Alice (POV)
It has been a while since I came back home.
Long enough for the noise inside my head to soften. Long enough for my body to remember what peace feels like. Days here pass slowly—in the best way. Mornings begin with the smell of soil and fresh tea, evenings with quiet conversations and tired smiles. I laugh more easily here. I sleep better. I heal, little by little.
And yet, something feels… unfinished.
What surprises me the most is who I miss.
Not Sam.
Not the boy I once believed I was in love with. The one whose kindness turned out to be a performance, whose smile hid cruelty. I thought memories of him would follow me here, haunt me in the quiet moments. But they don't.
Instead, it's the stranger from the club.
The thought makes me pause every time it surfaces.
It doesn't make sense, does it? To miss someone whose name I don't even know. Someone I met on one of the worst nights of my life. And yet, he appears in my thoughts uninvited—when I'm helping my mother in the kitchen, when I lie awake staring at the ceiling, when I walk past places where couples sit quietly together.
I remember asking him, Can I trust you?
At the time, I didn't even know why I asked. Maybe it was desperation. Maybe instinct. He hadn't answered directly—but looking back now, I realize something important.
He answered with his actions.
There was a moment that night—one I didn't fully understand then. Things had gone further than just kissing. I had been confused, overwhelmed, carried by alcohol and emotion. And yet, he stopped. Not abruptly, not harshly. Just… firmly. Respectfully.
At first, I felt embarrassed. Rejected, maybe.
But now, with clarity, I understand.
He stopped because he didn't want to cross a line when I wasn't fully myself. He stopped because he cared enough to protect me—even from my own vulnerability. That realization settles deep inside me, warm and steady. My respect for him grows quietly, without noise.
Yes. I can trust him.
But trusting someone and finding them are two very different things.
I don't know where he is. I don't know who he is. And maybe that's okay. Some people are meant to come into your life briefly, just to show you that decency still exists.
Still, life doesn't pause for unanswered questions.
Reality waits.
My family is facing financial pressure. Farming isn't easy, and unpredictable seasons don't help. I see the worry in my parents' eyes even when they try to hide it. I don't want to be another burden. I want to contribute. I need to.
So I apply for an internship at a nearby hotel.
It isn't glamorous. It isn't what I once imagined for myself. But it's honest work. When I get the call confirming my selection, I feel a quiet sense of relief. This is something I can do. Something solid.
Today is my first day.
The moment I reach the hotel, I know it's not going to be easy. The place is overflowing with people—delegates, staff, security. There's an international meeting scheduled, and representatives from different countries are arriving one after another. The energy is intense. Everyone is moving fast, speaking quickly, coordinating constantly.
No one has time for hesitation.
I'm barely given a moment to breathe before I'm assigned duties. I listen carefully, nod, and get to work. There's no room for mistakes. I assist where I'm told—front desk coordination, guiding guests, running documents, learning procedures on the move.
It's overwhelming.
But also… distracting.
By the end of the day, my feet ache, my head throbs, and my mind is completely occupied. I don't think about him. Not once. Work demands my full attention, and for the first time in days, I feel grounded in the present.
Time slips by unnoticed.
When I finally glance at the clock, my heart drops.
It's late.
Too late.
I should have left earlier. The road to my home isn't well-lit, and public transport becomes unreliable after a certain hour. I gather my things quickly and step outside—only to be met with heavy rain.
Of course.
The rain isn't gentle. It's relentless, soaking the ground within minutes. No vehicles in sight. No shelter nearby except the hotel itself. I stand there for a moment, calculating risks, then sigh softly.
There's no point forcing it.
I turn back.
The hotel manager notices my hesitation and, after a brief discussion, arranges a temporary room for me. It's nothing fancy—a small, clean space meant for staff emergencies. Still, I'm grateful.
As I sit on the edge of the bed, exhaustion finally catches up with me. The silence of the room feels different from home. Less warm. Less familiar.
And that's when my thoughts drift again.
To green eyes.
To a calm voice.
To a stranger who didn't take advantage of my brokenness.
I wonder where he is tonight.
I wonder if he ever thinks about me.
I shake my head gently, almost smiling at myself.
Life is strange.
Just when you think you've lost faith in people, someone unexpected restores it—quietly, without promises. Maybe that's enough for now.
I lie down, listening to the rain tapping against the window.
Tomorrow will be another busy day.
Another step forward.
And somewhere between work, responsibility, and healing, I'll figure out what the future holds.
For now, this is enough.