The ride was silent all the way back to my house.
I couldn't even look at him after what I heard—
Or maybe I thought I heard.
"You'll come back."
What does that even mean?
And how could he sound so sure?
My mind wouldn't stop spinning, darting through all the worst possibilities about the man sitting beside me, his hands resting too calmly on the steering wheel, his expression unreadable under the dim streetlights.
How did I end up here anyway?
Why am I even in this situation?
Right. Because I couldn't just sit my curious ass down and pretend everything was fine. Because I had to know. Because I like thrill—apparently too much.
It should've stayed in books, in stories, where danger is safely tucked between pages.
Not breathing beside me in a car.
I should've run when I saw the red flags. But no, I had to go toward them. To find out.
And what will that curiosity get me?
Probably my death.
We finally reached my house. The silence between us was thick enough to choke on.
As I reached for the handle, his voice broke the air.
"Are you comfortable with me, Olivia?"
I froze.
Why ask that now?
"This is your chance," my brain whispered. "Be honest for once."
"Umm…" I cleared my throat. "To be honest, I'm not yet thaaat comfortable with you."
There. I said it.
His expression faltered — a flicker of something like disappointment crossed his face.
"You could have told me, you know," he said softly.
"I never intended to make you awkward. I'm sorry, Olivia."
He hesitated, his eyes darting toward me.
"Did I… force you to come with me today?"
YES. YES, YOU DID.
But of course, I couldn't say that. Basic human decency—or fear—kept my mouth shut.
"Yes… I mean, no. Maybe a little?" The words stumbled out before I could stop them.
He leaned back in his seat, exhaling deeply.
"You should've told me," he said, frowning.
"I don't want you to feel that way."
Why does he look so hurt? Why am I the one feeling guilty now?
"Olivia," he said suddenly, his tone softer, but his eyes—those eyes—held a strange gleam.
"I promise, I won't make you feel awkward anymore. And I'll never pressure you into anything."
Something about the way he said it made my skin crawl. The sudden shift in his voice, like the calm after a storm that doesn't feel over yet.
"I… appreciate that," I murmured.
He smiled faintly, almost too faintly to be real. "You don't have to appreciate it. Just trust me."
Trust. A simple word that felt like a loaded weapon.
I nodded, desperate to end the conversation. "I should go now."
"Of course." He leaned slightly closer, just enough that I could catch the faint scent of old paper and cedarwood. "Sleep well, Olivia."
"Goodnight," I said quickly, opening the door and stepping out into the cold air.
As I walked toward my gate, I felt his gaze still on me. The car didn't start immediately. I could hear the low hum of the engine idling, waiting.
Watching.
I pressed the doorbell, trying not to look back, but my curiosity got the better of me — again.
He was still there. Hands resting on the steering wheel, eyes fixed straight ahead. Then, as if sensing me looking, he turned his head slightly. Our eyes met for half a second.
And then he smiled.
The car rolled away slowly, disappearing into the mist.
Finally, my dad answered the door and let me in.
I ran straight to my room as if my life depended on it.
Inside, my room felt colder than usual. The lights flickered as I stepped in, and the silence wrapped itself around me like something alive.
I dropped my bag, sat on the bed, and exhaled. "You'll come back," I whispered to myself.
The words echoed in my head like a curse.
And then my phone buzzed.
A message from an unknown number:
"You forgot your scarf.
Don't worry, I kept it safe for you.
You can get it when you come back."
My heart dropped.
I hadn't even realized I left it behind.