After that night, Ayla noticed something frightening.
She could breathe again.
Not fully. Not freely. But enough that the tightness in her chest loosened just a little, enough that she didn't wake up gasping every morning, fingers clawing at the sheets as if she had been falling in her sleep.
She told herself it was temporary. Relief always was.
Silas didn't say anything about it. He never asked how she was feeling, never pointed out that her hands shook less, that her shoulders weren't always drawn up around her ears anymore. He simply stayed, present in the same quiet way he always had, and somehow, that steadiness became something she leaned against without noticing when it started.
Daniel began coming by more often.
At first, Ayla didn't like it.
New presences made her chest tighten instinctively. Even familiar voices could feel invasive when she wasn't prepared. But Daniel didn't demand attention. He never looked at her too long. He talked to Silas about work, about traffic, about things that had nothing to do with her existence, and that made it easier.
One evening, Ayla sat curled on the sofa, pretending to read while Daniel spoke animatedly about a deal gone wrong.
"She doesn't talk much, does she?" Daniel said casually, not looking at her.
Ayla's fingers stilled on the page.
"No," Silas replied evenly. "She doesn't have to."
Daniel nodded, accepting it without question.
That sentence stayed with her long after Daniel left.
She doesn't have to.
Lena came later.
Not all at once. Not loudly.
The first time Ayla noticed her presence, it was because of her laugh, soft and warm, like it belonged somewhere gentle. Ayla stood halfway down the stairs, heart racing, unsure whether to retreat or move forward.
"I don't bite," Lena said cheerfully, peeking around the corner when she noticed Ayla. "I promise. I only bite cookies." Holding a piece of cookie.
Ayla blinked, caught off guard.
"I… I don't bake much," she said awkwardly.
Lena smiled like that didn't matter at all. "Then I'll bring them next time."
Next time.
A small phrase. A dangerous one.
Lena didn't sit too close. She didn't stare. She spoke about inconsequential things, movies she never finished, plants she kept killing, how Daniel forgot where he put his keys daily. Ayla listened more than she spoke, her heart fluttering nervously with every pause, but Lena never rushed her.
That was what made it bearable.
That was what made it hard.
Over days, then weeks, Lena's presence became something Ayla anticipated before she admitted it to herself. She noticed the sound of her voice before the words. Noticed how the room felt warmer when she laughed, how the air didn't feel so heavy.
Once, while Silas and Daniel talked quietly in the kitchen, Lena sat on the floor beside Ayla, flipping through an old photo album Silas hadn't touched in years.
"They were always together," Lena said softly.
"Yeah," Ayla replied. Her eyes softened at those pictures of Silas with his friends.
Lena smiled. "You should smile more,."
Ayla didn't ask what she meant.
She was afraid of the answer.
They started going out occasionally, short walks, quiet cafés, places Silas chose without explanation. Ayla didn't realize how carefully those places were selected until years later. She only knew that she didn't feel like she was being watched there. That the noise didn't crawl under her skin.
One afternoon, while Ayla crouched near a patch of stray kittens outside a bookstore, Lena watched her with gentle curiosity.
"You like cats," Lena said.
"They are gorgeous, You couldn't help but love them." Ayla replied softly, fingers brushing a kitten's fur.
Lena hummed thoughtfully. " They don't trust easily, once they do then you will be their whole world."
Ayla smiled faintly, heart aching with something unnamed.
Later, while Ayla was distracted, Lena's voice lowered slightly when she spoke to Silas.
"She startles easily," Lena murmured. "But she calms quickly when she knows where you are."
Silas didn't respond.
But when Ayla stood up, he was closer than before.
That night, Ayla lay awake longer than usual, staring at the ceiling. Her thoughts drifted, then circled back, always back, to Silas. To the way he moved around her without touching. To the way he never raised his voice, never made sudden gestures.
She wondered if he knew.
If he knew how much she depended on him now. How her sense of safety had narrowed until it fit almost entirely around his presence.
The thought terrified her.
The thought comforted her.
Lena noticed the shift before Ayla did.
One evening, while they baked cookies together, Lena said lightly, "You look for him when he leaves the room."
Ayla's hands froze.
"I.,"
Lena smiled gently. "It's okay if you do."
Ayla swallowed. "I don't want to be like this."
"Like what?"
"Needing someone," Ayla whispered.
Lena's expression softened. "Needing isn't weakness. Refusing to grow beyond it can be."
Ayla stared at Silas's back, chest tightening.
"I don't know how," she admitted.
Lena didn't push further.
She never did.
That night, Silas paused outside Ayla's door again.
"You like cat," he said.
Her heart fluttered. "You noticed?"
"Yes."
A small word. Heavy meaning.
She hesitated, then asked quietly, "You used to like holding kittens, do you still like them?"
Silas didn't answer immediately.
The silence stretched—dangerous, fragile.
Then: "Yes."
The relief hit her so hard she had to bite down on her lip to keep from crying. Yes he hasn't changed.
She curled into herself after he left, heart pounding, clinging to that single word as if it were a promise—even though she knew it wasn't.
And far away from her fragile calm, Lena sat beside Daniel and spoke in a tone stripped of warmth.
"She's healing," Lena said. "But she's also attaching."
Daniel frowned. "Too much?"
"Yes."
"And Silas?"
Lena exhaled slowly. "He's holding her together without realizing he's the only one keeping her alive."
Daniel's voice dropped. "That's dangerous."
Lena nodded. "For both of them."
---