The Girl Who Didn't Run

Colette Choi.

I worried about the small stain on my cardigan, sighing as I got ready for the night. I ran my fingers over the fabric, trying to rub the spot away, but it only seemed to grow more visible beneath the bedroom’s warm lamplight. My apartment was cluttered with the evidence of a busy morning, a half-drained coffee mug on the desk, a tote bag spilling flyers for the youth outreach program, and a stack of books I meant to donate. Earlier this morning, City Hall had been crowded with children from all over the city, their laughter echoing down the marble corridors as they clustered in groups, eager to sign up for the outreach program I’d spent months helping to create.

Seeing their bright faces and hearing their excited chatter made all the planning worth it. With school around the corner, it felt like the right time to get them involved, and I loved how the program brought out their curiosity and energy. I had just graduated from university a few weeks ago, still getting used to the idea that I was no longer a student, and I was determined to invest my energy in something meaningful, something that mattered to the community and to me.

I changed my entire outfit, standing indecisively in front of my open wardrobe, pulling out pieces that didn’t quite match but felt comfortable. I swapped cardigans twice before settling on a beige pleated skirt that brushed just above my ankles, paired with a soft brown top that I tucked in carefully. My brown loafers, well-worn but polished, completed the look. I shrugged into my beige cardigan, its sleeves a little too long, but the familiar fabric was comforting. After checking my reflection twice, I grabbed my purse and stepped out of my apartment, a flutter of anticipation in my chest for the evening ahead.

I gathered my hair, the long chestnut strands soft beneath my touch, and twisted them up, securing them with a dark brown clip. On my way out, I paused to admire the small plants on my windowsill, watering them quickly before heading downstairs. My simple two-door pick-up truck, painted a sun-faded blue, waited in the lot. It had been a birthday gift from my parents last year, its worn leather seats and the faint scent of lavender sachets making every drive feel a little like home.

My friends and I had a tradition. Every other Friday, we’d meet up to talk about the latest book we were reading. Tonight was no different. Our chosen spot was a cozy little bar tucked away downtown, known for its dim lighting, plush sofas, and the best homemade fries in the city. We’d settle into our favorite corner, sipping drinks and dissecting every plot twist and character arc. There was something comforting about our routine, the laughter and the easy camaraderie. I didn’t live a wild life; no wild parties or reckless adventures, and I liked that. The predictability brought me peace, and these book club nights were my favorite way to unwind and reconnect.

I drove downtown just as dusk painted the sky in shades of violet and gold, the city’s nightlife beginning to stir. Neon signs flickered on, and the sound of distant music spilled from open doorways. I parked outside our favorite jazz bar, the sign above the door glowing softly in the early evening. After grabbing my purse, I made my way to the entrance and greeted the familiar bouncer, flashing my ID with a smile. Inside, the warm hum of conversation and the mellow notes of a saxophone wrapped around me. My friends were already gathered in our usual spot, a cluster of deep, velvet sofas surrounding a low coffee table, tucked away from the noise. I spotted their waving hands and stood on my toes to wave back, grinning. After a quick stop at the bar to order a glass of red wine, I joined them, the anticipation of our night together making me smile.

Leah, always the first to break the ice, looked at me over the rim of her wine glass. “How was it this morning?” she asked, her voice curious and warm. I smiled, feeling the day’s excitement bubble up again as I remembered the bustling scene at City Hall.

“Oh, the kids had so much fun picking out what book they wanted to read for school,” I replied, my eyes lighting up as I spoke. “They’re all in elementary school, but that’s exactly the age when you can get them hooked on reading. Some of them debated for ages between adventure stories and mysteries, and one little girl was so excited, she hugged her new book to her chest like it was a treasure. I really think this program is going to make a difference.” I beamed, leaning back as I took a sip of wine, the memory filling me with pride.

“It looked fun as I passed by to go to work,” Ayana said, unpacking her well-worn notebook and flipping it open to a page filled with messy handwriting and sticky notes. I smirked, comforted by the sight. I wasn’t the only one who took the book club seriously. We all treated it like a class, jotting down thoughts and questions, ready to debate every detail. The book we’d chosen this month was wildly entertaining, a fantasy about a human woman falling madly in love with a demon.

Like, that could happen in real life.

“Well, I know we all read chapter ten, so thoughts?” I prompted, glancing around the group. Ayana giggled, flipping through her notes with mock seriousness. I felt my cheeks flush. Chapter ten was notoriously romantic, full of swoon-worthy lines and moments that made me squirm with embarrassment just thinking about them. I was too shy to say most of it aloud, but the shared laughter made it less awkward.

“It definitely kept me up,” Sienna giggled, her eyes wide with mock scandal. She fanned herself with her hand, making us all laugh even harder.

“Yeah, very steamy,” Leah agreed, her cheeks tinged pink. We all broke into giggles, a mix of embarrassment and thrill swirling through our group as we recounted the most outrageous scenes. It was the kind of moment that made me grateful for these friends, people I could be silly and honest with, even about the sappiest stories.

“I couldn’t believe she wrote a book like this,” Sienna mused, pulling the paperback from her bag and brandishing it as proof. The cover was dog-eared and creased, evidence of its popularity among our group. The title: “A Curious Kind of Damnation,” was splashed across the front in dramatic red script. I couldn’t realistically see any woman willingly going with such a creature as a demon, but that was part of the book’s charm. The absurdity made it fun, letting us escape into a world of magic and impossible romances.

“I know. Nicky Steins has been releasing books for years, but this one is so different from her usual style,” I said, giggling from excitement. “Her other books are all about haunted houses and mysteries, but this one’s just... wild.”

“Can we just appreciate how gentle Ren was with Lily?” Ayana asked, grinning as she nudged the book forward on the table. I nodded enthusiastically. Ren, the demon protagonist, had been unexpectedly gentle and understanding of Lily’s inexperience, always asking for her consent and treating her with a tenderness that surprised us all. He seemed to know he was taking something special, making the romance feel genuine despite the fantastical circumstances.

“I can’t believe he already told her he loves her,” Leah beamed, her eyes shining with disbelief. The words hung in the air for a moment, as if we were all replaying the scene in our heads. I couldn’t help but smile, feeling a wave of warmth at how invested we all were in the story. These book club moments, where our excitement overlapped, always felt special.

“I know. It was so shocking,” I said, nodding, remembering the scene in vivid detail. The way Ren had looked at Lily, so intense and sincere, made it even more surprising. I’d half-expected him to hold back, to keep his feelings hidden for a while longer, but he’d said it openly, as if there was never any doubt in his mind. It made me wonder about the author’s choices and how love is portrayed in stories versus real life.

Sienna leaned in, her brow furrowed with thought. “I felt it was too soon. Lily had only known him for a few months.” She tapped her pen against her notebook, a habit of hers when she was deep in thought. “It just felt so unrealistic to fall in love that quickly.”

I considered that, then glanced at the others. “The way Nicky wrote it, though, it’s almost like demons don’t experience time like we do. Ren exists in the past, present, and future all at once. Maybe for him, those few months with Lily felt like a lifetime.”

Ayana grinned, catching onto my train of thought. “Maybe Ren had already seen himself end up with Lily. He knows how their story goes before she does.” The girls gasped, a ripple of realization passing through the group, and I felt a little thrill at our collective imagination.

“That’s right,” Ayana continued, giggling. “He doesn’t live in time the way humans do.” As she spoke, the bar’s door chimed, and I glanced back to see more patrons entering, the cozy space filling up with the sounds of laughter and clinking glasses.

Leah swirled her wine, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. “I also can’t believe how quickly Lily gave up her virginity for him.” Her words made us all laugh, but I felt my cheeks flush as the memory of that scene rushed back to me. The writing had been bold, surprisingly so for the author, describing Lily’s feelings with honesty and vulnerability. I admired how Nicky Stiens didn’t shy away from the awkwardness or the excitement of Lily’s first time.

“It was so shocking,” I admitted, my voice a little breathless as I recalled the scene. The tenderness between Ren and Lily had been unexpectedly moving, and the detail with which the author described Lily’s nervousness and anticipation made it feel real. The group nodded, each of us lost in our own recollections for a moment.

Sienna spoke up again, her voice gentle. “Ren sounded like a passionate lover, but Lily was definitely not as innocent as we thought. She knew what she wanted, and she didn’t hesitate.”

Leah agreed, “Even Ren was surprised by that side of Lily.”

I added, quietly, “He’d been bold and upfront with her, but when she…got on her knees, you could tell he didn’t expect it.” The girls erupted in laughter, all of us blushing but delighted at the frankness of our conversation. It was moments like these that made our group so close. We could be honest about anything, even the most awkward scenes.

Leah nudged me, grinning. “Yeah, she was ready for it.” I sipped my wine, enjoying the camaraderie and the way we could dissect even the most scandalous scenes.

We stayed at the bar for a couple more hours, sharing stories and laughter over baskets of breadsticks and another round of drinks. When it was time to leave, we hugged tightly, promising to text when we got home. The drive back was peaceful, the city lights twinkling outside my window. I couldn’t stop smiling. The night had been perfect, and I looked forward to a quiet evening at home: a hot shower, a comforting bowl of rice and kimchi with soup dumplings, and a cup of tea to finish the day.

When I got back to my apartment complex, the night air clung to my skin, tinged with the scent of rain on concrete and distant car exhaust. I lingered for a moment by my truck, listening to the faint hum of city nightlife, before grabbing my bag and heading toward the building. The lobby’s fluorescent lights flickered overhead, reflecting off the polished linoleum floors as I crossed to the elevator, my footsteps echoing in the mostly empty space.

Inside the small elevator, the air felt close and slightly metallic. I pressed the button for my floor, the familiar number glowing orange beneath my fingertip. As I waited, fatigue crept in, my muscles aching pleasantly from the day. The doors began to slide shut, but then, suddenly, a large, pale hand shot between them, halting their progress. The doors shuddered open again with a mechanical groan. I gasped, the sharp clatter startling me out of my thoughts.

Standing in the doorway was a man I’d never seen before. He was strikingly tall, at least a neck and head taller than me, and his presence filled the small space. He wore black straight-leg jeans, a fitted black shirt, and a black leather jacket over broad shoulders. His boots were polished, catching the elevator’s dim light. Under the harsh fluorescent glow, his skin looked almost ivory, contrasting with the midnight-black of his clothes. Ashen-grey hair fell in a messy fringe across his brow, and his eyes, so dark they seemed almost bottomless, met mine with a quiet, unreadable intensity that made a chill run down my spine.

For a brief moment, we just stared at each other, the silence stretching out awkwardly, broken only by the hum of the elevator’s machinery. I found myself wondering if he was new to the building. I’d lived at the Lavern Apartment Complex for almost a year, and I’d never encountered anyone quite like him.

“Are you new?” I managed, my voice steadier than I felt. I noticed he hadn’t pressed any buttons. Was he headed to my floor, or just riding along?

He watched me for a beat, then gave a small, enigmatic smile. “Sure,” he replied, his tone casual, almost amused, as he leaned against the mirrored wall. His posture was relaxed, but there was an edge to it, a coiled energy that made me hyper-aware of the confined space. In the glass, I caught a glimpse of myself standing stiffly, purse clutched to my chest.

I hesitated, then decided to extend a gesture of welcome, even if he was reticent. “Welcome to the Lavern Apartment Complex,” I said, trying to inject some cheer into my words. He only chuckled, the sound low and unexpectedly warm. I took the opportunity to study him more closely. His features were sharp and angular, high cheekbones, a straight nose, and a strong jawline, suggesting a mix of Japanese and European ancestry. He was tall and lean, but the way his jacket fit hinted at muscle beneath. Everything about him radiated a kind of controlled strength; he looked like he belonged in a noir film, not in my quiet city block.

“I’m Colette Choi,” I said after a moment, my voice a little softer. If he w on my floor, I’d probably see him again, and I didn’t want to be just another anonymous neighbor. He glanced down at me, his gaze assessing, as if he was trying to decide something.

“Axle Tetsuya,” he said finally. The name suited him, unusual, sharp, a little intimidating. I recognized the surname as Japanese, rare and weighty, and somehow it felt fitting, like he carried the coldness and strength of iron in both name and presence. For a heartbeat, the elevator was silent except for the soft whir of cables and the distant hum of city life seeping through the walls.

The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open onto our floor. Axle stepped aside, gesturing for me to go first. I moved past him, hyper-aware of his gaze following me. As he exited behind me, I could feel the intensity of his eyes, and when I glanced back, I caught the ghost of a smirk on his lips. His slanted eyes seemed to study every detail, almost as if he was cataloging me for later.

I shifted my purse higher on my shoulder, feeling suddenly self-conscious under his scrutiny. “Nice to meet you,” he mused, his voice tinged with amusement, as if he found the whole exchange entertaining. I wondered if he always looked at people that way.

I offered a quick, nervous smile and turned toward my apartment. “Well, maybe I’ll see you around,” I said, fumbling for my keys. I didn’t hear him reply. Instead, I felt a sudden rush of cold air and heard a faint whoosh, like wind sweeping through a tunnel. I spun around, and Axle was gone. The hallway was empty, the only sound my own breathing. My eyes widened in confusion. How had he disappeared so quickly?

I glanced at the door beside mine, wondering if he’d slipped inside in the split second I’d turned. Heart thumping, I finally unlocked my own door, my hands unsteady. The strangeness of the encounter clung to me as I stepped inside, locked the door behind me, and leaned against it for a moment, trying to steady my nerves.

Inside my apartment, the familiar clutter was a comfort. I kicked off my shoes and set my purse down, moving through my usual wind-down routine: washing my face, changing into pajamas, and making a cup of tea. The odd meeting with Axle replayed in my mind as I prepared for bed, but I tried to shake it off. I had to be up early to help City Hall with plans to make the outreach programs permanent. We were working on a donation site so people could give books or money to keep the program alive. Luckily, so many parents were eager for their kids to fall in love with reading. My hopes were high for tomorrow.