Sleep refused to touch her. Alina lay on her bed, staring at the faint glow of her phone screen. The chapter she posted earlier, after five long years, was already gathering comments. Lines, praises, questions, theories… readers pouring in with the excitement she had forgotten existed.
But her eyes weren't searching for compliments. She wasn't looking for feedback. She was looking for one name.
"Where is he…?" she murmured, scrolling through the sea of comments again with growing restlessness.
ScriptBreaker. That familiar username. That familiar presence. That reader who was more like a shadow lingering in her corner, quiet, steady, always there at 3 AM. He was always around her… so what happened now?
Her thumb hovered over the screen, her chest tightening. The time was 3:02 AM. At the exact hour he usually appeared, and he would send something like: "Awake?''
He wasn't just a reader; he was a rhythm in her life. A strange, consistent rhythm she didn't admit she had grown used to. But tonight? Nothing. Not a comment. Not a message. It was as if he had vanished the moment she returned.
She sat up slowly, anxiety creeping into her veins like a cold draft. She refreshed the page again. And again. And once more, hoping the name would appear. It didn't.
The silence didn't feel normal. It didn't feel accidental. It felt… wrong. Alina pressed her hand against her chest, trying to ignore the tightness that wasn't supposed to be there.
"Why aren't you here tonight?" she whispered into the darkness.
And somewhere, far from her knowledge, inside another room, someone tiptoed. She heard a sound, Soft and muted but undeniably there. Her breath stilled. The noise came again, a faint rustling like fabric brushing against something hard, like a zipper closing slowly, like someone trying not to make noise and failing.
Her eyes widened. It didn't sound like a falling object or a creaking pipe. It wasn't the refrigerator or the heater. No, it didn't sound deliberate. Someone moving with careful purpose, the way you do when you don't want to wake the person sleeping in the next room. A cold ripple traveled down her spine.
"Did he… come back?" she whispered to herself.
But that made no sense. Cause he never returned this late. He never even stayed out this late unless he informed her.
This sound… is weird. This wasn't her roommate. Her legs swung off the bed with a quiet thud. Her feet touched the cold floor, sending a small shiver up her body. She stood still for a moment, listening again.
Another sound, this time the faint clink of metal. Maybe keys? No, it's too soft. Too slow. Her stomach tightened. She took a single step toward the door, her hand hovering over the knob. Her pulse hammered wildly now, sending a throb up her neck. She pressed her fingers against the cool metal and hesitated.
What was she about to see? Who was she about to see? Taking a breath that barely counted as courage, she turned the knob slowly, carefully enough that it wouldn't creak, and pushed the door open. Darkness greeted her. The entire hallway was swallowed in pitch black.
But there by the edge of the living room, she saw it. A silhouette. Tall. Still. Hovering near something bulky on the floor. Her heart crashed against her ribs so hard it hurt. That silhouette… it wasn't her roommate. She knew his build, the slope of his shoulders, his posture. This man, this figure has a Broader. And his stance… unfamiliar. Everything inside her screamed danger.
"A thief?" she breathed, barely audible. Her hands trembled. She stepped back silently, closing the door again only halfway, keeping her eyes on the figure through the narrow opening.
What should she do? What could she do? She darted her gaze around her room, searching for anything that could defend. Her shelves, cluttered with books and old knick-knacks, offered no help. Her study table held pens, notebooks, and a lamp. Pointless. Her eyes swept across the room again. Then she saw it.
The flower vase on her dressing table. Porcelain. Heavy. Solid. Something that could knock someone unconscious if she swung hard enough. She rushed toward it, careful not to make too much noise. She grabbed the vase, yanked out the flowers, and tightened her grip around the cold ceramic.
Her breaths quickened. Her palms felt sweaty. Her throat felt dry. Her knees felt like they could give out at any moment. But she had no choice. If she stayed inside, she was trapped.
If she screamed, she didn't know what he would do.
The only thing she could do was confront him. Vase in hand, she pushed her door open with her elbow and stepped out into the darkness. Her shadow stretched behind her.
The house felt colder than usual, as though even the walls were holding their breath.
The tall figure bent down again, touching the handle of the suitcase. Yes, it was a suitcase; she could see now the faint shape of wheels and a handle visible in the moonlight filtering through the curtains.
A thief with a suitcase? Her heartbeat pounded so loud she thought he would hear it. Just then, the man adjusted his grip on the suitcase, and she saw enough. He wasn't just carrying something… He was taking something. Something that belonged to someone in this house.
Her mind raced. Her fear sharpened. She raised the vase higher, gathering every ounce of courage she had.
"Heh!" she shouted suddenly, more out of panic than bravery.
The man spun around. Alina's grip on the vase tightened, her muscles jerking in instinct to swing, but before she could, a hand shot out with startling speed and grabbed her wrist.
"Alina?!" The voice. Too familiar. Too stunned. Her heart stuttered.
"Ryan?" Her voice cracked as she said it, shock spilling out of her chest. And at the same time
"Alina?" Ryan echoed back, disbelief shaking his words. For a moment, neither of them moved.
Alina stood frozen, the vase still held mid-air in her raised hand, Ryan gripping her wrist tightly. His eyes, wide and startled, were the only part of him she could see clearly in the shadows. He looked just as confused as she felt. Her gaze dropped to the suitcase. A large, packed suitcase. Her pulse jumped again.
"Are you… shifting here?" Alina asked, her voice softening with confusion yet sharpening with fear.
Ryan didn't answer immediately. He looked at the suitcase, then at her, then back at the darkness as if hoping someone else would appear and save him from this moment. His throat bobbed. He forced a breath.
He hadn't expected this. He wasn't supposed to get caught. And definitely not by her. For a moment, he could only stare at Alina wide-eyed, holding a flower vase like a weapon while his mind scrambled for an answer that wouldn't betray the truth. Because the truth was the one thing he couldn't say. Kai had sent him.
Kai had told him to go after midnight, when she would be deeply asleep, so she wouldn't notice anything. Kai had told him, "No lights. No sound. Don't let her see you."
Kai had insisted, "She shouldn't know I'm leaving."
And Ryan… Ryan couldn't lie, but he couldn't tell her this either. Ryan's throat tightened. He opened his mouth, but no words came out.
He didn't want to lie. He couldn't tell the truth. He was stuck in a place between guilt and helplessness.
Actually… he began slowly, forcing each word out as if they weighed a hundred kilos, "He… got a new house. So he's shifting."
The sentence felt like broken glass in his mouth. Alina froze. It was like the floor had vanished beneath her feet. Her fingers loosened around the vase slightly. Her heartbeat stuttered.
He's leaving? Was it because of me? Because of what I said that night… in the kitchen? The memory hit her like a slap.. Her questions. Her anger. Her words pressed him, pushing him, demanding answers he didn't have.
Why do you care for someone you don't even know?
Why does it matter to you whether I ate or not?
Her voice. Her steps are closing the distance. Her breath brushes his. Her questions are hurting him without her realizing it. And now he was… leaving? Leaving because she pushed too hard? Asked too much? Said things she shouldn't have said?
Her lips parted, but no words came out. All she could do was stare at Ryan, her heart splitting between fear and confusion and an ache she wasn't prepared to feel. Ryan looked away. He couldn't stand that look on her face. He couldn't stand the pain he wasn't allowed to explain.
"I… I should leave," Ryan said finally, not meeting her eyes.
He lowered her hand gently, releasing her wrist. She didn't resist. She felt too numb to move. Ryan grabbed the suitcase Kai's suitcase and walked toward the door. The wheels made a dull sound against the floor, echoing through the quiet apartment like a cruel reminder.
Alina didn't follow. She didn't speak. She stood rooted in place, gripping the vase, staring into the dark space where Ryan's figure moved like a shadow slipping away. At the doorway, Ryan paused. He looked over his shoulder.
He seemed to want to say something, an apology, an explanation, anything, but no words came. So he bowed his head slightly and slipped out into the night, shutting the door softly behind him. The click of the lock echoed like the ending of something she wasn't ready to lose. And then, the house was silent again. Too silent.
Alina slowly sank onto the couch, the vase still clutched in her trembling hands. The moonlight fell across her face, revealing the shock, the confusion, and the ache blooming in her chest.
Kai was leaving her home. Leaving her life. Leaving… her. Without a word. Outside, footsteps faded. A car engine hummed to life. And then even that vanished. The silence returned. Except now, silence felt different. Now it felt like abandonment.