I left the house early the next morning.
Not because I had anywhere to be just because staying felt heavier than going. The air outside was cool, sharp enough to wake me properly. I walked without thinking too much about direction, letting my feet carry me through streets that still felt half-familiar, half-foreign.
Distance, I'd realized last night, wasn't something Ziven used to keep me out.
It was something he used to keep himself in control.
That knowledge sat with me now, uncomfortable and impossible to unlearn.
I was almost past the corner café when I heard my name.
"Asher?"
I stopped, turning before I'd fully registered the voice.
Marcus stood a few steps away, a paper cup in one hand, his other lifted awkwardly like he hadn't decided whether waving would be strange or not. His hair curled messily at his temples, like he'd run a hand through it too many times.
"Hey," I said.
His smile came easily. "I thought that was you."
"Yeah. It is."
He took a step closer, then paused, like he was giving me space on instinct. "talk about meeting you again just after a day like this "
I laughed a little " i know, right, you're heading out to work or somewhere?."
"Yep " He nodded his head lightly. " But i am early and had time so i thought why not grab a quick coffee "
I smiled a little, although i thought he was acting a bit strange today
He glanced at the café behind him. "You want Coffee too?"
I hesitated. Not because I didn't want to, but because my first thought wasn't about time or plans. It was about whether Ziven would notice.
The realization annoyed me.
"Sure," I said. "I've got a few minutes."
Inside, the café was warm and noisy in a comforting way. We sat by the window, sunlight catching on the edge of the table between us. Marcus talked easily, filling the space without pressing me to keep up. He asked where I was going, what I was doing now. I gave partial answers, and he didn't push.
At one point, he laughed at something I said and I laughed too, the sound catching me off guard.
Marcus noticed.
"That's new," he said.
"What is?"
"That." He gestured vaguely. "You laughing like that you didnt laugh that freely yesterday too."
I looked down at my cup. "Guess I'm well-rested."
He hummed, unconvinced, but didn't argue.
When we stood to leave, he hesitated near the door. "I'm around," he said. "If you want to catch up again."
"Yeah," I replied. "I'd like that."
Outside, the street felt brighter. Lighter. I walked home slower than I needed to, replaying pieces of the conversation in my head not because it meant anything, but because it hadn't been heavy.
That was when I saw Ziven.
He stood across the street near his car, phone in hand, posture relaxed in that way of his that never really meant relaxed. His attention lifted the second I entered his line of sight.
Then Marcus called my name again.
"Asher!"
I turned automatically, lifting a hand in response.
Ziven's gaze followed the sound.
I saw the moment recognition settled in not surprise, not curiosity. Just acknowledgment. His expression didn't change. His posture didn't shift.
But the air between us tightened.
Marcus waved once more before heading off in the opposite direction.
I stayed where I was for a second longer than necessary, my hand still half-raised before I let it fall. When I turned back, Ziven was already opening his car door.
I hesitated, then crossed the street.
"Ziven," I said.
He didn't look at me.
He got into the car, shut the door, and drove off without a word.
No greeting.No acknowledgment.Nothing.
I stood there alone on the sidewalk, the space he'd left behind feeling oddly louder than if he'd said something sharp. I told myself it shouldn't matter. That he was busy. That silence was his default.
Still, it sat wrong in my chest.
I went back inside the house and tried to shake it off by being useful.
By late morning, I'd set myself up at the dining table with my laptop, scrolling through job listings I half-recognized and half-dreaded. Customer service. Remote assistant. Contract work with vague descriptions and vague pay. I bookmarked a few, closed them, reopened them.
Time passed in small, unremarkable ways.
Around noon, I realized I hadn't eaten. I made toast and forgot about it until it burned. Around two, I refreshed my email more times than necessary. At three thirty, my head started to ache from staring at the screen.
At four, I heard the door unlock.
I looked up instinctively.
Ziven stepped inside, jacket already unbuttoned, tie loosened slightly like he'd pulled it down on the drive over. He paused when he saw me at the table, laptop open, papers scattered in front of me.
"You're early," I said, before I thought better of it.
"I came home to eat," he replied.
That was it. No explanation beyond necessity.
"Oh," I said. "Okay."
He moved into the kitchen, efficient as ever, opening the fridge, taking out leftovers, setting them on the counter. I watched without meaning to. The way he occupied space always felt deliberate, like he'd measured every movement before committing to it.
"You and Marcus," he said suddenly.
My fingers stilled on the keyboard.
"What about us?"
"Are you still meeting him?"
The question wasn't sharp. It wasn't accusing. It was calm enough that it almost sounded casual.
Almost.
I straightened in my chair. "We didn't plan to. I just ran into him again this morning. It wasn't supposed to be anything."
I realized, halfway through the sentence, that I was explaining myself.
That I hadn't needed to.
"I mean," I added, stupidly, "it just happened. I wasn't looking for him or anything like that."
Ziven didn't respond right away. He turned the stove on, stirred the food once, then leaned back against the counter, arms crossed loosely over his chest.
"Marcus was assigned to my group project once."
I looked up.
"You met him here."
A beat.
"He never had much to say to me."
The words landed quietly. Carefully. Like he'd chosen them earlier and saved them for now.
"Oh," I said again, because it was all I had.
Silence stretched between us, the hum of the refrigerator suddenly too loud.
"I didn't know he was… like that," I said after a moment. "I mean, he didn't seem that friendly when you brought him over."
Ziven's gaze flicked to me, brief and unreadable. "I didn't realize he talked so much," he said, and then turned back to the stove.
The conversation ended there.
Or maybe it didn't. Maybe it just went somewhere I couldn't follow yet.
He ate standing up, phone in one hand, eyes occasionally dropping to the screen. I watched him from across the table, aware of the space between us in a way that felt newly charged.
Was he thinking about it?
About Marcus and me, standing together on the street. About my name being said aloud by someone else. About the fact that I hadn't come straight home.
The thought made my chest tighten.
When he finished eating, he rinsed the container, set it in the sink, and reached for his jacket.
"I'll be back late," he said.
"Okay."
He hesitated, hand on the back of the chair, close enough that I felt it.
"You don't have to explain yourself," he added, voice even. "I wasn't asking for that."
I nodded, though my throat felt tight. "I know."
He left a few minutes later, the door clicking shut behind him with the same controlled finality as always.
I stared at my laptop screen long after the house fell quiet again, my thoughts looping back to the same question I couldn't seem to shake.
Had Ziven spent his entire morning thinking about Marcus and me?
About the way Marcus said my name.
About the fact that someone else noticed me noticed enough to linger.
The idea unsettled me more than it should have.
I closed my laptop without applying to anything.
Distance, I was starting to understand, wasn't just about space.
Sometimes, it was about who was allowed to stand close enough to be seen.
And today, for the first time, it felt like Ziven had noticed exactly who was standing there with me.