The train stopped with a sharp screech, and Aaralyn finally let out the breath she'd been holding.
She had arrived.
Larkspur.
Tall buildings covered in mist. Streetlights flickering in the rain. People rushing past without looking up. The city felt loud, busy, and cold.
But that's what she wanted.
Holding tightly onto the strap of her duffel bag, she stepped off the train and onto the platform. The air was cool and smelled like rain and electricity — like something was about to happen.
She didn't look back.
Aaralyn had no plans to return. The past could stay behind her. Whatever waited in this city had to be better than the pain she left.
She walked with the crowd, heading for the exit. But then… she felt it.
Like someone was watching her.
Her heartbeat quickened. Slowly, she turned.
On the other side of the platform, leaning against a pillar, stood a man. He wore a dark hoodie and didn't move. But his eyes… his eyes met hers like he knew her.
Only for a second.
She blinked.
He was gone.
She reached the street just as the rain began again — light, steady, like the city's way of whispering welcome... or warning.
Her boots splashed through shallow puddles as she followed her phone's GPS. A small rented room in the old part of the city — that's all she could afford for now. And honestly, it was all she wanted.
No questions. No roommates. No one to notice if she came or went.
The streets were a blur of neon lights and faded signs. "Midnight Café," "Larkspur Books," "The Rusted Key." Strange names. Strange vibes. She liked it.
As she walked past a narrow alley, she paused.
A flicker of movement.
She turned her head — but it was just a cat. Or at least, she told herself that.
She picked up her pace.
Fifteen minutes later, she stood in front of a rusted gate with peeling paint and a broken buzzer. The building looked like it had secrets in its walls — and that was somehow perfect.
A lady on the third floor was renting it out. Cash only. No ID needed. Aaralyn had found the listing online and booked it within ten minutes.
The room smelled like old wood and lemon cleaner, but it had a window and a bed. That was enough.
She dropped her bag. Sat on the edge of the mattress. Closed her eyes.
She should've felt relief.
Instead, all she could think about were his eyes — that man on the platform.
He looked at her like he'd seen her before. But she'd never been to Larkspur. Never met him.
So why did it feel like... fate?
Across the city, under a broken streetlamp, Aaden stood with his hands in his pockets.
She was here.
He hadn't expected that. He didn't know her name. Didn't know why he couldn't stop thinking about her already.
But something about her presence had shifted the air.
He knew better than to believe in signs.
He knew better than to believe in love.
But tonight... he wasn't so sure.
The door creaked shut behind her, followed by the gentle click of the old lock. Aaralyn stood still for a moment, listening to the silence inside the room. It wasn't the cozy kind. It was the hollow, echoing kind — like the walls hadn't heard laughter in years.
She placed her bag down slowly, almost respectfully, as if she didn't want to disturb whatever ghosts lived here.
The light above flickered once before settling into a warm, yellow glow. It wasn't pretty, but it was enough to see by. The bed had a thin blanket and two mismatched pillows. A tiny table stood in the corner with a chipped teacup on top. One window. A soft hum from the street outside.
It wasn't much.
But it was hers. For now.
She walked to the window and pulled the curtain back just a little. Rain slid lazily down the glass. The city below moved like a dream — glowing signs, cars crawling through puddles, people walking with their heads down, umbrellas like dark flowers blooming and closing.
Aaralyn let her forehead rest against the cold glass.
"New city," she whispered. "New name. New life."
But her voice shook a little. Because deep down, she knew — the past didn't let go so easily.
She turned away and sat on the edge of the bed. Her fingers traced the hem of her coat, then the bracelet on her wrist — the only thing she had kept from home. A gift. Or maybe a reminder.
Outside, a siren wailed in the distance.
Inside, she curled her legs up onto the mattress and leaned back slowly, still fully dressed. She didn't feel safe enough to sleep yet. Maybe she wouldn't sleep at all.
And still, his face drifted back to her.
That stranger on the platform. The way his eyes had met hers — like he recognized something in her. Or maybe recognized her.
Aaralyn had learned not to trust easy.
But something about him… felt unfinished. Like a sentence she hadn't heard the end of.