"She walked like she didn't want to be noticed. Which is probably why I couldn't stop looking."
I wasn't supposed to be the one picking her up.
But my brother had work, my sister-in-law was running late, and apparently, I was the last resort. I didn't complain. I rarely did. I just showed up.
The plan was simple: get her, drive her home, stay out of the way.
Then she walked through the glass doors, and everything felt… not so simple.
Elara.
I'd seen photos. Heard her name in passing. But no one mentioned how quiet could be so loud. She looked around like she was searching for air, dragging a suitcase and carrying something heavier than clothes.
Our eyes met for a second too long.
Not a smile. Not a nod. Just… silence.
And I knew then — she wasn't the kind of girl you made small talk with at traffic lights. No. Elara was the kind of silence you felt. The kind that stayed with you long after the moment passed.
I looked away first. Because looking again felt dangerous.
And I'd already made enough mistakes in this lifetime.