I stood there drying my hair with the towel, watching a drop of water slide down my wrist and fall onto the floor. My head still felt heavy, not just from the rain, but from everything spinning inside it.
'Why am I even acting like I haven't seen him before? It shouldn't feel strange.
It shouldn't feel this… unfamiliar.'
This was the same guy who drove me home.
The same guy I talked with in the car.
The same guy who had just opened the door, worried and kind.
So why did he suddenly look like someone I barely recognized?
I heard footsteps on the stairs.
Slow. Casual. Unbothered.
And then he appeared.
Daniel came down, wearing clothes that almost made me blink twice, an oversized shirt, shorts that didn't match, slippers dragging across the floor. His hair was messy. He wasn't confused in the sleepy, harmless way. It was something else …like I had interrupted a life I wasn't supposed to see.
He stopped at the bottom of the stairs when he noticed me.
For a second, his eyes widened.
Not happy.
Not shocked.
Something in between.
"Hey, Mary," he said, forcing a smile that looked borrowed from somewhere else.
"I… wasn't expecting you."
His voice sounded lighter than normal. Too light. Like he wanted to brush this moment aside quickly before it turned into something real.
I swallowed. My fingers tightened around the towel.
"I know," I managed. "I — I just came. How's your head, hope you're taking the meds? "
He nodded slowly, studying me like he was watching a stranger at his door.
"I hope all is well," he added. His eyes brushed over my soaked hair, my damp clothes, my tired face.
"You look like you've been through something."
Before I could reply, he turned slightly.
"Marcus," he called, his tone suddenly brisk. "Could you please fix her a cup of tea. Hot tea."
Marcus, who had been standing near the kitchen doorway, let out a breath, then looked at Daniel with something between irritation and disappointment.
"Tea?" he said, eyebrows raised. "Really?"
Daniel frowned.
"Yes. Tea. She's soaked. She needs something warm."
Marcus shook his head and gave a small dry laugh.
"Guys," he said, pointing gently toward me, "she came here to see you. She practically walked into a storm drain just to get here.
You should do more than just say 'tea.'"
My chest tightened, embarrassed and exposed.
Daniel's jaw moved slightly, like he wanted to argue but didn't have the strength.
"Marcus—"
"No," Marcus cut in calmly. "You need to take care of her. Reciprocate. Be present. Don't just stand there like she's a delivery package someone dropped off."
Silence stretched for a few seconds.
The rain beat harder against the windows.
I stared at the floor.
"I'm fine," I muttered, trying to soften the tension. "Really. It's okay."
But it wasn't okay.
Because the man standing in front of me didn't feel like the Daniel I knew. There was a distance, a hidden wall, something quiet and unreadable.
He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck slowly.
"Come sit," he said, gesturing toward the couch. "Please."
I moved, feeling his gaze on me but not really touching me. I sat down, wrapping the towel around my shoulders. Marcos disappeared into the kitchen, the clink of cups echoing softly.
Daniel sat across from me, leaning forward slightly, elbows on his knees.
"So…" he began, voice uncertain. "What happened? Why did you come?"
How do I answer that?
Because I cared.
Because I was worried.
Because something didn't feel right between us, and I couldn't stay home pretending otherwise.
But the words tangled in my throat.
"I don't know," I said casually. "I just… felt like I needed to."
He nodded, slow, thoughtful, like he was measuring every syllable.
"Well," he said gently, "you're here now. Just relax."
Relax.
As if it were that easy.
Marcus returned with a mug and handed it to me, his face softening.
"Careful," he said. "It's hot."
"Thank you," I whispered.
Daniel watched silently.
The steam rose, carrying the faint smell of ginger, garlic and lemon. My hands wrapped around the mug, letting the warmth spread through my fingers.
Marcus didn't leave immediately. Instead, he looked at Daniel again …this time with quiet seriousness.
"Don't disappear like that again," he murmured. "At least not tonight."
Then he walked away.
Leaving the two of us alone.
The air between us shifted ; not tense, exactly, but fragile. Like if either of us spoke too loudly, something would crack.
"You look different," I finally said softly.
Daniel lifted his eyes.
"Different how?"
I thought carefully.
"Like…" I hesitated. "Like you're far away."
He leaned back, exhaling slowly.
"I've just had a lot on my mind."
He said it simply. Too simply.
Like those words were supposed to cover everything.
But I remembered Marcus' warning earlier.
I remembered the quiet tone: Daniel hasn't been himself.
And now I could feel it.
"You don't have to pretend with me," I whispered.
His eyes flickered — not angry, not annoyed — almost tired.
"I'm not pretending, Mary."
But he was. At least a little.
I could sense it …the distance, the guarded expression, the way he avoided letting silence sit too long, filling every moment with shallow conversation so we wouldn't reach the truth.
"Why did you walk in the rain?" he asked suddenly, shifting the topic. "You could've gotten hurt."
I shrugged gently.
"I didn't think about that."
"Clearly," he muttered, a hint of concern breaking through. "Next time, call me first."
I almost smiled at the contradiction.
"I did."
He paused.
"Oh."
Something flashed across his face ….guilt, maybe — gone almost as fast as it appeared.
"Maybe my phone was upstairs," he said
casually.
Maybe.
Or maybe something else.
I took another sip of tea, feeling warmth settle into my chest while uncertainty stayed cold inside my stomach.
The storm outside began to ease, but the ache in the room didn't. The quiet grew again, heavier than before.
Finally, I spoke.
"When I saw you just now," I said slowly, "it felt like… like you didn't know me."
He looked at me then — really looked.
His voice was softer when he answered.
"Sometimes," he said, "I don't even know myself lately."
The honesty surprised me. It wasn't a full confession, but it was something real.
"What's going on?" I asked gently.
He opened his mouth, then stopped. His fingers tightened together. His gaze drifted to the window, where the last drops of rain were sliding down the glass.
"It's complicated," he said finally.
I waited, giving him space.
He didn't continue.
Instead, he stood up.
"You should rest a bit. You're exhausted."
It wasn't dismissive. It wasn't harsh. But it was an escape — a door gently closing before the truth stepped out.
I nodded slowly, even though questions still swirled in my mind.
I kept staring at the mug in my hands, now pretending to sip, pretending to be calm — but my head wouldn't stop running.
How do I even say this?
How do I tell him that I didn't just come because of the rain… but because something was wrong — deeply wrong.
The television earlier, the breaking news, the flashing words:
The two teenagers…
And the camera lingered on their faces.
The same uniform I had seen around his neighborhood the day I visited.
Not by accident.
My chest tightened.
And why — when they were arrested — did I feel fear instead of relief?
I swallowed, the truth burning my tongue. I couldn't hold it anymore.
"Daniel," I said quietly.
He paused on the stairs, halfway up, turning slowly.
"I didn't just come because of the rain," I continued. "I came because… I saw something on TV. Those teenagers the police arrested — the ones in uniform." My voice trembled. "They're the same ones I saw around here. Around your neighborhood."
The room fell silent.
He didn't seem surprise.
His hand tightened on the railing. His eyes lifted to mine — sharp, alert — as if the air itself had suddenly become dangerous.
For a moment, he didn't blink.
Did I just say too much?
His expression changed — not anger — but something heavy, guarded, and scared.
"You saw that?" he asked quietly.
And the way he said it made it clear:
This wasn't just coincidence.
This was connected.
And now… I was in it.
He walked toward the stairs, then paused.
"Mary?"
"Yes?"
He hesitated.
"I'm… glad you came."
It sounded honest.
Soft.
A little broken.
Then he disappeared upstairs, leaving me alone with the warm tea, the quiet house, and the unsettling feeling that I had stepped into something deeper than I understood.
Marcus reappeared, wiping his hands with a towel.
"He's complicated," he said quietly.
I looked up at him.
"So I've noticed."
Marcus gave me a small, tired smile.
"Don't blame yourself," he added.
"Sometimes people build walls because they think it keeps others safe. Sometimes it's just fear."
I nodded, though my heart didn't ease completely.
Because one thought kept echoing inside:
The man I cared about was turning into someone I couldn't read — someone who might be hiding something that could change everything.
And I wasn't sure if I was ready to know.
I stood up slowly, setting the empty mug on the table.
"I'm glad you both are fine," I said, trying to smile. "I think I should go now."
Marcus looked at me, surprised. "You're leaving already?"
"Yeah," I nodded. "It's late."
He walked me toward the door, but just before he opened it, he frowned a little and glanced outside.
"Wait," he said. "How did you even get here? I'm not seeing your car."
For a second, I hesitated — the memory of the rain, the blocked road, the panic rushing back.
"I did come with my car," I said softly. "But the storm was really bad. The road ahead was blocked, water everywhere. I didn't want to risk it."
He listened carefully.
"So I parked a little farther down… near the corner," I continued. "I just… ran the rest of the way. I didn't even think. I just wanted to get here."
Marcus let out a slow breath and shook his head slightly.
"You shouldn't have done that," he muttered gently. "It could've been dangerous."
I shrugged, hugging myself.
"I know. But I was already there. And I needed to see your brother."
His eyes softened.
"At least let me walk you back," he said. "With this weather, nobody should be moving alone."
For a second, I almost refused — but the night felt heavier now, and the thought of walking back through the dark streets alone made my chest tighten.
"Okay," I whispered.
As he opened the door, the cool air touched my skin again, and I realized how far everything had gone…
And somewhere behind us, I could still feel Daniel's silence.
The wind blew softly against my face as we stepped outside. The rain had slowed, but the night still carried that wet, heavy smell — like everything had been washed and left unfinished.
Before I could even complain about the cold, Marcus reached behind the door and pulled out a thick brown coat. He didn't say anything at first. He just draped it gently over my shoulders, adjusting it like he was afraid I'd slip out of it.
"It's not much," he murmured, "but it'll help."
The warmth surprised me. Not just from the coat — but from the gesture itself. I pulled it closer, letting it rest around me like a quiet protection.
"Thank you," I whispered.
We started walking down the street, our footsteps soft against the damp ground. The night was quiet except for distant cars and the soft dripping of water from trees and rooftops. I could feel Marcus glancing at me sometimes, like he wanted to say something but didn't want to rush it.
"I still don't like that you came alone," he said softly.
"I know," I replied. "But I did."
He gave a small nod, like arguing with me would be pointless.
When we turned the corner, my car came into view, drops of water still sliding over the glass. Somehow seeing it there made me feel both foolish and relieved.
Marcus slowed down, then sighed a little.
"I was going to say," he began, "maybe I should dri—"
I lifted my hand and laughed lightly, catching him mid-sentence.
"No," I said gently. "I already know what you want to say. You're planning to drive me home, right?"
He raised his eyebrows, smiling.
"Something like that."
"Well," I continued, shaking my head, "no. I'm driving myself. I'm fine. Really."
He studied my face carefully, not convinced at first, then slowly nodded.
"Stubborn," he said quietly, but there was warmth in his voice.
I smiled faintly. "Not stubborn as your brother though and I'm glad your brother is okay. And that you're okay too."
He looked away for a moment, swallowing something he didn't say.
"Me too," he replied softly.
We stopped beside the car. For a second, neither of us moved. The streetlight above us glowed softly, casting a pale gold color over everything. Rain clung to his hair, to his eyelashes, to the shoulders of his shirt.
Then he cleared his throat.
"Maybe sometime…" he started slowly, almost shyly, "when you're free… we could grab coffee. Just talk. No storms. No emergencies. Just… talk."
I blinked, surprised — but there was something honest in his tone, something gentle.
"That would be nice," I said quietly.
He let out a small breath, like he had been holding it.
"You know," he added, voice softer now, "the last person who worried about my brother like that was our mom. The way you ran here, the way you cared… it meant something. I'm really happy you came."
My chest tightened a little. I didn't know what to say, so I just nodded.
He reached into his pocket suddenly.
"Do you have my number?" he asked.
"You know I don't have your number even when you questioned me why I didn't call you before coming"... I said calmly.
"Oh, sorry "... He said
He pulled out his phone, quickly typed, then handed the number to me.
"Save it," he said. "Call me when you get home. Promise?"
"I promise."
He hesitated, stepping a little closer.
"Can I…?"
I already knew what he meant.
"Yes of course."
He wrapped his arms around me slowly, not rushing, not squeezing too tight — just holding. And somehow that hug felt like the safest place I'd stood all evening. Warm. Solid. Quiet. I closed my eyes for a moment and let myself breathe.
When he finally pulled back, there was something soft in his eyes.
"Drive safe," he said quietly. "And don't think too much tonight."
I gave a small half-smile. "I'll try."
I opened the car door and climbed inside. The seat felt cool beneath me. When I turned the key, the engine hummed, and the front glass blurred with raindrops. I reached for the switch, and the long blades began sliding back and forth across the windshield.
Windshield wipers.
They cleared the rain in smooth, steady sweeps, like they were erasing the night a little at a time.
Marcus stood there for a moment, hands in his pockets, watching to make sure I was okay. I lifted my hand slightly in a small wave. He smiled and nodded, stepping back.
As I pulled away, the road stretched ahead — quiet, glistening, reflective. The storm had slowed, but my thoughts had not. Somewhere behind me, the house disappeared into the darkness, taking Daniel's silence and Marcus's warmth with it.
And all I carried now was the strange feeling that tonight had changed something — even if I didn't yet understand what.