Maya’s shift didn’t start until late afternoon, so she planned to spend the morning avoiding everything—including her thoughts. It didn’t work. She woke up already thinking, already replaying last night’s fight, her reaction, his patience, all of it looping in her head like a bad song she couldn’t mute.
She tried cleaning her apartment.
She tried making coffee.
She even tried dancing in the kitchen for thirty seconds.
Nothing shook the tension off.
Around noon her phone buzzed.
**Are you busy? —E**
Her stomach tightened. Not again, she thought. Not today.
**maybe** she typed.
**That means no.
Can I come by?**
She froze.
Come by?
He’d never phrased it like that. Never asked if he could come to *her* place, in the middle of the day, unplanned.
She typed:
**why**
He didn’t avoid the truth.
**Something happened at work.
I need—
I don’t know.
Just tell me if I can come.**
Her heart dropped.
That wasn’t how he talked.
Not him.
Not Evan.
She typed:
**ok. come.**
She didn’t even check the mirror.
Didn’t fix her hair.
Didn’t tidy anything else.
She just waited.
Ten minutes later, he knocked.
When she opened the door, she forgot how to breathe for half a second.
Evan looked… wrong.
Not messy. Evan never looked messy.
But his posture was rigid, his jaw tight, his eyes sharp and unfocused at the same time. Like someone had dropped too much weight on him at once.
“Hi,” he said.
His voice was flat. Not cold—flat.
Maya stepped aside. “Come in.”
He walked into her small apartment like he’d been there before, even though this was his first time. He didn’t look around. Didn’t comment. Didn’t pretend to be polite.
He just stood there.
She closed the door gently. “What happened?”
He didn’t answer.
“Evan.”
Still nothing.
He was breathing—slow, controlled, measured—but something in him was wound too tight. Like any sudden sound would snap him.
Maya stepped closer. “Tell me what happened.”
He swallowed once. “A board member threatened to pull a partnership.”
Her stomach flipped. “Why?”
“Because my father thinks I’m unstable, and he told them that.”
She blinked. “He told your board you’re unstable?”
“Yes.”
“What the hell.”
“He thinks I’m distracted.” Evan pressed a hand to his forehead. “He thinks I’m making impulsive decisions and that I’m not… focused.”
“That’s not true.”
“Doesn’t matter,” he said quietly. “He said it anyway.”
Maya felt heat crawl up her chest. “He said that about his own son?”
“That part doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me.”
He didn’t react. He just exhaled, shoulders rigid. Maya had never seen him hold so much tension in his body.
“Evan,” she said carefully, “why are you here?”
He didn’t hesitate.
“I didn’t know where else to go.”
The sentence hit her harder than she expected.
She stepped even closer. “Sit. Please.”
He didn’t argue. He sat on the edge of her couch like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to take up space. Maya sat across from him, knees nearly touching.
He kept his head down.
She waited. Not pushing him. Just waiting.
After a moment, he said, “I didn’t plan to come here. I just walked out of the building and—my feet brought me to my car. And then they brought me here.”
“I’m not mad about that.”
“I didn’t ask if you were mad.”
“I wanted to say it anyway.”
He looked up for the first time. His eyes were sharp, but tired underneath. “Everything feels loud.”
She nodded slowly. “Okay.”
“And I didn’t want noise.”
“Okay.”
“And I didn’t want to be alone, either.”
Her chest tightened. “Okay.”
He watched her like he was waiting to see if she’d flinch.
She didn’t.
Finally, Maya leaned forward. “Tell me what part of this is hurting you the most.”
He rubbed his thumb against his palm. “I don’t like being talked about like I’m something broken.”
“You’re not.”
“My father thinks I am.”
“He’s wrong.”
“He thinks stepping back makes me weak.”
“Also wrong.”
“He thinks I’m turning into someone he can’t rely on.”
Maya didn’t blink. “Are you?”
“No.”
“Then he’s wrong again.”
“I don’t need you to defend me.”
“I’m not defending you,” she said. “I’m correcting the record.”
His jaw loosened. Just a little.
She kept going. “You’re allowed to want different things. You’re allowed to not want his version of your life. And you’re allowed to be mad when someone lies about you.”
“Mad isn’t useful.”
“Mad is honest.”
He didn’t move, but something in the room shifted—something she felt in her chest rather than saw.
“You’re shaking,” she said.
He looked at his hand like it belonged to someone else. “I know.”
“Let me help.”
“How?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “But you showed up. So let me try.”
He exhaled, long and tight. “Maya.”
“Yeah?”
“You’re the only person I wanted to see.”
Her heart thudded once—hard and deliberate.
She didn’t let it show.
Instead she said, “Okay. Then start from the beginning. Tell me everything.”
For the first time since he walked in, he actually nodded.
And he started to talk.
He talked for a long time.
Not fast. Not emotional. Just precise, steady sentences that sounded like someone finally opening a valve he’d been holding shut for too long.
Maya didn’t interrupt. She didn’t nod too much or react too big. She just sat there, giving him the kind of quiet he didn’t get anywhere else.
Eventually, he said, “My father told the board I’ve been acting irrationally.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“He said I’m too involved with ‘nonessential projects.’”
“The booth?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“And apparently that’s enough for him to think I’m losing control.”
Maya scoffed. “You build something innovative and suddenly it’s irrational?”
“It’s not that simple.”
“It is that simple.”
“It’s politics.”
“It’s people being stupid.”
He almost smiled. “Something like that.”
She watched him carefully. “What did you say back to him?”
“I didn’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because everything I want to say would make it worse.”
“That’s not fair.”
“No.”
“Did you want to yell at him?”
“Very much.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
He inhaled slowly. “Because he raised his voice first.”
Maya’s brows pulled together. “He yelled at you?”
Evan didn’t answer.
He didn’t need to.
Her chest burned. “That’s not okay.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me.”
He shut his eyes briefly, like the words hit deeper than she intended.
When he opened them again, she leaned closer. “Evan.”
“Yes.”
“Do you want me to tell you you’re right?”
“No.”
“Do you want me to tell you he’s wrong?”
“No.”
“Then what do you want?”
He breathed out. “I want a minute where I’m not being judged for how I think.”
“You get that here.”
He looked at her, slow and deliberate. “I know.”
Her cheeks warmed. She looked away.
After a pause, she asked, “Why does it get to you so much? What he says.”
Evan stared at the floor for a long moment. “Because he’s always been louder than me.”
Maya said nothing.
He continued, voice low but firm. “When I started working at the company, everyone followed his lead. Every meeting, every project, every decision—he had the final word. And when I disagreed, it didn’t matter. His voice carried the room.”
“And now?” she asked softly.
“Now I have my own voice. But he still talks like mine doesn’t matter.”
Something sharp and painful twisted in Maya's chest. “Evan… I don’t think he knows who you are now.”
“No,” he said. “He doesn’t.”
“And that’s not your failure.”
He looked at her like he wanted to believe that.
She reached out before she could stop herself—only touching his wrist lightly with her fingertips.
He froze.
Not uncomfortable.
Not startled.
Just… still.
“You’re not broken,” she said. “You’re not unstable. You’re not out of control. You’re someone who actually thinks about the things you do.”
His eyes didn’t leave hers.
She pulled her hand back slowly. “And if your father can’t see that, that’s his problem.”
Silence stretched—quiet, thick, but not heavy.
Finally, he whispered, “Thank you.”
She cleared her throat. “Don’t thank me. I’m just saying things that are true.”
“You’re the only person I’d believe.”
Her pulse jumped. “Don’t say that.”
“It’s still true.”
She shook her head, because if she didn’t, she’d do something stupid like sit closer or forget how breathing works.
Evan shifted on the couch. “Can I stay?” he asked.
Maya’s hand tightened on her knee. “Here?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“I don’t know.”
She swallowed. “Why?”
“Because I don’t want to think about him right now.”
“And you think staying here will help?”
“I know it will.”
Her throat tightened.
“…Okay,” she said.
He exhaled—quiet, relieved.
They didn’t talk for a while after that. Evan leaned back against her couch, letting his shoulders finally drop. Maya sat cross-legged on the floor, leaning against the coffee table, picking at the corner of a coaster to keep her hands busy.
At some point, she said, “Do you want water?”
“Yes.”
She brought him a glass. He held it with both hands, grounding himself.
After another stretch of quiet, Maya said, “Evan?”
“Yes.”
“You can… you know, take breaks. Even from people. Even from problems.”
“I know.”
“You don’t have to carry everything at once.”
He looked at her with a kind of tired honesty she’d never seen. “I’m not used to anyone telling me that.”
“That’s depressing.”
He huffed something like a laugh. “Yes.”
She leaned her head back against the couch. “You don’t have to be your father.”
“I know.”
“You don’t have to prove anything to him.”
“I know.”
“And you don’t have to prove anything to me.”
He turned his head slightly. “I wasn’t trying to.”
“Good.”
A beat.
“Are you sure I’m not… bothering you?” Evan asked.
Maya’s eyebrows shot up. “You? Bothering me?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“I’m here.”
“You asked.”
“You said yes.”
“Exactly.”
He stared. “That didn’t answer my question.”
She sighed. “Evan. If I didn’t want you here, you’d be gone.”
He blinked. “You would ask me to leave?”
“I would shove you out.”
He almost smiled. “Violence. Good to know.”
She nudged his foot lightly. “Stop overthinking.”
He gave her a look. “That’s ironic.”
“Shut up.”
The smallest smile appeared, real this time. “Okay.”
They stayed like that—quiet, close but not touching, breathing the same air but not forcing meaning onto it.
Eventually Maya checked the clock.
“You should rest,” she said.
“I’m fine.”
“That’s a lie.”
“Probably.”
“You can sleep here if you want.”
That surprised him.
“I mean—” she quickly added, “—not like that. I mean the couch. Alone. Like a human couch-using person.”
Evan nodded once. “Okay.”
She stood. “I’ll get you a blanket.”
“Maya.”
“What.”
“I’m not here to make things complicated.”
“That’s good,” she muttered. “Everything’s complicated enough.”
“Maya.”
“What.”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For giving me somewhere to land.”
Her chest tightened in the worst-best way.
“…You’re welcome,” she whispered.
She walked to her bedroom to get the blanket before her heartbeat could betray her.
Behind her, Evan exhaled—long, quiet, and a little lighter than when he arrived.
Comments (0)
See all