Chapter Four – Quiet Fire
The rooftop was empty. For once, no rain, no thunder—just stillness. A fragile kind. The city breathed below them, slow and golden.
Hazel didn't know why she said yes. Maybe it was the way he asked, quiet and unassuming. Maybe it was how her name sounded on his tongue.
Or maybe it was because something inside her was already breaking.
They met in the quiet corner of a forgotten garden on the top floor of a building Henry owned but rarely visited. He said it had a view. He didn't mention it had ghosts.
Hazel leaned against the rusted rail. "Why me?" she asked.
Henry studied her like a painting he wasn't supposed to touch. "Because you don't pretend," he said. "Everyone else is noise. You're just… silence."
She looked away, heart stammering. "You make it sound like I'm lonely."
"You are," he said, stepping closer. "So am I."
The kiss wasn't rushed.
It was the kind of kiss that started like a secret—soft, unsure, reverent. His lips brushed hers, hesitant at first, like he was asking a question with his mouth. Her answer came slow, with a trembling breath. She let him in.
For one stolen moment, everything faded: the weight of Samuel, the noise of doubt, even her own name.
Just breath. Just warmth. Just him.
She didn't sleep until 2:17 a.m.
She lay in the dark, fingers tracing the ghost of his mouth on hers. Her phone lit up once—Samuel's name. She didn't answer.
She told herself she should feel guilty.
She didn't.
And she hated that.
The sun rose like an apology she didn't ask for. Hazel stirred under cotton sheets, her body still humming. She reached for her phone out of habit but found herself smiling instead.
That was the worst part—waking up with joy she didn't earn.
Samuel was in the shower, singing under his breath. Familiar. Safe.
Hazel stared at the ceiling.
Her lips still tingled.
She didn't know what to call what she felt. It wasn't love. Not yet.
But it was coming for her, quiet and certain—like the calm before a storm that would swallow everything.