Chapter 1
Liana
I stand in the middle of my new apartment and it feels like I’m breathing for the first time in a long while. The air is strange, the walls are bare, but this is a beginning. Without him, without the past. Just me and a place I don’t yet know if I can call home.
The silence is oddly loud, every breath bouncing off the empty walls, reminding me that solitude isn’t nearly as romantic as I once imagined. Boxes surround me like fortresses. Some I’ve already opened, others still stubbornly sealed with tape, as if they know I’m trying to avoid them.
The chaos around me—papers, dishes wrapped in old newspapers, books stacked in messy piles—feels like a reflection of what’s inside me. I sit on the cold floor, my back against the wall. A lukewarm cup of coffee in my hand, a sketchbook in my lap. The pencil trembles between my fingers, lines breaking and falling apart without meaning.
I used to draw portraits, faces I wanted to keep. Now, all I can capture is chaos.
The windows are tall with heavy frames. Outside, a quiet street—the reason I chose this place. No bars, no crowds. Just a little café on the corner and an old bookstore that already smells of worn pages just by looking at it. It feels like a place where I might be able to hide.
I turn on the radio—the first thing I unpacked. Without music, this place would be unbearable. I press play, and the familiar melody of 505 by Arctic Monkeys fills the room. That song always brings me a strange mix of calm and ache.
Time slips away quickly. Boxes disappear one by one. Clothes find their place in the old wardrobe, dishes onto the shelves. It’s not just unpacking. It’s a ritual—a sign that I’m trying to start over. And yet, I can’t shake the feeling that the past is waiting just outside the door.
When the clock strikes past nine, I decide to take out a bag of trash. I pull on my most comfortable red hoodie—the one that feels like armor—and step into the hallway. The building is quiet. Just distant footsteps from the floor above and the sound of water running behind a wall. The stairs creak beneath me.
I open the front door, and the cold night air hits my face. The streetlamp on the corner throws long shadows. I close the door behind me.
And then, I see him for the first time.
He’s standing under the stairs, back turned to me. Hands in the pockets of a black leather jacket, dark hair tousled just enough to look effortlessly stylish. When he turns, the lamplight catches his eyes—icy blue, sharp and calm all at once. Around his neck, a thin chain glints. It seems almost out of place on someone who looks so untouchable, and that alone unsettles me.
He flicks away his cigarette, narrows his eyes, and gives me a small nod.
“New?” he asks, without a hello.
“Maybe. Is that a problem?” I tighten my grip on the trash bag, though I don’t know why.
“We’ll see.” His voice is calm, almost provocatively so.
“I’m Asher. I live next door.”
Nothing more. He brushes past me, unlocks his door, and disappears inside.
I’m left standing there, trash bag still in hand, my heart racing faster than I’d like. I don’t know if I just met someone I’ll be avoiding… or someone who’s about to turn my whole life upside down.
No, Liana. Don’t go there. You don’t want to feel that pain again, I remind myself.
I throw out the trash, head back inside, and make myself tea. In the bedroom, I tidy up for a few more minutes, but my thoughts keep drifting back to that look beneath the streetlamp.
I fall asleep before I can think about it again.
