The night air was warm when I got back to my flat, that kind of humid, heavy warmth that wraps around you like a whisper. Zeta wasn't home; her shoes were gone and her side of the room remained untouched. For once, I didn't mind the silence. It gave me space to breathe or at least to try to.
"Hey, Mochi," I murmured, dropping my bag beside my bed as my cat stretched lazily on the duvet. Her fur shimmered under the soft glow of my LED lights, that gentle purple hue that always made the room feel calm and safe. "You will not believe the night I just had."
I kicked off my slippers and padded across the room, toes sinking into the soft rug. The scent of vanilla and candle wax hung in the air, wrapping around me like comfort. My bed looked inviting. Plain white sheets, navy blue pillows, perfectly tucked corners. My little haven of order in the middle of university chaos. I couldn't stand mess. Even my books sat in precise rows, my perfumes arranged by color and size on the dresser.
The balcony door was open, and the night breeze drifted in, making the sheer curtains sway like they were dancing to some silent rhythm. From outside, the faint sounds of hostel life. Laughter, music, clinking bottles. All of it mixed with the chirping of distant crickets. But in here, it was just me and Mochi.
I sat on the bed, drawing my knees up. "So" I began softly, tracing patterns on the duvet, "I met someone."
Mochi tilted her head, as if she cared. Maybe she did.
"He's different," I said, smiling to myself. "Tall, kind of quiet, but not shy. He has this confidence that's not loud. It's just there, like he doesn't have to prove anything. And his eyes, Mochi" I sighed, rolling onto my back. "They're the kind of eyes that make you forget what you were about to say."
I laughed under my breath, embarrassed at how easily I had fallen into this trance. "And his voice. Oh God, his voice. Low, smooth, a little rough around the edges." I paused, fingers absently twisting a strand of hair that had slipped from one of my buns. "And he smells so good too. Like musk and smoke and something I can't even name. It's wild."
Mochi purred, curling closer. I smiled and reached out to stroke her fur. "It's not like that, though," I added quickly, as if she had accused me of something. "We just talked. Well, he asked me why I was even there, which honestly fair question. I don't exactly look like someone who walks into a smoky room full of strangers for fun."
I chuckled again, remembering the way his brow had furrowed when I said I was just bored. The way his lips had curved, not quite a smile, more like he was trying to understand me.
But the memory didn't stop there. It kept circling back to the balcony. The quiet, the cold metal railing beneath my palms, the faint music drifting from inside. And him stepping out after me like he couldn't stay away.
I hadn't been imagining it. Not the tension, not the pull, not the way everything went strangely still around us.
He had looked at me like I was something he did not expect to find.
Or lose.
And then he touched me. Not in a reckless way. It was slow, almost hesitant. His fingers brushing mine, testing the air between us before he actually held my hand. I could still feel the pressure of his palm if I focused hard enough. That warm, grounding weight.
He had leaned close, eyes searching mine, and asked me what I felt. Not what I thought. What I felt. The intensity between us had been so real, so sharp, that even now my chest tightened remembering it. The night breeze had been cool against my skin, but his hand had been hot, steady, like he was anchoring both of us.
When he asked if I felt it too, I couldn't even answer at first. My throat had dried up. My heart had been beating too loudly. And he just looked at me in this quiet, restless way, as if the answer meant something important. As if it would change something for him.
It made the room feel warmer now. Or maybe that was the memory pressing against me like a second skin.
I shifted, pulling the duvet up around me, eyes tracing the faint reflections of the LED lights on my mirror. I looked so small there. Hair tousled, face still flushed from the night, pupils a little blown. "He called me a firecracker," I whispered to the ceiling. "Can you believe that?"
Mochi gave a soft meow, which I decided to take as agreement.
"He was watching me the whole night," I continued, softer now, my voice melting into the sound of the curtains rustling. "And when I left, I could feel it. Like he was still there, in the air around me. Weird, right?"
I picked at the duvet, replaying every tiny detail I could remember. The way he exhaled slowly before speaking to me. The way he seemed surprised by his own reactions. The way he kept glancing at my lips when he thought I wasn't noticing, and the way I pretended not to.
I pressed my palms to my warm cheeks. "I'm being ridiculous," I muttered, but the heat didn't fade.
The wind picked up just then, and the candle flame flickered. Shadows danced across the walls, twisting in strange shapes that almost looked like movement. I blinked, frowning for a second, then shook it off. Probably just the breeze.
I blew out the candle and slipped under the covers. The scent of vanilla clung to me, mingling with smoke from earlier, and something else I couldn't place. Faint, and musky, wild.
As I closed my eyes, I thought I heard something outside on the balcony. A soft scrape, like claws against concrete. But when I turned my head, there was nothing. Just the night, the curtain swaying, and the faint city hum beyond.
Mochi lifted her head, ears twitching.
"Probably just the wind," I murmured, already half asleep. "Goodnight, baby."
The cat didn't move for a while.
The weed settled into my body like a slow-moving tide, leaving everything around me hazy and impossibly gentle, as if the whole world had been wrapped in cotton.
And as the moonlight spilled across my bed, I dreamed. Of smoke, and musk, and dark eyes that looked at me like they already knew me. And hands warm against mine on a balcony where the world had felt too quiet, as if something old had recognized something old in me that looked at me like they already knew me.