CHAPTER 20: SECRETS BLIND US

Morning arrived softly, its light filtering through the thin hotel curtains like a hesitant secret. Richard padded across the floor on bare feet, the boards cool against his skin. Behind him, the faint hum of the air conditioner whispered like distant rain.

Ahce moved across the room with her usual silence, every step measured, precise, deliberate. She disappeared into the bathroom, the door clicking shut as a faint hiss of running water filled the air. Steam soon began to gather behind the frosted glass, curling upward in silver ribbons.

She’s really cute.

Richard stood still, watching. There was something disarming about the simplicity of it all, the way she moved, the quiet ordinariness of the morning. After so many nights fractured by fear and half-remembered dreams, this moment of domestic stillness felt almost unreal.

Her laptop sat open on the small desk, its light pulsing faintly in the dimness. The screen reflected against the wall, lines of code flickering like a heartbeat. Richard’s gaze lingered.

What is she busy about?

He didn’t understand the language, those columns of numbers, encrypted symbols, progress bars creeping with the patience of machinery, but something about it felt extraordinary. He moved closer, drawn by the quiet rhythm of it.

He told himself he wasn’t prying. That he was only curious. That he just wanted to understand the world she carried within her fingertips. But the truth was simpler, and heavier. He wanted to feel close to her in any way the universe allowed.

Then, the screen flickered. A small window slid into existence, cutting through the sea of code with sharp, clean words.

[Be careful this time. Your life is at risk. Do not get caught by the enemy.]

What did that message mean?

Her life is at risk, and she needs to be careful...

Something’s not right!

Richard’s stomach dropped. The words were plain, no flourish, no threat, and yet they carried the weight of something terrible. His pulse quickened, breath tightening in his chest. He didn’t know what it meant, not fully, but instinct filled in the blanks.

Threat.

Danger.

Loss.

The memories came unbidden, flashes of nights filled with shouting, gunfire, the taste of metal on his tongue, the echo of her name disappearing into static. He clenched his fists, jaw tightening.

He should tell her. Burst through the bathroom door, warn her, demand answers. But the steam behind the glass moved like a veil, soft and protective. Her silhouette was blurred, unreachable. She was safe for now, fragile, beautiful in her silence, and he couldn’t bear to shatter that.

He lingered at the desk, torn between instinct and restraint. He didn’t understand her world, but he respected it, the mystery she carried like armor. Still, the message pulsed in his mind like a ticking clock.

Your life is at risk.

Finally, he minimized the window, the cursor blinking innocently in its place. When Ahce stepped out minutes later, wrapped in a towel, hair damp and clinging to her neck, Richard’s heart jolted. She smiled faintly, sleep still clinging to her features, and asked if he’d had breakfast.

"Not yet," he replied, forcing steadiness into his tone. The ordinary hung between them like a fragile truce.

Her eyes flicked briefly to the laptop, but she said nothing.

"I’ll make coffee," he offered quickly, eager to occupy his hands, his mind, anything to escape the echo of those words.

As the kettle hissed and clicked, he tried to focus on the scent of coffee beans, the sound of water boiling, the slow rhythm of domestic life. But beneath it all, his thoughts gnawed at him like an old wound. Who sent that message? Who was the enemy? And most of all, how much of her life was she keeping hidden from him?

He stole glances at her while she worked, memorizing the curve of her shoulders, the calm efficiency of her movements. Ordinary, he thought. Keep her ordinary. Keep her safe.

But by nightfall, peace had become an illusion again.

It was long past midnight when Ahce finally fell asleep, slumped over her laptop. The soft blue light from the screen bathed her face in a ghostly hue, her breath shallow but steady.

Richard hadn’t slept. He’d been lying beside her for hours, pretending. Letting his body go still while his thoughts spun endlessly. The warning message replayed in his mind until the words carved themselves into his bones.

He turned his head. The glow from the laptop painted faint shadows across her skin. Strands of hair had fallen across her cheek, rising and falling with every breath. She looked so small, so human, so far from the unreachable figure she became when awake.

He told himself he was guarding her. That this was love. But something about it felt different tonight, something darker. Protection had become possession. Concern had become fear.

Was this still love?

How am I supposed to hold her?

How should I protect her without overstepping the boundaries between us?

Love wasn’t supposed to feel like a cage, yet here he was, staring through its bars. The thought of losing her again made every nerve in him tremble.

He rose quietly, every movement calculated. The room felt suspended in time. He crossed the small space between them, his shadow passing over her face.

I love watching her sleep.

The peacefulness of her presence radiates, and it calms me.

Her laptop screen had dimmed into sleep mode, the codes gone dark. He closed it gently, setting it aside. Then, he slipped his arms beneath her, one around her back, one beneath her knees, and lifted her.

She stirred faintly, her head falling against his shoulder, her breath warm against his neck. She was too light. The realization hollowed him.

He carried her to the bed and laid her down carefully, pulling the blanket up to her chin. For a long moment, he stood there, watching her sleep.

His hand found hers almost without thought. Her fingers were cool, delicate. He traced the faint lines across her knuckles with his thumb, his eyes memorizing every detail of her face in the half-light.

Outside, the city hummed, a world that would never understand the quiet between them.

"You cannot escape me," he whispered, his voice low, almost reverent, almost afraid. "No one can take you away from me."

The words hung in the darkness, fragile and unacknowledged. And in the silence that followed, Richard finally understood, love, when laced with fear, could sound an awful lot like a promise the universe had no intention of keeping.