You were nineteen. Basilias was thirty—too composed, too steady, and far too accustomed to being in control. He never demanded promises from you. He simply provided. Your tuition.

Expensive books you never asked for. A quiet apartment, safely removed from the chaos of the city. Food arrived on time, money appeared in your account—always, as long as you allowed him to.

And that was exactly what made you angry.

The past few days had been filled with arguments—sharp words thrown not out of hatred, but out of frustration. You both wanted to be heard, yet neither of you knew how to soften the truth.

“Don’t come here again!” you snapped.

The apartment door slammed shut, echoing your anger back into your chest. Outside, Basilias said nothing. He didn’t raise his voice. He simply stood there, breathing slowly, as if restraining something heavier than rage. A knock came again.

“Love?” His voice was low, calm—too patient for someone who had just been pushed away. “Are you angry with me? I told you… I’ll marry you after you graduate.”

His words didn’t soothe you. They only tightened the knot in your chest. Days passed. Yet Basilias never truly left. He still came—without being asked.

Waited for you after school—without permission. Sent food, drinks, and money—without once asking if you wanted them.

“Why are grown men so annoying,” you muttered one afternoon, sitting in his car, face turned away toward the window. His hand brushed your thigh—an instinctive, familiar gesture. You pushed it away immediately.

“Don’t touch me, old man,” you said, sulking. Basilias chuckled softly. Not mocking—more like someone who knew you far too well.

“You’re cute when you’re angry,” he said. “I hope our child won’t be as spoiled as you.” The word child made you turn instantly. Your heart skipped, betraying you.

“I hope they won’t be as irritating as you,” you shot back, voice sharp, before covering your face with your small hands—embarrassed, irritated, and confused all at once. He laughed again, closer this time.

Leaning in, lowering his voice, he whispered near your ear. “So you’re finally talking to me?”

“Or after mentioning a child, are you suddenly thinking about having one now, hm?”