As Aria pulled her bag up the familiar road, the rain clung to her like a second skin, her sneakers slipping slightly into the soft, wet ground. She hadn't intended to return home so abruptly, but her mother's message had left her restless for days—Come home. It's important. As she reached the front door, she observed a sleek black SUV parked confidently beside the porch, its surface wet and glistening beneath the gloomy sky. It wasn't the type of car her mother could ever afford, nor the type she'd ever borrow. There was something strange, eerie, almost contrived about it. Aria paused, her fingers quivering slightly as she reached for the doorknob, oblivious that everything in her life was about to shift suddenly Before she touched the door, it swung open with startling speed, and Aria found herself staring into a pair of dark, steady eyes she hadn't seen in six long years. Damian Blackwood stood framed by the doorway, tall and broad-shouldered, his presence as dominating as she remembered. His coat was damp with rain, but nothing about him looked disordered; he carried silence like a weapon, wrapped in quiet confidence. His voice was so deep that it vibrated in her chest as he murmured, "Aria." Her breath caught as she froze. The last time she'd seen him, she'd been a teenager. Now she was twenty-one, and the way he looked at her was different—controlled, concentrated, almost appraising in a way that unsettled her totally.
Dinner should have been comforting—home-cooked food, old stories, laughter—but the atmosphere was dense with unsaid tension. Damian sat across from Aria, mute save for the occasional nod, although his quietness felt louder than any speech. Every time she shifted, every time she inhaled, she felt his eyes on her, measuring something she couldn't identify. Her mother chatted incessantly about work and neighbors, pretending the man at the table wasn't a ghost from their past, pretending the air wasn't charged. Aria attempted to concentrate on her plate, but Damian's intense stare warmed her skin. She wasn't imagining it. There was a change. He wasn't pretending not to notice that she was no longer a youngster.
When her mother went short to answer a phone call, the room sank into a silence so heavy Aria felt pinned to her chair. Damian's eyes lifted, meeting hers, and for a time neither of them looked away. "You've grown," he murmured finally, his tone unreadable. "People do," she said, straining to maintain a steady tone. Something sparked in his eyes—something wordless, something warning. "Not like this," he muttered. The words curled around her like fog, confusing and pulling at her all at once. Aria pushed herself to turn away, but her pulse betrayed her, thudding harder than it should. Damian may have been her mother's history, but the way he gazed at her felt dangerously present.
Aria withdrew to her room later that evening in the hopes that being alone would calm her mind. In an attempt to release the stress that was knotting inside of her, she opened the window and let in the cold night air. But even alone, she felt watched. Not in a frightening way—more like a knowledge she couldn't shake. She changed into a silky shirt, brushed her hair, and strolled slowly, wondering why Damian was returned, why now, why without warning. His reappearance seemed premeditated, too well-planned to be accidental. When she eventually ventured into the hallway to get water, she paused, sensing something downstairs. Curiosity tugged at her, pushing her toward the faint illumination of the living room lamp. She reached the stairs quietly and peered down. Damian was standing near the bottom, facing the darkness as though lost in thought. The dim light from the lamp brushed against his profile, highlighting the harsh angle of his jaw, the furrow between his brows. He looked nothing like the man who used to visit years ago; he looked heavier, colder, as though life had carved deeper stories into him. And yet, he also looked… troubled. As if meeting her again had awakened something he didn't intend for. She froze as his gaze rose to meet hers. He didn't flinch. "You should be resting," he murmured quietly. She stayed still, heart thudding loud enough she was sure he heard it.
I could say the same to you," Aria replied quietly, stepping one stair lower. Not quite a smile, not quite a smirk, but something in between, his lips curved slightly. "Couldn't sleep," he answered. She swallowed, noticing the stiffness in his shoulders and the way his palm flexed as though he was trying to control an urge. "Why are you here, Damian?" she questioned, finally giving voice to the question choking her all evening. He maintained a steady, unreadable look on her. "Because some things don't stay buried," he said, each syllable hard, slow, molded with purpose. She shuddered at his tone. Aria didn't know what he meant, or what he felt, but one thing had become brutally clear—nothing about his homecoming was accidental.