Chapter 4

Asher woke up at 5:30 a.m., staring at the ceiling like it had done something to him. His room was still dark, but his mind had been awake for hours. He had barely slept. Every time he closed his eyes, his mind went back to the hallway again. The soft creak of the wooden floor. The small ray of light under her door.

He turned his head to the pillow, face buried in it and moved his head against it, trying to push the memory away but it didn’t leave.

He hadn’t meant to stand outside her door that long. He hadn’t meant to listen for any sound from inside. He didn’t even know why he had walked down the hallway in the first place. Maybe he just wanted to make sure she was okay. Maybe he just wanted to hear proof that she was still there.

The worst part wasn’t getting caught. It was how much it mattered to him.

He threw the blanket off and sat up, feeling restless. The apartment was silent. Too silent. It reminded him of the quiet after a bad game, when everyone avoided eye contact and the locker room felt heavy.

He pulled on gray sweats and walked into the kitchen without turning on the lights. The early morning darkness felt safer. The coffee maker sounded louder than normal as he filled it with water. He scooped the grounded coffe slowly, carefully, like it was something important.

Two scoops for him and two for her.

The machine started to gurgle, breaking the silence. He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, staring at nothing, lost in thought. When it finished, he poured black coffee into his mug and then into hers. He placed her mug in the same spot as yesterday.

No note. No “good morning.” and definitely no apology.

He didn’t owe her one, he thought to himself.

But, the words stayed in his throat.

He grabbed his bag, tied his shoes tight, and left before the sky turned light. The cold air hit his face outside, sharp and clean. He liked it. It kept him focused.

Practice was brutal from the start. Coach was already angry about something, and when Coach was angry, everyone paid for it. They ran drills over and over. Sprint. Tackle. Get up. Do it again. Asher pushed himself harder than usual, like he was trying to outrun his thoughts.

A hit came fast and hard, slamming into his side. He stumbled but didn’t fall. Another player elbowed him by accident, reopening the cut on his lip. He tasted blood and wiped it away with the back of his hand.

“Focus, Captain!” Coach shouted.

Asher nodded and clapped his hands, yelling at the team to tighten up, to move faster, to stop playing like they were half asleep. On the outside, he looked strong, focused and steady. Inside, his head kept drifting back to the apartment, Vivian and to her voice when she told him to pretend she didn’t exist.

He didn’t know why that sentence had cut something like in him so deep.

By the time practice ended, his muscles ached and his chest felt tight. He walked home slower than usual, sweat drying on his skin. When he opened the apartment door, he paused for a second, almost bracing himself.

The place was awfully quiet.

He dropped his bag and went straight to the kitchen, he saw that the mug was gone.

His eyes moved quickly to the sink, he didn’t see anything. He went next to the dishwasher and opened it.

Then he saw the mug he was searching for. Well rinsed and placed neatly on the top rack, like that was where it belonged .

He stood still for a moment, staring at it like it was a miracle. That meant that she had come out of her room, taken and drank the coffee, she hadn’t smashed the mug against the wall or poured it down the sink.

He smiled lightly, it felt like he was making progress on something insignificant and inexplainable.

He let out a deep breath he didn’t know he’d been holding and ran a hand through his hair. “Okay,” he muttered to himself, like he had just won a point in a game only him could see.

After a shower, he made boiled eggs and sat at the table, scrolling through sports clips on his phone. The apartment felt different now. Not cold neither warm. Just… shared. Like there were two people living here instead of one person and a ghost.

Around eleven, he heard her door open.

His body reacted before his brain did. His back straightened. His fingers froze over his screen. Then he forced himself to relax and keep scrolling.

Vivi walked into the kitchen quietly. She wore the same overalls from yesterday. Her hood was up again, hiding part of her face. Her hair was tied in a messy knot that looked like she hadn’t bothered to fix it.

She didn’t look at him.

She went straight to the coffee maker and poured the last of it into her mug. The sound of the liquid hitting ceramic felt too loud.

He kept his eyes on his phone, but he could see her in his side vision. She lifted the mug and started to drink the coffee rather hurriedly, standing at the counter like she didn’t plan to stay long.

The silence between them wasn’t angry this time. It was as tense as a rope pulled tight but not snapping.

He could hear her swallow as she drank. He hated that he noticed.

After she finished, she rinsed the mug and placed it upside down next to his.

She turned, looked at him, their eyes locking very briefly and walked down the hallway without saying a word.

She closed her door closed softly.

He waited until he heard the faint click of her door lock before letting out his breath.

No cold glare, no slammed doors, just quietness.

He leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling for a second. It shouldn’t matter this much, he told himself. It was just a drink.

But it wasn’t just that.

It felt like it was her not rejecting him completely.

The day moved slowly after that. He tried to focus on schoolwork, but he kept listening for sounds from her room. Sometimes he heard the soft scratch of pencil on paper. Sometimes he heard the faint rustle of pages turning. Once, he thought he heard music, low and distant, like she was trying not to disturb him.

He kept everything quiet on his side too. No loud videos. No blasting music. No calling friends over. He didn’t want to break whatever fragile peace they had.

Around four in the afternoon, the silence started to feel heavy again. He checked the fridge, it was almost empty. He thought about cooking but didn’t feel like it. Instead, he ordered takeout.

Two portions of pizza.

He wasn’t even sure if she liked pizza. It was just a guess. He stared at the order screen for a long time before confirming it, feeling ridiculous.

When the food arrived, he paid quickly and set both on the counter. He didn’t knock on her door. He didn’t text her. He just left it there.

He took his portion to the couch and turned on old match highlights, pretending he was focused on the screen.

About an hour later, he heard her door open again.

His heartbeat sped up for no reason.

She walked into the kitchen and stopped when she saw the container. He could feel her hesitation from across the room. He didn’t turn his head. He didn’t want to scare her off.

There was a long pause.

He imagined her thinking about it.

Finally, he heard the soft sound of plastic being lifted. She had picked up the container.

He heard her footsteps recede back down the hall.

Her door closed. The tight knot in his chest loosened just a little more.

That night, he went to bed earlier than usual. He had a double practice the next day, and his body already felt sore. He left the hallway dark and didn’t pause outside her door this time. He didn’t want to make the same mistake again.

He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the apartment settle. He told himself not to think about her but it didn’t seem like it’d work.

In her room, Vivi sat at her desk with the lamp on. The light cast soft shadows on the walls. Her sketchbook was open, and her pencil moved quickly across the page.

She didn’t paint tonight. Painting felt too loud and emotional. Drawing seemed safer and quieter.

She started with simple shapes. Lines. Curves. Nothing serious.

But slowly, the shapes turned into something else.

A pair of shoulders… Broad, Strong…

Another page showed a hand resting against a doorframe.

She stared at it for a long time.

Then she flipped the page and drew part of a face. A sharp jawline. No eyes. She didn’t trust herself to draw the eyes.

She stopped suddenly, realizing what she was doing.

Her chest tightened.

She dropped the pencil and leaned back in her chair.

Why him?

Why was he getting into her head like this?

She hated that he kept trying in small, quiet ways. The coffee. The food. The silence that didn’t feel like pressure.

She was used to people being loud when they wanted something… Demanding, manipulative. But he wasn’t.

That scared her more.

Around one in the morning, she closed the sketchbook and turned off the lamp. The room went dark, and she lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling.

The apartment was silent.

For years, silence had meant loneliness. It had meant being ignored. Forgotten.

But tonight, the silence felt different. It felt like safe space.

She didn’t know what to do with that feeling.

A part of her didn’t trust it. Another part didn’t hate it.

Down the hall, Asher finally drifted into sleep. It wasn’t peaceful. He moved restlessly, dreams mixing with memories. But he slept.

And for the first time since she moved in, the quiet between them didn’t feel like a wall.

It felt like something that could slowly, carefully, turn into a bridge for emotions.