This sucks!
Hello to everyone who chose to open this story,
I wrote this book with one simple intention: to give you a quiet place to rest.
After long days, heavy thoughts, or everything life asks of you, I wanted this story to feel like something gentle. Something steady. Something that lets you breathe.
This is a character-driven story. A love story, above all.
Dohra and Nathan are not perfect, but they are intentional. They’ve known difficulty before they found each other, and because of that, their love is not built on chaos. You won’t find unnecessary drama here, or conflict for the sake of tension. What you will find is something closer to reality, two people learning, growing, choosing each other, again and again.
This story is written with care. With patience. With love.
And if, at any point, it brings you a sense of calm, of warmth, or even a small moment of peace, then it has done exactly what it was meant to do.
Thank you for being here and enjoy your reading <3
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8:00 p.m.
The elevator doors slid open.
Dohra almost didn’t step in.
Not because it was late.
Not because she was tired, though she was, deeply, campus draining the last of her social battery.
It was because he was inside.
Gym bag at his feet. Hoodie slightly damp at the collar. Earbuds in.
Nathan.
She didn’t know his name yet, not officially, but she knew his face the way people recognize someone they’ve never spoken to.
Same building. Same gym.
Two, sometimes three times a week.
They’d never worked out together, but they existed in each other’s periphery:
Him waiting for the squat rack while she finished her last set
Her pretending not to notice him watching the mirror for space
The silent gym etiquette nodes
The mutual understanding of late-night discipline
He was tall, not just tall, but grounded in his height. Dark skin, broad shoulders, movements controlled without effort.
She remembered the first time she noticed him noticing her.
Not in a creepy way.
More like… curiosity.
Like he was trying to figure her out.
Her small frame, compact but soft in its curves, light African hips that didn’t quite match her light skin tone.
He’d clocked it.
And never stared long enough to be disrespectful.
Just… aware.
Now they were alone.
In an elevator.
At night.
Her heartbeat spiked so fast it annoyed her.
He looked up when the doors stayed open too long.
Held the button so they wouldn’t close.
Nathan: You coming?
His voice was deeper than she expected. Calm. Slightly amused.
She stepped in without answering.
The doors slid shut.
And immediately, the elevator groaned.
Then jerked.
Then stopped.
A flicker of light. Pause. And then, nothing.
Stuck.
Dohra blinked once.
Then looked up at the glowing number above the door.
It blinked.
Went dark.
She let out a slow breath through her nose, arms crossing instinctively, not defensive, just containing her exhaustion.
Not today. Not me.
Across from her, he pulled one earbud out slowly.
Nathan: I think it’s stuck.
She turned her head slightly.
Dohra: You think?
A beat.
Then he huffed, half laugh, half disbelief, and pressed the emergency button.
Once.
Twice.
Nothing.
Nathan: Yeah, "he muttered." That checks out.
The silence that followed wasn’t stranger-silence.
It was worse.
It was familiar stranger silence.
The kind shared by people who had seen each other in mirrors, reflections, passing glances, but never crossed the line into speech.
She leaned back against the wall.
Dohra: Great. Just what I needed.
He glanced at her then.
Not annoyed.
Not offended.
Assessment.
Like he was confirming she sounded exactly how he imagined she would.
Nathan: You live on nine?
He asked.
Dohra: Yes. "Eyes forward." You?
Nathan: Ten.
She nodded once.
Of course he did.
He had top floor gym regular energy.
She checked her phone.
1%.
She almost laughed.
He checked his too.
Dead.
They both exhaled at the same time, the exact same quiet, resigned sigh.
They noticed.
Neither commented.
A metallic click echoed above them.
Nothing changed.
Nathan: I’m gonna try the doors
He said, stepping forward.
Dohra: They’re not gonna open.
He didn’t answer. Just wedged his fingers into the seam and pulled.
Nothing.
She raised an eyebrow.
Dohra: Told you.
He looked back at her.
Sharp. Awake. But not irritated.
Nathan: Do you ever say anything nice?
She tilted her head slightly.
Dohra: Do I know you?
Nathan: No.
Dohra: Then no.
A pause.
Then the corner of his mouth lifted.
Not a smile.
Recognition.
Like, yeah… those tracks.
He slid down the wall and sat on the floor.
Gym bag beside him.
Nathan: Well, "he said, looking straight ahead," looks like we’re stuck.
Dohra hesitated.
Then sat too.
Opposite corner. Distance maintained.
The hum of machinery above them.
Nathan: You’re always at the gym late
He said after a moment.
She glanced at him.
Dohra: So are you.
Another shared silence.
Comfortable this time.
Like two people who understood solitude the same way.
Nathan: I’m Nathan
He said finally.
She looked at him longer than she meant to.
Dohra: Dohra.
The name sat between them.
He nodded once.
Nathan: Nice to meet you.
Dohra: Me too.
But her palms were warm.
And her heartbeat still hadn’t normalized.
-
Fifteen minutes later, the elevator jolted back to life.
Lights flared.
The doors slide open.
She stood first.
He noticed her shoes when she stepped out, clean, worn just enough to show discipline.
Gym shoes.
Of course.
Nathan: Hey?
She turned, surprised.
Dohra: Yeah?
Nathan: You taking the stairs?
Dohra: Yes. Why?
He didn’t hesitate.
Nathan: Because it’s late. And because I live on ten.
Her brows lifted.
Dohra: You think I can’t take the stairs because I’m a woman?
Nathan: Yes. And you'll be bored.
Honesty disarmed her.
No performance. No ego.
Just fact.
Nathan: Come on.
He pushed the stairwell door open.
She followed him anyway, because elevators scared her more than ghosts, and silence scared her more than people.
Their footsteps echoed down the stairs. Just breathing. Rubber soles against concrete.
By the time they reached the ninth floor, her lungs burned.
Nathan stepped aside, leaning against the wall to let her pass.
She kept climbing.
That made him smile.
Nathan: Need help back there?
He asked.
She scoffed.
Dohra: Very funny. "She finally reached the landing, hands on her knees for half a second." Finally. "He waited. She straightened. Looked at him." What?
Nathan: A thank you would be nice.
She rolled her eyes.
Dohra: Thank you.
He nodded, satisfied.
Nathan: And, don’t go to the gym this late, "he said, tone unreadable." Even if it’s inside the building. "A pause." Okay?
She blinked. No sarcasm this time. Just a slow nod.
Dohra: Okay. "He nodded once in return. Then walked past her. Didn’t look back. She watched until the stairwell swallowed him." …Thanks
She said softly, too late.
Inside her apartment, everything was the same.
Quiet. Clean. Still.
But the silence didn’t feel like peace.
It felt like weight.
Nathan sat on his couch the way he always did. Lights off. Water glass untouched.
He rubbed his face. Leaned back.
Exhaled.
And for the first time in a long time, Silence didn’t feel like enough.
It had been almost three weeks since the elevator.
Three weeks since Dohra heard her name in her voice and pretended it didn’t linger any longer than it should have.
She hadn’t seen him since.
Not in the halls.
Not in passing.
Not even in the gym.
Which was… strange.
Because before that night, she’d see him at least twice a week.
Always late. Always focused.
Always in his own world.
And she hated that she’d noticed his absence.
At 1:34 am, the gym was empty enough to breathe.
Dohra liked it that way, quiet, machines humming softly, mirrors reflecting effort instead of performance.
Music in. Hoodie up. Treadmill on.
She ran until her thoughts blurred.
Until her lungs burned enough to quiet the restless energy in her chest.
And then, she felt it.
That awareness.
The same one from the elevator.
She slowed the treadmill slightly before even turning.
Nathan stood across the room near the free weights, rolling his shoulders like he’d just arrived.
Gym bag at his feet.
Sleeves pushed up.
Focused, but not entirely.
Because he’d noticed her too.
Of course he had.
He’d noticed her the second he walked in.
It had been weeks.
And yet there she was, small frame, controlled movements, curls pulled back, determination written into her posture.
He found himself watching the way she adjusted the treadmill speed with the side of her thumb.
Precise.
Disciplined.
Familiar.
He looked away first.
Not wanting to get caught staring.
But his brain had already started its usual quiet analysis.
Light skin.
Soft but defined curves.
Not African American...he didn’t think.
Maybe North African.
Or mixed with Middle Eastern roots.
But definitely African.
Something about her features, her eyes especially, almond shaped, sharp but calm.
He shook the thought off and grabbed a plate weight.
Across the room, Dohra stepped off the treadmill.
Her heart was beating faster than it should have been.
And it annoyed her.
Deeply.
Because she wasn’t new to this gym.
Wasn’t new to men.
So why did his presence feel like static in the air?
She grabbed her water bottle, pretending to focus on her routine.
But she could feel his movement in her peripheral vision.
Not staring.
Just… existing too close.
She walked to the weight rack.
Reached for a plate.
The heavier one.
Before her fingers closed around it
Nathan: Watch out. "She looked up. Stood a step behind her, one hand already steadying the weight." It’s heavier than you.
A beat.
Then her eyebrows lifted slightly.
Dohra: Are you a gym coach?
His mouth twitched, almost a smile.
Nathan: No. "Pause." You need one?
She huffed a little laugh despite herself.
Dohra: I think I’ll survive.
He let go of the weight slowly but didn’t step away immediately.
Not crowding her.
Just present.
She lifted it anyway.
He watched.
She noticed.
Her heart sped up again.
Annoying.
She set the plate onto the bar with controlled force.
Dohra: See? Still alive.
He nodded once.
Nathan: Impressive.
The word was casual.
But it lingered longer than it should have.
Silence settled, not awkward, just charged with mutual awareness.
He shifted his weight slightly.
Nathan: Do you mind me asking a question?
She glanced at him sideways while adjusting the barbell.
Dohra: Depends.
Nathan: On what?
Dohra: If it’s weird.
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
Nathan: Fair. "A brief pause, like he was deciding whether to go through with it." Are you mixed? "She stilled slightly, not offended, just caught off guard by the specificity." Half Black?
She huffed a soft laugh through her nose and finally looked at him properly.
Dohra: No. "She slid the weight plate onto the bar." I’m fully Black. African, I mean. "beat." Not African American though… and not mixed with anything else.
He nodded slowly, absorbing it with quiet interest, like the answer mattered more than he expected.
Nathan: That makes sense.
She shot him a look.
Dohra: What does that mean?
He hesitated, searching for wording that wouldn’t sound shallow.
His eyes remained briefly on her face, not her body, her expression, her composition.
Nathan: Your personality.
She blinked.
Dohra: My personality?
He nodded.
Nathan: Yeah. You carry yourself different.
She didn’t answer immediately.
Because again, it didn’t feel like a line.
It felt… observed.
She adjusted the bar just to keep her hands busy.
Then she tilted her head slightly.
Dohra: What about you?
Nathan: What about me?
Dohra: Ethnicity.
A short pause.
He shifted his weight against the rack.
Nathan: Half Afro-Caribbean. Half African American. I'm fully black. "She listened quietly." West African roots somewhere down the line though.
She nodded once, like she’d expected something along those lines.
Dohra: That makes sense too.
He smirked faintly.
Nathan: Oh yeah? Why?
She mirrored his earlier tone.
Dohra: Your personality.
That caught him off guard.
Not because of the words, but because she’d returned the observation.
Balanced it.
For a second, neither spoke.
Then quietly, almost unconsciously, he murmured:
Nathan: My type.
Soft.
So soft he didn’t think she’d heard.
But she did.
Her hands paused on the bar.
Her heart jumped so fast it irritated her instantly.
Dohra: …What?
He straightened a little too quickly.
Nathan: Nothing.
Too fast.
Too casual.
Which confirmed everything.
She looked down, pressing her lips together to hide the smile threatening to surface.
Dohra: You’re weird.
No heat behind it.
He huffed a small laugh.
Nathan: I get that a lot.
Silence settled again, but this time it was warm.
Shy.
He moved to the bench beside her, not together, just nearby.
And while they worked out, the atmosphere shifted into something softer:
Passing glances in mirrors
Looking away a second too late
Him watching her form discreetly
Her feeling his presence before seeing it
And the thought returned to him, uninvited but persistent:
She looks like a doll.
Not fragile.
Just… carefully made.
Precise features. Controlled movements. Quiet but magnetic.
Across the room, Dohra caught her reflection looking.
Their eyes almost met.
They both looked away.
And both smiled, small, innocent, unspoken.
Because whatever this was…
It had been building a long time before either of them said a word.
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