How could he meet me here?
The crowd dissolved into a blur of motion and noise. The hum of voices, the echo of footsteps, the rustle of shopping bags, all of it fell away until only two figures remained in focus, their gazes locked like opposing magnets caught between recognition and restraint.
Richard's eyes found Ahce's, wide, glinting with an emotion too tangled to name, hovering somewhere between relief and reprimand.
"Boss…" His voice was low, roughened by exhaustion, threaded with something fragile, almost wounded. "Why didn't you tell me you were coming?"
For a fleeting heartbeat, Ahce forgot how to breathe. In the shifting crowd, Richard looked nothing like the composed man she remembered.
His jacket hung loose, his hair slightly disheveled, shadows pooling under his eyes. He looked like a man who had been searching, too long, too hard, and had only just found the one thing he couldn't afford to lose.
Ahce's lips curved into a small, guarded smile. "Surprise?"
Richard's expression flickered, anger, relief, longing, all in a single breath, before settling into his usual calmness. His smile didn't reach his eyes. The people flowed around them, unaware of the brewing storm that had formed between two still figures standing too close for comfort.
"Surprise," he echoed softly, though his fingers, still clasping her wrist, tightened just a little. "You're the only one who can make my heart feel like this… and still vanish without a trace."
Ahce didn't answer immediately. His grip wasn't rough, but it carried a tension she couldn't ignore, a desperate steadiness, as though letting go would make her disappear again. Beneath his warmth, she sensed the same familiar current she had long feared. Possession disguised as devotion, control disguised as care.
Her voice, when it came, was quiet but edged with hurt. "You haven't reached for me either… for days. Where were you?"
The question lingered in the space between them like a blade that neither could bear to touch.
Richard's jaw flexed. His eyes flickered, not with guilt, but with something heavier, the weight of secrets. The kind that didn't confess but lingered, poisoning the silence.
Ahce's laughter came soft, almost brittle. She stepped back, forcing the corners of her lips upward into a mask she'd perfected long ago. Carefully, she pried his hand off her wrist, feeling his warmth slip away like water through trembling fingers.
"Get some rest," she said. Her tone had gone cool, clipped, almost formal. "I have matters to attend to. Take care of yourself."
She turned before he could see her face. She couldn't afford to let him. Each step away from him weighed more than the last. The air around her seemed to thicken, pressing against her ribs, making her heartbeat sound too loud in her ears.
Why did leaving him always feel like tearing something invisible apart? Why did silence cut deeper than any confrontation?
She didn't even remember him, not completely. His presence in her life was like an echo of a song she used to know, familiar yet unreachable. And still, somehow, his absence hurt more than his touch.
The night wind slid around her as she pulled her coat tighter. Its chill brushed against her neck like a whisper of warning. She had built her distance carefully, step by step, but distance was an illusion.
The organization's tracker sat quietly in her bag, one blinking light marking its location. He was just another coordinate, another variable she could predict and monitor. So why did she feel powerless?
The city's lights bled together in her eyes, streaks of gold and crimson against the deepening dusk. She was walking without direction, her thoughts looping endlessly, when strong arms wrapped around her from behind. Firm, trembling, achingly familiar.
Ahce's breath caught, her body freezing in place.
"I'm sorry…" Richard's voice broke near her ear, soft, rough, unguarded. "I'm sorry."
She didn't need to turn to know it was him. He had been there all along, shadowing her steps, too close to forget, too afraid to confront. His presence had always been gravitational, pulling her back no matter how far she tried to go.
"I think we need time apart," she said quietly, though her voice faltered halfway. "Just… a little space."
Before she could step forward, his arms tightened, desperate now. His warmth pressed against her back, his heartbeat unsteady and fast.
"Richard…"
He turned her gently to face him. His hands rested on her shoulders, grounding her even as she fought the urge to step away.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, his forehead lowering until it brushed against hers. Then, with aching gentleness, he pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. "I was too busy. I forgot about you. It was selfish of me."
The words sounded sincere. His tone wavered just enough to feel real. And yet, beneath the apology, something flickered, a quiet dissonance, like a note played slightly off key.
"I didn't mean to make you worry," he murmured again. His thumb traced along her jaw, the touch hovering between tenderness and control. "You're… everything to me, Boss."
Ahce wanted to speak, to challenge him, to say something that would break through the ache in her chest, but no words came. So she simply stood there, silent, her forehead resting against his shoulder as the city moved on around them.
They stayed like that for a while. The sounds of traffic, distant laughter, and life itself faded until all that remained was the rhythm of his heartbeat against hers. It should have been comforting. But deep down, Ahce couldn't tell if what held them together was love or the quiet, invisible cage she had yet to escape.
Her thoughts felt muted, suspended in that fragile moment. She didn't know whether to feel angry, sad, or indifferent. Perhaps part of her already expected this, his distance, his absences, his apologies.
It was a rhythm she had learned to anticipate. The warmth that fades, the silence that follows, the reconciliation that never lasts.
Maybe it wasn't memory at all, but instinct, a pattern carved into her long before she forgot her past. A quiet acceptance that love always arrived hand in hand with longing… and that she must never hold too tightly, no matter how much she wished to.
So she stayed where she was, forehead resting lightly against him, her eyes half closed. His arms were steady, his warmth constant, yet none of it reached the hollow space forming inside her chest. And in that silence, the city exhaled, and Ahce knew that the storm between them was only sleeping, not gone.