The city was quiet that evening, its skyline washed in fading gold as the sun slipped beneath the horizon. The air carried that in–between hush—too late to be day, too early to be night—when shadows began to stretch long and secrets felt heavier.
Sharon stood outside the terminal doors, the weight of Amy's farewell still lingering in her chest. She hadn't realized until Amy walked away how much she had come to depend on her—her anchor, her guide. Now she was standing beside a man she barely knew.
Akon.
He wasn't like anyone she had ever met before. His presence alone was unsettling—not loud, not overbearing, but impossible to ignore. He looked as though he belonged to the silence between heartbeats, dangerous yet strangely safe.
When he asked, "If you're not busy, can we hang out?" she hesitated. Her instincts told her he was a stranger, but another part of her—something quieter, deeper—told her he wasn't. She didn't answer, but she didn't walk away either.
He smiled faintly, as if her silence was enough. "At least," he added softly, "let me drop you at your workplace."
Something in his voice disarmed her. It wasn't really a question; it was certainty wrapped in velvet. And so, without another word, she nodded.
They climbed into his car, the hum of the engine filling the silence between them. Sharon pressed her palms together on her lap, staring at the city lights rushing past the tinted windows. Akon drove in silence, yet she could feel his gaze flicker toward her every so often—like he was memorizing her all over again.
Ten minutes passed, and Sharon found herself replaying the moment outside her café when he had whispered something under his breath. "I know who you are." The words clung to her like shadows, refusing to leave.
Her eyes darted to him. He looked perfectly at ease, one hand resting casually on the wheel, the other on the gear, his profile sharp against the fading glow of the streetlamps. She must have been staring too long, because without even looking at her, he spoke.
"Is something wrong with my face?" His tone was calm, almost teasing. "Or did I do something?"
Sharon flinched, heat rushing to her cheeks. "N–No, it's not… that. I was just… curious about something, so don't mind me."
Now he did look at her. His eyes, dark and unreadable, glimmered with something dangerous. "Curious about what?" His voice dropped lower, gentler. "Are you okay?"
Sharon's throat tightened. "Y–Yes. I'm fine. I just…" she paused, forcing the words out, "…I was curious about what you whispered in front of my café this morning."
Akon froze. The faintest flicker of surprise crossed his face, then was gone. He slowed the car, pulling it to the side of the road, the tires crunching against gravel. The air inside the car thickened as he turned toward her fully.
Her breath caught.
"Why did you say you knew me?" she whispered, her voice trembling.
His gaze pierced through her. For a moment, he didn't answer. Then, his lips curved into something between a smile and a confession.
"Because I do."
Sharon's heart slammed against her ribs. "What… do you mean?"
He leaned closer, his scent—clean, dark, and faintly spiced—curling around her. "I know who you are, Sharon. I know where you're from. I know what you've been through. And I know the shadows you carry, even when you hide them behind your silence."
Her pulse stuttered. "How do you know all this?"
His answer came without hesitation. "Because I've watched you." His voice was velvet laced with steel, steady and unapologetic. "From the very beginning."
Sharon recoiled slightly, confusion and unease rippling through her. "Watched me?"
"Yes." He didn't flinch. "The first time I saw you, you were sitting at a café with your grandmother. You wore a white dress, a flower pendant around your neck, and a book in your hands. I remember the way you tilted your head when you read, how your lips moved softly with the words. I remember the way your grandmother smiled at you while sipping her tea. You didn't notice me, but I noticed everything about you."
His words wrapped around her like invisible chains.
"That was years ago," she whispered, her voice unsteady. "Why didn't you approach me then?"
Akon's expression darkened, though his eyes burned with unshaken intensity. "Because you were happy. Because you had her. And because I knew if I touched you then, I would never let you go."
Sharon's breath hitched. His honesty terrified her—but it also made her chest ache in ways she couldn't name.
"So…" her voice cracked, "…you've been… following me?"
His lips curved into a half-smile. "Not following. Protecting. Even when you didn't know it."
Her stomach tightened, torn between fear and a dangerous pull toward him. "But we never met before today. We're strangers."
"No," Akon said softly, leaning closer until their faces were only inches apart. His hand lifted, stopping just short of her cheek, the heat of his palm brushing her skin. "You may not know me, but I've known you from the moment I first saw you. And whether you admit it or not, Sharon… this doesn't feel like strangers."
Her body betrayed her. She should have pulled away, but instead, her chest rose faster, her lips parting as if waiting for air—or something else. The storm between them thickened, pulling her deeper into his gravity.
He didn't touch her. Not yet. But his voice sank lower, threading through her veins.
"You can be scared of me," he whispered, "but you can't deny this. You feel it too."
The silence that followed was deafening. Sharon's eyes darted away, her throat tight, her pulse trembling at the edge of surrender.
And for the first time in years, she felt it—the dangerous certainty that something was beginning. Something she could neither escape nor resist.
Something that would consume them both.