The city was winding down.

The glass doors shut behind her with a hiss. Aria stepped out of the Vireo House building just as the sun began its slow descent, casting a golden wash over the busy street. Chiara walked beside her, shoulder bag slung across her body, still mid-sentence about a short film pitch that had just gotten greenlit. It was that mellow hour when the world seemed to pause between energy and ease. The air held the soft warmth of late June – cool enough to not need a jacket, warm enough for the breeze to feel pleasant against her skin.

“I turn left – my bus is from the next block,” Chiara said, slipping on her sunglasses. “But you – tram?”

“Yeah. Two stops to home,” Aria replied, smiling.

Chiara nodded. “Opposite direction for me then.”

They paused near the curb, where a series of string lights had been wrapped around street poles, linking lamp to lamp in a gentle curve. Paper lanterns bobbed above the café awnings, and a small band was rehearsing at the far end of the road – brass instruments faintly catching the air. Banners for the Summer Festival flapped gently.

“Alright, survive your Thursday night,” Chiara said, backing away with a smile.

“You too. And don’t forget to send that director’s cut.”

Chiara gave her a mock salute and peeled off. Aria walked on.

The street had settled into its evening rush. Tram bells in the distance, a soft buzz of conversation from a nearby café. Faint light pooled beneath the streetlamps, catching the shine off passing bicycles and storefront glass. Rotterdam after work hours was slower, quieter, but not empty.

The main road curved gently ahead, past a flower stall packing up for the day and a falafel stand still busy with orders. Cars whispered past in softened bursts of motion. Aria adjusted the strap of her bag and kept walking. She liked this time of day – the in-between hush of people finishing work and heading home. She slowed near the crosswalk, eyeing the countdown screen.

That’s when she first felt it – a pause in the air. Just a faint sensation, like walking through a room where someone had just left.

It wasn’t immediate. Just a shift. Like something about the atmosphere pulled tighter. She blinked, shook it off, and crossed the road.

A few more steps.

And now – there.

Behind her.

Not a footstep exactly, but… a presence. The faintest suggestion of motion, like the air remembered someone who shouldn’t be there.

Too soft to be certain, too persistent to dismiss.

It didn’t lift. If anything, it pressed in sharper, close to the skin. Not quite fear, but enough to make her shift her bag closer, quicken her pace. She didn’t stop. Didn’t turn. Just kept walking, as if acknowledging it might give it shape.

More people passed, casually unaware. A man walking his dog on the far side. A couple pushing a stroller, groceries hanging from the handle. Normal. Entirely normal.

Then came a sound. A soft metallic jingle. Faint. Consistent.

Her pulse picked up. She took two quicker steps, eyes scanning the glass window reflections on her left. That noise again. Like a keychain tapping in rhythm, spaced out in time with someone’s movement.

She stopped abruptly and turned.

Headlights swept over her legs as a car pulled up alongside her at that exact moment – familiar, matte black. Its tires whispering to a halt against the curb. The driver's window rolled down with a soft glide, and Reyhaan’s face came into view, one arm resting on the door.

Before he could say anything, Aria squinted and let out a slow breath of relief. “So it was you following me?”

Reyhaan looked vaguely amused and a little confused. "What?"

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

He blinked once, mildly startled. “I…” His voice was cautious.

She raised an eyebrow.

A pause. Then he gave a small smirk.

“Not quite. But you’ve got sharp instincts,” he glanced down at the side rearview mirror.

“I was already nearby,” he added, voice a touch lighter now. “Just… driving past. Heading home. Thought I’d catch you before the tram.”

There was again a pause – not long, but enough to notice. His eyes flicked to the rearview again, a quick scan.

He tilted his head toward the passenger side. “Need a lift?”

Aria gave him a look, teasing but tired. “My place is on your way now?”

“Exactly.” His mouth tipped into a familiar half-smile.

Aria looked at him a second longer, then exhaled and circled around the hood to the passenger door. “You’re lucky I didn’t call security.”

She slid into the seat. The inside smelled faintly of bergamot and something warm – like cedar and cotton.

“By the way, you’ve never told me where your home is.”

“That’s the point,” he replied, eyes on the road now. “Keeps the mystery alive.”

She chuckled. They slipped back into that ease again, where conversation curved in gentle humor and never tried too hard. The city slipped by through the windshield – taillights flickering ahead, distant horns. The car felt like a pause from all that. A held breath.

Aria’s phone pinged with an email notification. The subject line read, “For Your Eyes (and Edits) Only.” Chiara had attached the revised script for the director’s cut, along with a document of notes.

Her eyes squinted toward the notification bar – unread messages, a reminder (probably to drink water), and a downloading symbol.

“Long day?”

She nodded. “Edits ran late. Pixel chaos.” Then she clicked the phone shut and twisted slightly toward him with a small smile. “And I’ve got my first script to work on. It’s romantic – kind of. But something’s missing.”

Reyhaan kept his eyes on the road, voice low but steady. “If it’s already close, that means it’s real. Whatever’s missing, you’ll feel your way into it.”

“I hope so.” Aria turned toward the window. The smile lingered – softer now. “It’s the first time I’ve felt this close to something that matters. It’s exciting – and terrifying.”

“That’s how you know it’s worth it.”

A beat passed.

“What did you work on today?” she asked as the city gave way to quieter streets – tall trees casting angled shadows, the hum of summer moving lazily.

“We were recording our second piece for the album,” he answered, tapping the wheel lightly. “The one we added the ocean sound to.”

“The one from your archives?” she asked with curiosity, turning again toward him. “The deep – sounding tide – almost cavernous?”

He nodded. “I named that sound Marmoris. It fits. The movement, the texture – it layers well with the lyrics.”

Without another word, he reached toward the console – where his phone was charging – and tapped once, swiping. A soft track faded in – no vocals, just spacious tones, warm and reflective. The kind of sound that filled the car gently without demanding attention. Like memory, if it had weight and shape. The screen read: Distance Doesn’t Echo (Instrumental).

Aria leaned back against the seat, eyes on the passing tree line. She didn’t ask what it was. Just listened.

But when it ended, she turned slightly and said, “Can you play that again?”

He restarted the track. This time, they didn’t speak at all.

When the music ended again, Aria didn’t move right away. Her hand rested lightly against the window, as if the sound had pressed its outline into the air.

Reyhaan made a soft left and pulled into the lane leading to Aria’s apartment. The block stood quiet, tucked into a side street lined with trimmed hedges and parked cycles. The front gate clicked shut behind a delivery person passing through.

“Come up,” she said as he eased into the curb. “You can’t just play something like that and drive off like it didn’t mean anything.”

He shook his head slightly, hand hovering near the gear stick. “I’ll drop by another –”

“I’m serious,” Aria interrupted softly as she unbuckled, already stepping out. “Also, you haven’t seen how the bookshelf you installed is thriving. I added plants.”

He exhaled a small laugh and followed her in.

Reyhaan leaned by the doorframe as Aria flicked on the lights. Overhead bulbs and scattered lamps warmed the space in a mellow, low-gold hue. The faint scent of cinnamon and citrus reached him – subtle, but clear.

He stepped inside.

It wasn’t just a temporary place anymore. The apartment had taken on a quiet rhythm of its own – rented, yes, but lived-in. Layered with the kind of softness that only time and intention leave behind.

A soft rug pooled beneath the seating area. Yellow-toned walls caught the lamp light, marked with photographs – some framed, others taped at the corners like stories still unfolding. Books rested half-open beside a reading lamp, and at the edge of the coffee table, mid-thought. A tired plant leaned toward the window. Fairy lights looped loosely around a shelf. On the counter: a half-drunk cup of tea, long gone cold.

He took it in slowly, careful not to disturb the stillness.

“You’ve turned this place into… you,” he said quietly. “Gentle. Thoughtful. A little chaotic. Like it’s always been lived in.”

Aria gave a small shrug as she stepped out of her shoes. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He watched her move through the space with a kind of ease – brushing crumbs off the counter, pulling down cups, disappearing briefly into the hallway before returning. She didn’t move like she had company. She moved like she was home. And somehow, he didn’t feel like an intruder.

He drifted toward the bookshelf but didn’t reach for anything. Just watched her movements – slow and unfussy.

The kettle clicked.

“Tea okay?” she asked.

“Always.”

She handed him a cup, then raised a plate in the other hand – round cookies topped with crushed pistachios.

“I finally made them,” she said. “Was going to give you some this weekend.”

He picked one up, recognizing the scent before the taste. “Orange blossom?”

Her smile answered for her. “You mentioned it once. Back during the fest prep. Said it reminded you of your mom’s dessert.”

“I almost forgot,” she added, brushing her thumb along the edge of the plate. “But it came back when I saw the syrup at the market.”

He let out a quiet breath – not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh – and looked down at the cookie. “You remembered that?”

Aria just shrugged, but her mouth curved again. “Try one.”

He watched her – the small expectant smile, the way she waited. He didn’t know what unsettled him more – that she remembered, or that it felt... easy. Like he could stay. Like her quiet made room for his.

They sat on opposite ends of the couch. The music in the background was subtle, strings weaving in and out like breath. The cookies were fragrant and barely sweet. The kind that stayed with you.

They talked in pieces – books, transit lines, Jay’s questionable plant parenting. Comfortable, without rush.

Then her phone buzzed. Aria glanced down and swiped. “Maya,” she said low, just to him.

He leaned slightly back as she answered.

“Hey,” she said.

A brief pause followed.

Then Maya’s voice came through – faint but clear enough for Reyhaan to catch: “Wait – Is someone there with you?”

Aria's answer came a second late.

“Yeah. Reyhaan.”

He glanced toward her at that, brows lifting slightly.

Another pause.

Aria winced, pulling the phone an inch away from her ear like Maya’s words had physically landed.

“Bye, Maya,” she said, sweetly and with menace.

He caught the sound of Maya’s voice again – faster now, more insistent.

Aria let her head fall briefly against the back of the couch.

“You could’ve just texted that,” she murmured, but her expression had already warmed.

She turned to Reyhaan, lips curving. “Kian’s coming Monday.”

Reyhaan let out the smallest exhale of amusement at the sheer volume of excitement still leaking from the phone’s speaker.

“That’s three days from now,” Aria added, meeting his gaze with a knowing look.

Another burst of sound from Maya – too garbled to catch fully.

Aria rolled her eyes and cut in, “He was just dropping me home. His place is on the way.”

The conversation kept on a bit longer, easy in the way Aria and Maya always were. Then Aria clicked the call off and set the phone face down.

“Kian?” Reyhaan asked.

“Coming early. Maya’s thrilled.”

The room eased into silence again. Evening hummed beyond the window. No words. Just the echo of recent ones.

Reyhaan didn’t press. Just waited.

She didn’t say anything at first – swirling the last of her tea, gaze unfocused toward the glass.

Not tense. Just quiet. Like she was turning something over.

Then quietly, she asked, “How do you say something… without saying it?”

He turned his head to her.

“For someone?” he asked – though he already half-knew the answer wouldn’t be that.

“For a scene,” she clarified.

Reyhaan leaned back and thought a moment. “You build the feeling around it. The color, the stillness. You show how it moves through someone… even if no one names it.”

He let that settle before adding, “Sometimes it’s not what you show. It’s what you let them sense.”

Aria nodded slowly, storing it.

“That’s what I was missing.”

He didn’t say anything after that. Just let the silence stretch – full but calm. The kind that didn’t need fixing.

He let the cup warm his hands. Let the stillness stay a little longer.