The day passed slowly. She worked in short bursts, stopping whenever her head felt heavy. She ate when she remembered. Drank water because he had placed the bottle there in the morning—right in her line of sight, impossible to ignore.
It wasn't kindness in the way people usually meant it.
It was… consideration.
By evening, her nerves were taut again.
Silas usually came home late. That uncertainty always twisted something inside her. She tried not to think about it, but her body remembered patterns her mind couldn't silence.
The sound of keys made her flinch anyway.
She was sitting on the sofa, knees tucked close, when the door opened.
Silas stepped in.
He wasn't alone.
Her breath caught instantly.
A man followed him in, tall, broad-shouldered, dressed casually in a dark jacket. His presence filled the space differently than Silas's did. Louder. Warmer. Unfamiliar.
Ayla's fingers dug into the fabric of her sweater.
Silas paused just inside the doorway, as if suddenly aware of the shift in her posture. His gaze flicked to her face briefly, sharp, assessing.
"This is Daniel," he said calmly. "A friend."
Friend.
The word echoed strangely in her chest.
Daniel smiled immediately, easy and open. "Hi. You must be Ayla."
She nodded stiffly, unsure whether to stand or stay seated. Her instincts screamed retreat. Too sudden. Too close.
Silas noticed.
"She's not feeling well," he said evenly, before she could speak. "Don't overwhelm her."
Daniel's expression softened at once. "Got it."
No questions. No awkward sympathy.
That helped. A little.
"Nice to meet you," Ayla managed, her voice quiet.
Daniel nodded, keeping his distance. "Same here."
Silas removed his coat, motions unhurried. "Daniel's here for dinner."
Ayla's chest tightened.
Dinner?
She hadn't prepared anything properly. The thought spiraled instantly, she should have cooked, she should have known, she..
"You don't need to do anything," Silas added, as if reading her thoughts. "We'll order in."
Her shoulders loosened by a fraction.
Daniel glanced between them, something thoughtful flickering in his eyes, but he didn't comment.
They ate together an hour later, food spread across the table in neat containers. Ayla sat quietly, picking at her portion, hyper-aware of every movement she made. She hated being observed, even subtly.
But Daniel didn't stare.
He spoke mostly to Silas about work, about a delayed project, and his wife. Normal things. Ordinary things.
Ayla listened, relieved she wasn't expected to participate.
At one point, Daniel turned to her. "Silas mentioned you work remotely?"
Her grip on her chopsticks tightened.
"Yes," she said softly.
Daniel raised his eyebrows slightly. "That's impressive."
She shook her head quickly. "It's… nothing special."
Silas's voice cut in smoothly. "She's underselling."
Her heart stumbled.
Daniel chuckled. "Figures."
Ayla lowered her gaze, warmth blooming painfully in her chest. He didn't look at her while he said it. Didn't make it a moment. Just stated it like a fact.
After dinner, Daniel stood. "I am leaving."
Ayla felt relief, and guilt for feeling it.
At the door, Daniel paused and looked at her again. "It was nice meeting you, Ayla."
She nodded. "You too."
When the door closed behind him, the apartment felt quieter, but not strained.
Silas cleared the table methodically.
"Let me help," she moved wanting to help.
He glanced at her. "No."
Her chest tightened again. "Why?"
He didn't answer immediately. He set the last container aside, wiped his hands.
"Almost finished," he said finally.
That was all.
She didn't push.
Later that night, she lay awake longer than usual, replaying the evening in fragments. The way Silas had stepped in before she could panic. The way he had controlled the environment without making her feel controlled.
He didn't tell her to be comfortable.
He made space for it.
The next few days followed a similar rhythm.
Silas returned home earlier. Not always early, but earlier than before. Sometimes Daniel came with him, always announced beforehand.
That was it. No pressure. No obligation.
Ayla learned Daniel's patterns. His voice. His easy laughter. The way he respected silence when she withdrew.
She didn't trust easily.
But she noticed things.
Like how Silas never left her alone with Daniel unless she was already settled in the room. How he always stayed within sight. How conversations shifted subtly whenever she tensed.
One evening, as Daniel was leaving, he said casually, "My wife's been wanting to go out this weekend. A family place. Quiet. No pressure."
Ayla stiffened immediately.
Silas answered before panic could set in. "I'll ask her."
Not "we'll go". Not "you should".
Ask.
That night, as they sat for dinner, Silas spoke without looking at her.
"Daniel and his wife are going out this weekend, they want us to join." he said. "You don't have to join if you don't like."
She swallowed. "But…?"
"If you want to," he added. "It's optional."
Optional.
The word settled something fragile inside her.
"I'll think about it," she whispered.
He nodded. "Take your time."
When she returned to her room, her heart felt heavy, but not crushed.
For the first time in a long while, someone was letting her choose without making her feel like the wrong choice would cost her everything.
And maybe, just maybe that was the beginning of something that didn't hurt quite as much.