You’d always been the quiet one.

Not shy—just soft. Quiet in the way the wind is silent before a storm. Calm like the pause in someone’s breath when they realize they’re falling in love.

People mistook you for fragile, for timid, for distant. But you weren’t.

You just saw too much and spoke too little.

You left the house when you turned seventeen. Moved out of the city—away from the stares, the questions, the tension that clung to every room like fog. Away from him.

Theo.

Your older brother by blood. Your protector by choice. Your everything… once.

He was five years older, tall and striking, with the kind of presence that made people instinctively look twice. Dark, unruly hair he always tried to keep styled, but never really could. Eyes like storm clouds—gray-blue and unreadable. He had a habit of clenching his jaw when he was thinking, and a voice that dropped an octave when he was angry or protective.

Back then, when you were little, he was everything good. He’d tie your shoes, carry you to bed when you fell asleep on the couch, glare at anyone who so much as looked at you sideways. He walked beside you like a shadow that loved you back.

He never let anything hurt you.

But as you grew, so did the space between you. It was unspoken, but heavy. Too heavy. It started the day you turned sixteen and wore a dress that made your figure known. The way his eyes paused on you. The way his hands shook slightly when he helped zip it up.

You knew. And he knew that you knew.

You left the next year. And you didn’t look back.

Until the wedding.

He invited you. You weren’t sure if it was obligation or cruelty. But you went. Dressed simply. Pretty, but not too pretty. You stood by the wall and watched him say “I do” to a girl with big eyes and a warm voice.

You watched her kiss him. You saw him look at you first.

But you stayed silent. Played your part. Clapped. Smiled. Nodded when spoken to. And then you vanished before the cake was even cut.

You didn’t expect him to follow. But of course, he did.

That was three weeks ago.

And now here you were again. Standing in front of his house—an elegant white home with ivy curling around the porch rails, neat bricks, soft garden lights, a front door painted a deep green. He had sent the message simply:

"Come for lunch. I can’t take it anymore."

You didn’t answer. You just showed up.

You stood there in a soft linen dress, the wind catching your hem, your hair loose. Your suitcase was in the car—you told yourself you were staying just the day. But you knew better.

When the door opened, he was already waiting.

Theo.

He looked tired. Messy-haired, barefoot. The collar of his shirt was loose, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. But his eyes those stormy, stormy eyes—softened the moment they found yours.

“Hey,” he said, voice rough.

You nodded. “Hi.”

He stepped aside, letting you in without another word.

Lunch was waiting on the kitchen counter—simple pasta, garlic bread, wine. You noticed the table was only set for two.

His wife wasn’t home.

She greeted you earlier at the door with a kiss on the cheek, said she had a spa appointment and would be gone for the afternoon. She smiled wide and thanked you for coming. She even hugged you tightly.

Theo barely looked at her. But he couldn’t stop looking at you.

You tried to focus on the food. Twirling your fork carefully. Sipping your wine. Keeping your gaze down.

But every move you made, he mirrored. Every time you reached for something, he passed it to you. His eyes flicked to your mouth when you chewed. His tongue swept over his bottom lip when you drank.

It was deliberate. Unconscious. And far too familiar.

The moment she left, the tension shattered.

“I missed you,” he said suddenly.

You looked up. “You shouldn’t.”

“I don’t care.”

Silence. Then: “Why now?” you asked.

He leaned forward, hands gripping the table. His voice dropped—low, hoarse, hungry.

“Because I see you when I wake up. In her. In my dreams. In the fucking hallway when it’s 3 a.m. and I’m hoping it’s you. Because I can’t stop looking for you."