The ceiling above my bed was just a blank canvas, waiting. I had been staring at it for almost ten minutes. It had been one month since exams, and the guy who'd helped me through them had spammed my phone with calls and messages… all ignored. Same as always. But for the past week, he hadn't called, hadn't texted, hadn't tried to reach me even once. Good.
Silence is healthy. Especially from people who start thinking they matter.
I closed my eyes for a moment.
Then–
SLAM.
The front door crashed open hard enough to rattle the walls.
The smell reached the hallway before his voice did.
Alcohol.
Of course.
My father, Rayan, stumbled inside, laughing at something only he seemed to understand. His steps were uneven, careless, like the house itself belonged to no one.
Another night.
Another performance.
My mother, Julia, appeared from the hallway almost instantly, like she had been waiting for the moment.
Her voice was already shaking.
"Rayan, look at you! Again? Do you even know what time it is?"
My father waved a hand dismissively, his laugh turning sharp.
"Oh relax, Julia. The world didn't end just because I had a drink."
"A drink?" she snapped. "You call this a drink? You can barely stand!"
He scoffed, dropping his keys loudly on the table.
"And you can barely stop talking."
The argument started the way it always did—fast, loud, pointless.
"You think this is funny?" Julia shouted. "You come home drunk, disappear for nights, and expect us to just accept it?"
"Us?" he laughed bitterly. "Don't drag me into your imaginary tragedies."
"You ruined this family!"
"Oh please," he muttered. "This family was ruined long before tonight."
Their voices grew louder, sharper, filling the house like broken glass scattering across the floor.
I exhaled slowly.
Ah.
I know exactly what drama she's about to perform tonight.
The shouting continued, rising and falling like a storm trapped inside the walls.
I stood up.
"I can't deal with this noise."
No one heard me.
Of course they didn't.
I grabbed my jacket and walked out the door without another word.
The cold air outside felt cleaner. Quieter.
I walked without thinking, letting my feet take me somewhere familiar.
Soon the dim lights of the old park appeared ahead of me.
The same park.
The same empty benches.
The same place where Marcos found me that night in the rain.
I sat down on the wooden bench, leaning back slightly and letting the silence settle around me.
For a moment, everything was calm.
No shouting.
No broken voices.
Just the quiet rustling of leaves and the distant hum of traffic.
I closed my eyes.
Then–
Footsteps.
Soft.
Approaching from behind.
Most people wouldn't notice.
But I did.
The air shifted slightly. Someone stepped closer.
A hand moved toward my shoulder.
Before it could touch me, I reacted.
My fingers snapped around the wrist instantly.
Twist.
The movement was fast and sharp. I stood up in the same motion, turning and lifting my leg to strike–
"WHAT THE HELL–?!"
The voice stopped me mid-kick.
I froze.
Marcos.
Yes.
Marcos.
He was bent slightly forward, clutching his wrist and staring at me like I had just attacked him for no reason.
"What the heck was that?!" he shouted. "Why would you do that?!"
For a second I just stared at him.
Not shocked.
Just… momentarily thrown off balance.
Of all people to appear behind me.
"You tried to touch me from behind," I said calmly.
He blinked in disbelief.
"So?"
"So?" I repeated flatly. "That's called self-defense."
I crossed my arms.
"Obviously I was going to do it."
Marcos stared at me for another moment, still rubbing his wrist.
Then he let out a frustrated breath.
"You almost broke my arm."
"Well," I said lightly, tilting my head, "next time try announcing yourself before sneaking up on people."
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"Most people just say hello."
Most people aren't me.
I let the words hang in the damp air like a warning. Not arrogant, not proud–just… measured. Different. Dangerous. A truth most wouldn't dare admit aloud.
He hesitated for a moment, then finally asked, voice careful:
"Why are you here?"
I tilted my head slightly, letting a faint edge of amusement touch my lips.
"Why are you here?" I asked softly.
He leaned back just enough to meet my gaze, brown eyes steady.
"I come here… almost every day," he said quietly. "Hoping to see you."
I didn't respond immediately. Instead, I let the silence stretch, letting him feel it.
Ah, persistence. Interesting.
I leaned back against the soaked wooden bench, letting the rain-soaked park settle around me. Silence pressed in, heavy and familiar, the kind that almost makes your skin crawl if you think too long.
A few moments passed. Then–a shadow.
Marcos.
He moved with his usual calm precision, but tonight there was something softer, vulnerable even. He sat beside me, close enough that our shoulders brushed, but not so close as to cross the invisible line I drew for him.
"So," he started, voice casual, trying to bridge the distance. "How were your exams?"
I didn't look at him immediately. Instead, I let a faint smile curve at the corner of my lips. "Survived," I said lightly, almost teasing. "Barely. But I expect no less from life–chaos is standard, after all."
He chuckled softly, and for the first time in days, I noticed the subtle tension in his posture, the way his hands fidgeted against his knees.
We fell into a quiet rhythm, watching the park around us–empty swings swaying in the wind, droplets sliding down the lamp posts, the world muted in gray and silver. Then the silence stretched further, dense, unspoken.
Marcos shivered, pulling his jacket tighter around himself. A pang of something… amusing? …flitted through me. Ah, what a sensitive one, I thought, letting my hand brush over the sleeve of his jacket. "Here," I murmured, draping mine over his shoulders. The warmth would cling, just enough, nothing more.
His brown eyes met mine, searching. Hesitant. Curious. Then, suddenly, the question that had been lurking in the shadows all month:
"Why'd you ghost me, Lune?"
I tilted my head, letting a fraction of amusement escape. "Ghost you?" I echoed softly. "I didn't ghost anyone. I simply… chose not to waste my attention."
His lips pressed into a thin line. "Not even a word?"
"Words are cheap," I said, voice low. "Actions… show the real game."
He frowned, a flash of frustration—but also intrigue—passing across his features. "So… all this," he gestured vaguely to the space between us, "was just… your game?"
I shrugged, cold and calm. "You tell me. Do you feel like you're in control, or am I still… studying you?"
A small pause. He exhaled slowly, almost imperceptibly. "You always have to be a step ahead, huh?"
I shrugged
"People who panic after three days of silence shouldn't get attached to me."
His jaw tightened slightly.
"That's not what I meant."
"Then what did you mean?"
He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees.
"I meant… I thought something happened."
I studied him for a moment.
Then I looked back toward the empty park.
"Something always happens."
My voice came out quieter than before.
Almost distant.
Marcos glanced at me again, more carefully this time.
"Did something happen again, Lune?"
I exhaled slowly.
"Do I have to tell you everything?"
He didn't hesitate.
"Yes."
I raised an eyebrow.
Confident answer.
"I don't get good vibes from your home situation," he said simply.
I let out a small, humorless laugh.
"Nothing new," I said.
"It's just my dad came home drunk again."
The words felt strangely easy to say.
"My mom started arguing with him. Again."
I traced a small crack on the bench with my finger.
"She still thinks she can change him."
My lips curled faintly.
"Ridiculous."
Marcos stayed quiet for a moment.
Not the awkward silence people usually fill with sympathy.
Just quiet.
Then he spoke.
"I can't change your dad."
A pause.
"Or your mom."
Another pause.
"But…" he continued, his voice softer now, "no matter what happens between us…"
His gaze lifted to mine.
"You can always come to my place."
I frowned slightly.
"You're inviting a stranger into your house?"
"You're not a stranger."
I didn't respond.
He continued anyway.
"I can't promise mental peace," he said with a faint smile. "But you would be safe there."
Safe.
What an interesting word.
I didn't say anything.
The wind moved through the trees again, carrying the faint scent of rain and wet earth.
After a while, Marcos stood up.
"Come on," he said.
I looked at him.
"Where?"
"Home."
I rolled my eyes slightly but stood anyway.
We walked in silence through the quiet streets.
No dramatic conversation. No emotional confessions.
Just the sound of footsteps on wet pavement.
When we reached my gate, he stopped.
He took off the jacket I had given him earlier and stepped closer.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Without asking, he placed it back over my shoulders, his hands briefly adjusting the collar.
"Text me when you get inside," he said.
I tilted my head slightly.
"You're very persistent."
He shrugged.
"You're very difficult."
For the first time that night, I almost smiled.
Almost.
Then I turned and walked inside.
The door closed behind me with a quiet click.
For a moment I just stood there in the dark hallway.
Outside, footsteps slowly faded away.
Marcos was leaving.
I wondered how long it would take before he realized something important.
People who walk toward me rarely understand what they're walking into.
And by the time they do–
It's usually too late.
The house was quiet now.
Too quiet.
The argument had already burned itself out, leaving nothing behind but the faint smell of alcohol and broken pride.
I walked past the living room without looking.
Some people break families.
Some people try to fix them.
And some people simply learn how to survive inside the ruins.
I paused for a moment, pulling my phone from my pocket.
One new message.
Marcos.
A faint smile touched my lips.
Interesting.
Then I slipped the phone back into my pocket.
Curious.
For someone I ignored for a month…
Maybe tonight wasn't a complete waste after all.