Berlin didn't smell like home.
It didn't even smell like New York.
It smelled… clean, like rain that had been bottled and sprayed into the air. Even the noise was different — softer somehow, as if the city was whispering instead of shouting.
I stood by the floor-to-ceiling window in Lukas's apartment, watching strangers move like clockwork on the street below. Everyone seemed to know where they were going. I didn't.
My suitcase sat in the corner, untouched. My phone lay on the coffee table, silent. I hadn't called anyone — not my dad, not even Evelyn — because I didn't know what to say.
Hi, I'm in Berlin now. A man I barely know brought me here. Oh, and I'm pregnant.
Yeah. No.
Lukas was somewhere in the kitchen. I could hear the quiet clink of glass, the low hum of the fridge. He hadn't asked me for details. He hadn't demanded explanations. He'd just… offered a place to stay. And for some reason, that made me more nervous than if he'd started interrogating me.
"You should eat," he called out. His voice was deep but calm, like he was used to being obeyed.
I didn't move. "I'm not hungry."
There was a pause, then footsteps. He appeared in the doorway, one hand holding a mug, the other tucked into his pocket. His eyes — grey, sharp — studied me in a way that made me want to pull my sweater tighter.
"You've been standing there for almost an hour," he said. "You'll make yourself sick."
I forced a small smile. "Maybe I already am."
Something flickered in his expression. Concern? Annoyance? I couldn't tell.
"Sit," he said finally, tilting his head toward the couch. "We need to talk."
The way he said it made my stomach twist. I sat, tucking my legs under me like a child bracing for a scolding.
He didn't sit beside me — he sat across from me, elbows on his knees, watching me like he was piecing a puzzle together.
"You don't have to tell me everything," he began. "But I need to know if someone's looking for you. If I should be… expecting trouble."
I laughed under my breath, but there was no humor in it. "No one's coming for me. Trust me."
His gaze lingered, searching my face for something. Maybe honesty. Maybe the cracks in my lie.
"You're not the first person I've met who wanted to disappear," he said quietly. "But disappearing comes with rules."
I swallowed. "What kind of rules?"
He leaned back, taking a slow sip from his mug. "Rule one — don't lie to me. Rule two — don't make me regret helping you."
The air between us felt heavier. I didn't know if I should be grateful or scared.
And then, without thinking, I asked, "Why me? You don't know me. You could've left me there."
Lukas's lips twitched — not quite a smile, not quite a frown. "Maybe I don't like watching people drown."
Before I could respond, he stood and walked away, leaving the faint scent of coffee in his wake.
And I sat there, wondering if I'd just traded one kind of danger for another.