The glass door of Vireo House hissed shut behind Aria.

"I turn left—bus stop's the next block," Chiara said, sliding her sunglasses on with a practiced flick of her wrist. "You're tram-bound, right?"

"Two stops."

"Alright. Survive your Thursday night."

Chiara peeled off with a wave, leaving Aria to navigate the evening rush alone. The shift from the high-frequency demands of the edit suite to the anonymity of the commute usually helped her reset.

Streetlights had flickered on, stringing a necklace of artificial amber along the avenue. It was that mellow hour when the city paused between energy and ease, the sun dipping low enough to gild the tram lines but keeping the heat of the day pressed against the asphalt.

But as she neared the crosswalk, the atmosphere snagged.

It wasn't a sound, exactly. It was a pressure—sharp, close to the skin. A shift in the air behind her, like the displacement caused by someone walking just a little too close.

Aria tightened her grip on her bag.

She didn't stop. Didn't turn.

She simply lengthened her stride, focusing on the countdown screen of the crosswalk signal.

Just the evening crowd, she told herself. Just the city.

Then came the sound.

Clink. Clink.

A metallic jingle. Rhythmic. Measured. Like keys tapping in rhythm with someone's pace.

Her pulse kicked a sharp, frantic beat against her ribs. She scanned the shop window to her left, looking for a reflection, a shadow, anything to confirm the sensation prickling at the back of her neck.

The sound persisted. Closer now.

She stopped abruptly and spun around.

At that exact second, headlights swept across her legs. A matte black car glided to the curb beside her, tires whispering against the tarmac. The window rolled down smoothly, framing Reyhaan, one arm resting casually on the door.

Aria let out a breath that was half-laugh, half-shudder. "So it was you following me?"

"What?" Reyhaan looked entirely confused.

"I felt someone behind me," she muttered, voice lighter now, the tension already starting to unravel. "Got a little scared."

He blinked, startled. His eyes flicked to the rearview mirror—a quick, sharp scan. "I..." He hesitated, then shook his head slightly. "Not quite. But you've got sharp instincts."

"Anyway, I was just driving past," he added, his voice returning to a lighter register. "Heading home. Thought I'd catch you before the tram. Need a lift?"

"My place is on your way now?"

"Exactly."

Aria shook her head, smiling despite the lingering adrenaline. She circled the hood and slid into the passenger seat. The cabin smelled of bergamot and cedar—a warm, enclosed world that felt miles away from the street corner.

"By the way," she said, buckling in. "You've never actually told me where your home is."

"That's the point. Keeps the mystery alive."

They fell into an easy cadence as the city blurred past the windows. Aria checked her phone—an email from Chiara with notes for the director's cut—before turning her attention back to him.

"What did you work on today?" she asked.

"Recording the second piece for the album," he said, his fingers tapping a rhythm on the wheel. "The one we added the ocean sound to. Marmoris."

Without explaining further, he reached for the console and swiped the screen.

The track filled the car.

There were no vocals. Just a spacious, resonant tone that seemed to expand the air inside the vehicle. It felt like being underwater, or inside a memory that hadn't quite formed yet. A deep, cavernous tide grounded the melody.

Distance Doesn't Echo (Instrumental).

Leaning her head back, Aria let the sound wash over her. It was beautiful—melancholy but anchored. When it faded out, she didn't want the silence to return.

"Can you play that again?"

He did. They drove the rest of the way without speaking, the music saying everything that required saying.

When Reyhaan pulled into the lane leading to her apartment block, the sun had finally dipped, leaving the sky a bruised purple.

"Come up," she said as the car idled.

He hesitated, hand hovering near the gear stick. "I'll drop by another—"

"I'm serious," she interrupted gently. "You can't just play something like that and drive off like it didn't mean anything. Also... you haven't seen how the bookshelf you installed is thriving. I added plants."

He exhaled a laugh, killed the engine, and followed her inside.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Light bloomed as Aria flicked the switches—overhead softened by lamps, the apartment warming into gold. Cinnamon and citrus reached him, faint but intentional.

The space no longer felt like a temporary stopover; it had acquired the texture of a home. Yellow-toned light from the floor lamps warmed the walls, catching on photographs taped at the corners and books left mid-read on the coffee table.

Reyhaan leaned in the doorway while she bustled in the kitchen. "You've turned this place into... you," he observed. "Gentle. Thoughtful. A little chaotic."

"I'll take that as a compliment," she called back.

She moved with an unselfconscious ease that made him feel less like a guest and more like a part of the room's rhythm. The kettle clicked. She returned with two mugs and a plate of round cookies dusted with crushed pistachios.

"I finally made them," she said, offering the plate.

He picked one up. The scent hit him instantly—fragrant, subtle, nostalgic. "Orange blossom?"

"You mentioned it once. Back during the fest prep. Said it reminded you of your mom's dessert." She looked down, brushing a crumb from the edge of the plate. "I almost forgot. But I saw the syrup at the market."

Reyhaan stared at the cookie. It wasn't just the flavor; it was the fact that she had cataloged a passing comment from months ago and held onto it.

"You remembered that?"

She shrugged, a small smile playing on her lips. "Try one."

They sat on opposite ends of the couch, talking in fragments about books and transit lines. Then, her phone buzzed against the table.

"Maya," she murmured, answering.

Reyhaan leaned back, sipping his tea, but he could hear Maya's voice leaking from the speaker—frantic and loud.

"Wait—Is someone there with you?"

"Yeah," Aria said, glancing at him. "Reyhaan."

He raised a brow. Aria winced and pulled the phone an inch away from her ear. "Maya," she said, sweetly and with menace.

He caught the sound again—a fresh wave of enthusiasm in Maya's voice erupted from the other end.

"Bye, Maya," she said, ending the call with a mix of sweetness and finality. She looked at him, "Kian's coming Monday. Three days early. Maya is... thrilled."

"Kian's coming early?" Reyhaan chuckled. "Of course he is."

The laughter faded, leaving a comfortable lull. Outside the window, the evening hummed.

Aria swirled the dregs of her tea, looking contemplative. "How do you say something..." she began, staring at the glass, "without saying it?"

He turned his head. "For someone?"

"For a scene," she clarified.

Reyhaan thought about the track they had mixed today. About the ocean sound, and the space he had learned to leave in his own life.

"You build the feeling around it," he said finally. "The color, the stillness. You show how it moves through someone... even if no one names it." He paused. "Sometimes it's not what you show. It's what you let them sense."

Aria nodded slowly, storing the advice. "That's what I was missing."

He didn't add anything else. He just let the silence stretch—full, calm, and requiring no repair. He let the cup warm his hands and let the stillness stay a little longer.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dusk had deepened by the time Reyhaan stepped back out onto the street. The air was mild, lit by the golden glow of the overhead bulbs lining the footpath.

He walked toward his car, keys in hand. The neighborhood was quiet—a dog walker with headphones, a cyclist disappearing around the corner.

Normal.

Then, a lull.

No laughter. No bell. Just his footsteps, and a pause that didn't feel empty.

And something else.

A flicker in the corner of his eye—a reflection warped by the chrome of a side mirror. A figure? Or just the city stuttering under the orange streetlights?.

It was too brief to be sure. Too sharp to ignore.

Then—

A sound.

Clink. Clink.

Metal on metal.

He slowed. Tilted his head.

It came again.

A jingle of keys that matched his pace.

His spine stayed loose, but his breath caught. Not fear—not yet. Just the distinct sensation that something was half a second behind him and didn't want to be seen.

Reyhaan didn't turn around.

He unlocked the car with a subtle, fluid motion, his shoulders settling into a quiet alertness he'd learned over the years. Calm on the outside. Watchful within.

Once inside, he locked the doors immediately. The engine clicked into silence, but the sound from the street remained somewhere in his ribs.

He picked up his phone.

Reyhaan: Think someone's been following me. Felt it earlier too—outside the studio. This time near Aria's.

Lucian's reply was instant.

Lucian: Security hasn't flagged anything. Want me to check footage?

Reyhaan: Not yet.

He started the engine and pulled away, eyes flicking once to the rearview mirror. A shadow slipped past the edge of a parked van. Or maybe not.

Second time this week. Same rhythm. Same silence.

He didn't slow down. But the silence that followed carried weight.

Like a note held just too long—long enough to mean something.