CHAPTER THREE
The Way She Became His Quiet Place
Elira was known for something else too, she stayed when silence grew heavy.
Rowan would come to understand this without her ever saying it.
The next morning, the office felt louder than usual.
Phones rang too often.
Chairs scraped too hard against the floor.
Conversations overlapped without meaning.
Elira sat at her desk, eyes fixed on her screen, pretending to work.
Pretending she hadn't replayed the moment under the awning at least twenty times before falling asleep. Pretending that the word someday hadn't lodged itself somewhere deep in her chest.
Rowan hadn't said that word to anyone before.
She knew that without knowing how.
Mira leaned over her desk, tapping the edge lightly. "You're staring at the same sentence."
Elira blinked. "Am I?"
"Yes. For five minutes."
Elira sighed.
"It's a stubborn paragraph."
Mira smiled knowingly. "Is that what we're calling men now?"
Elira shot her a look.
"There is no man."
"That's usually how it starts," Mira said.
Before Elira could respond, Rowan walked in.
He didn't look around the room. He never did. But somehow, his eyes found Elira almost immediately.
Just for a second.
Just long enough.
Then he looked away.
Elira's heart reacted before her mind could catch up.
Later that day, Rowan stopped by her desk.
"You busy?" he asked, hands in his pockets, posture carefully relaxed.
Elira glanced at her screen. "I can be less busy."
He nodded. "Walk with me?"
She stood without hesitation.
They walked toward the stairwell the same one where everything seemed to begin and pause.
Neither of them mentioned it, but the memory settled between them like a quiet third presence.
"You okay?" she asked.
He exhaled slowly. "I slept for maybe an hour."
"That explains the look."
"What look?"
"The one where your shoulders are tense like you're carrying something invisible."
He gave a faint smile. "You're very specific."
"I notice patterns," she said.
"People too."
They stopped on the landing between floors, the sound of footsteps echoing faintly above them.
"I wanted to apologize," Rowan said.
Elira frowned slightly. "For what?"
"For last night," he said.
"I didn't mean to leave things… unfinished."
She shook her head gently. "You don't owe me anything."
"I know," he said. "But I don't like disappearing."
"Then don't," she replied simply.
He looked at her, something unsettled moving behind his eyes. "You make things sound easy."
"They aren't," she said. "But they don't have to be hard either."
Silence stretched between them, not uncomfortable, just full.
"Can I ask you something?" he said.
She nodded. "Of course."
"Why are you always so patient with me?"
The question landed heavier than she expected.
Elira chose her words carefully.
"Because people open up at their own pace. And because… you never ask me to rush."
His jaw tightened. "I don't want to hold you back."
"You're not," she said quickly. "I'm exactly where I choose to be."
That answer stayed with him.
That afternoon, they worked in near silence.
Notes passed back and forth.
Brief glances held a second too long.
Unspoken understanding filled the gaps.
Near closing time, Rowan stopped by her desk again.
"Are you leaving soon?" he asked.
"Yeah," she said. "Why?"
"There's a bookstore down the street," he said, voice careful. "I thought maybe we could walk there."
Her heart skipped. "Sure."
The street was busy but not crowded. The sky hung low and gray, threatening rain. They walked side by side, close enough to feel each other's presence without touching.
"You read a lot," Rowan said.
"I edit stories for a living," Elira replied. "It comes with the job."
"What kind do you like?"
"The quiet ones," she said. "The ones where nothing explodes but everything changes."
He nodded. "Those are the hardest to write."
"They are," she agreed. "Because they're honest."
Inside the bookstore, the air smelled like old paper and dust. They wandered slowly, neither of them in a hurry.
Rowan pulled a book from the shelf. "I tried reading this once."
"And?"
"I didn't finish it."
"Why?"
"It felt too close to home."
She glanced at the cover. "Sometimes those are the ones worth finishing."
"Or sometimes," he said, "they remind you of things you've been avoiding."
"Avoiding doesn't make them disappear," she said softly.
He replaced the book carefully. "No. It just makes them louder later."
They left without buying anything.
Outside, rain began to fall.
They stood under the awning of a closed café, rain tapping softly above them.
"This feels familiar," Elira said.
He glanced at her. "Does it?"
"The rain. The quiet. You're almost saying something."
He let out a quiet laugh. "I didn't realize I was predictable."
"You're not," she said. "You're careful."
He grew serious. "Careful people hurt others without meaning to."
"So do careless ones," she replied.
He looked at her. "You're not afraid of being hurt, are you?"
She took a breath. "I am. I just don't let it decide for me."
Something shifted in his expression.
Over the next few days, Rowan found himself looking for Elira.
Not intentionally.
Not obsessively.
Just… naturally.
He noticed when she wasn't in the break room. When she left early. When she laughed with Mira.
It unsettled him.
One evening, as they walked out together again, he spoke before thinking.
"You make the office feel different."
Elira looked surprised. "Different how?"
"Quieter," he said. "Like I can breathe."
She smiled softly. "I'm glad."
He stopped walking. "That's not fair to you."
She turned. "Why?"
"Because I don't know what to do with that feeling," he admitted.
"You don't have to do anything," she said. "Just notice it."
He ran a hand through his hair. "That's how it starts."
"How what starts?"
"Needing someone."
Her voice was gentle. "Needing isn't a weakness."
"It is when you've spent years avoiding it."
She stepped closer, careful not to cross a line he hadn't invited her over.
"Avoiding hasn't made you happier."
He met her eyes. "No."
Silence pressed in again.
"Elira," he said quietly.
"Yes?"
"There are parts of me that aren't good at this."
"At what?"
"Letting someone in," he said. "Staying."
She swallowed. "You don't have to promise anything."
"That's the problem," he said. "I don't know how to want something without promising it."
Her heart ached at the honesty.
"You don't have to decide today," she said.
He nodded slowly. "Thank you for not asking me to be more than I am."
She smiled.
"Thank you for showing me who you are."
That night, Rowan sat alone in his apartment, staring at his phone.
He typed her name.
Stopped.
Deleted it.
Typed again.
Rowan: Are you home?
The reply came quickly.
Elira: Just got in. Is everything okay?
He stared at the screen, chest tight.
Rowan: I don't know.
A pause.
Elira: Do you want to talk?
He hesitated.
Rowan: Not tonight. I just wanted to know you were there.
Her reply came softly.
Elira: I am.
He set the phone down, breathing out slowly.
The next morning, Elira arrived at work to find Rowan already there, standing by her desk.
"You're early," she said.
"So are you."
He looked nervous.
"Did something happen?" she asked.
He nodded. "Can we talk?"
Her heart skipped. "Of course."
They stepped into the stairwell again, the familiar echo greeting them.
Rowan leaned against the wall, rubbing his hands together.
"There's something I should tell you," he said.
Elira's breath caught. "Okay."
He looked at her, eyes conflicted, voice low.
"I don't know how to do this," he admitted. "But I know I don't want to keep pretending"
Footsteps echoed above them.
Someone was coming down.
Rowan straightened abruptly, his expression closing off like a door slammed shut.
"We can't," he said quickly. "Not here."
He stepped back, distance reappearing between them like it had never left.
Elira stood frozen, heart racing, watchi
ng him retreat up the stairs without another word.
And for the first time since she met him, she felt it clearly
Whatever Rowan was about to say might change everything.
And she didn't know if he would ever say it again.