Chapter 1 - Not A Stranger
Three months. That's how long I've been living alone now.
I’m not gonna lie, those first nights alone scared me. I’d mutter questions to the empty room just to fill the silence, Simba tilting his head like he understood. My family’s close enough, if I needed something, I could call, but Mom’s voice would twist it into another lecture on how I’m ‘too independent’ now. But after three months? The quiet’s not so bad. It doesn’t criticize me like they did, doesn’t tell me I’m too much or never enough.
Most nights, I sit out on my tiny balcony with Simba pressed against my legs. Six months old, paws way too big for his body. He's my anchor. My one constant. Mom gave him to me when she kind of threw me out. I was collateral damage in her fight with my brother. Classic guilt gift. She didn't say it, obviously, but come on. I know her. Everything she gives comes with a catch.
I scratch behind his ears and stare at the empty street below. That's when the memories creep in, uninvited. Always the shitty ones.
Like when I was fourteen, walking into the kitchen while Mom, Dad, and Ethan were laughing over some inside joke. The second I showed up, boom. Silence. Like I’d crashed their perfect little circle.
‘What were you talking about?’ I’d ask, pretending I didn’t notice. ‘Nothing important,’ Mom’s voice, flat as cardboard, her eyes already drifting back to Ethan like he was the sun.
So I’d grab something from the fridge and vanish before it got worse. Before they looked at me like that again. Like I was the outsider in my own home.
The next morning my alarm goes off way too early, screaming like it has a personal grudge. I lie there for a while, staring at this weird water stain on my ceiling. Looks like… I don't know. Texas? A lopsided elephant? Whatever. I should probably tell my landlord, but that means talking to him, and he just pisses me off.
Coffee and toast. Burnt sadness and soggy cardboard. Classic. Simba nudges my hand with his cold nose, demanding attention. I can't help smiling. At least this little guy actually needs me. That has to count for something, right?
"Come on, baby. Park time."
The streets are empty this early. Perfect. No audience, no judgment. Just me, my dog, and a city that looks half-dead until it wakes up.
The park opens up in front of us. Simba goes feral with excitement, racing between trees like he just discovered buried treasure. I throw his tennis ball, more fuzz than ball at this point, and watch him fly after it, ears flapping, pure joy in every step.
God, I wish I could get that excited about anything.
He disappears behind a cluster of trees, chasing the ball into the shadows, and he doesn't come back right away, which is not like him. My chest tightens instantly.
"Simba!"
My voice cracked on his name. Branches clawed at my arms as I shoved through, the silence between barks worse than a scream, my heart racing. What if he's gone? What if I lose the one thing that really matters?
Then I see him. Tail wagging like crazy, looking up at someone crouched beside him.
A guy. Tall, broad shoulders, dark hair damp with sweat, expensive-looking running gear. When he looks up, it hits me, those eyes. Gray, sharp as steel, but with a shadow behind them, like he’s carrying something heavy he won’t let show
I freeze. Completely useless. Brain gone.
"Yours?" His voice is low, calm. But something underneath it makes my skin prickle. Not in a bad way. Just… different.
I nod. Looking very articulate, Emma.
He strokes Simba's head slowly, deliberately. Like he's studying him. Like maybe he's studying me too.
"He's got good taste."
I try to understand what he's talking about. Those eyes don't give anything away, but they're intense enough to make me forget how to breathe properly.
"He doesn't usually like strangers," I manage to say. My voice sounds too thin, like I've been breathing helium.
"Well, I run here most mornings. Guess I'm not really a stranger to him anymore."
What the hell does that mean? The words hit weird, making my chest do this fluttery thing I don't want to analyze.
He stands, movements precise, like everything he does is calculated. Scans the park like he owns it, or at least like the world shifts a little just because he's standing there.
"You shouldn't be out here this early. Neighborhood shifts fast in the morning."
"I'm careful," I say. Total lie, but whatever.
"Good."
He turns to leave, and relief should flood through me. Should. But it doesn’t. My chest stays tight, breath snagging halfway, as if my body didn’t get the message. My pulse stumbles, like I’d missed a step on the stairs.
He pauses, half-turned back toward me. For just a second, his expression shifts. Like he's seeing something he didn't expect to find.
"Take care of him."
Our eyes lock. A spark passes between us, there and gone so fast I almost think I imagined it. Then he's walking away, disappearing into the shadows like he was never there at all.
I stand there like an idiot, my heart pounding way too hard for someone who just met a stranger. Simba looks up at me, head tilted like he understands something I don't.
The morning air bites at my skin, sharper now. I pull my jacket tighter, but I'm shivering, and it's not just the cold.
Something’s different. Something I can’t name, can’t shake, like that rare moment when someone actually sees me, not through me like my family does. And I have no idea if that’s good or terrifying. Probably both.
My first real interaction outside of family and work in weeks, and it feels like a plot twist.
