowed to stop running.
Down the hall, a door slammed. Laughter followed—too loud, too careless. Nasir’s jaw tightened.
He straightened and moved without thinking.
Her door was closed. Locked, he hoped. He listened, just for a second, and heard nothing from inside. That worried him more than noise would have.
He went back to the stairs, detoured to the kitchen, and gathered what he could—bread wrapped in cloth, a wedge of cheese, an apple. It wasn’t much, but it was something.
It was enough to prove a point he wasn’t ready to name.
He stood outside her door longer than he should have.
When he knocked, he kept it light.
Non-threatening.
When she answered—voice soft, cautious—something in his chest pulled tight.
Up close, she looked worse than he remembered. Paler. Tired in a way sleep didn’t fix. He recognized hunger when he saw it. Not the dramatic kind. The quiet, forgotten kind.
When he handed her the food, the way she held it told him everything.
She hadn’t eaten all day.
That realization made something sharp spark behind his ribs.
“Goodnight, Flora,” he said, because anything more would have been dangerous.
Back in his room, Nasir sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the wall.
He thought about the town—unfinished, overlooked, useful precisely because no one paid it much attention. He thought about the work that had brought him here, the risks already stacking too high. He thought about how proximity bred attachment, and attachment bred mistakes.
And then he thought about how she’d looked at him when he said her name.
Not like he was powerful.
Not like he was frightening.
Like he was… solid.
Nasir exhaled slowly.
This was a problem.
He lay back and stared at the ceiling, listening to the same sounds she was hearing through the walls. Somewhere, someone laughed. Somewhere, someone argued. Life carried on, careless and cruel and intimate all at once.
He told himself this was coincidence.
That paths crossed and uncrossed every day.
That whatever had drawn his attention to her would fade by morning.
But even as sleep finally came, Nasir knew better.
Some doors, once opened, didn’t close again.
And he had a feeling—quiet, unwelcome, inevitable—that Flora was standing on the other side of one he’d just walked through.
---
Nasir Darven hated delays.
They always smelled the same—stale coffee, old paper, the faint metallic tang of impatience. The office was too warm, the fan rattling overhead like it had something to complain about. He sat across from a man who wouldn’t meet his eyes, fingers worrying the edge of a thin folder.
“This wasn’t what we discussed,” Nasir said calmly.
The man cleared his throat. “Circumstances changed.”
They always did.
Nasir leaned back, chair creaking under his weight. He noted everything automatically: the sweat at the man’s temples, the way his knee bounced, the lie sitting between them like a third presence. Nasir had built his life on reading these signs. It was how he survived. How he won.
“You don’t pull out the day of,” Nasir continued. “You don’t wait until I’m in town to decide you’re suddenly cautious.”
The man swallowed. “I’m not pulling out. I’m just… reconsidering.”
Nasir stood.
The movement alone made the man flinch.
“Then reconsider quickly,” Nasir said, voice low. “Because I don’t.”
He took the folder, left it on the desk unopened, and walked out.
Outside, the evening had settled in. The sky was bruised purple and gold, the heat easing just enough to make breathing tolerable.
Nasir leaned against his car, the metal still warm beneath his palm, and exhaled slowly.
Another dead end.
Another reminder that trust was a liability.
His phone buzzed. He ignored it.
That was when he noticed the bus.
It rattled past the corner, windows glowing faintly in the fading light. He didn’t know why he looked—habit, maybe. Awareness. Then he saw her.
She sat by the window, head turned slightly, her reflection doubled in the glass. Her face was pale, drawn. She stared at nothing, eyes unfocused, as if the world had gone quiet around her.
Nasir straightened.
She lifted her hand, brushed at her cheek.
Tears.
Not dramatic. Not messy. Just there—slipping free despite her effort to stop them.
“Jesus,” he muttered under his breath.
Something tightened low in his chest. An uncomfortable pull, sharp enough to demand attention. He didn’t like it. Didn’t trust it.
He watched as she pressed her lips together, as if holding herself in by sheer force of will.
When the bus jolted, she flinched hard, shoulders tensing like she expected the impact to be worse.
Who does that to someone? he wondered.
The bus slowed.
Before he had fully decided, Nasir pushed off the car and locked it, the click loud in the quiet street. He jogged lightly and boarded at the rear just before the doors closed.
Inside, the air smelled of diesel and dust. The floor vibrated under his boots. He stood a few rows back from her, steadying himself with one hand on the rail.
She didn’t notice him at first.
When she did, it was only in reflection. Her eyes flicked up, caught his, then dropped immediately. No challenge. No curiosity.
Defense.
The realization unsettled him more than the tears had.
The bus carried them through the dimming streets. Neon signs blinked on. Voices rose and fell. Through it all, she stayed small, contained, as if space itself was something she had learned to ration.
When she stood to get off, Nasir spoke without planning it.
“Flora.”
She turned, startled but not panicked. That mattered.
"Nasir."
“I don’t mean to intrude,” he said. “But you seem… lost.”
She hesitated. “I’m fine.”
The lie was reflexive. Well-practiced.
He nodded once. “If you say so.”
The bus stopped. She stepped down into the evening, hugging her bag to her chest. Nasir followed, keeping his distance, letting the noise thin out around them.
Streetlights flickered on.
“You don’t cry like someone who’s fine,” he said gently.
She stiffened, then laughed once—short, disbelieving. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“That’s true,” he agreed. “I know what I saw.”
She studied him for a moment, as if deciding whether he was a risk. Finally, she looked away.
Silence settled—not awkward, not heavy. Just… present.
Nasir’s phone buzzed again. Work calling him back. Always.
He ignored it.
For reasons he did not yet understand.
- Writer
