Chapter 5 – After the Past
Chapter 5 – After the Past
They returned to the city just after sunset.
The sky was painted in soft tangerine hues, the city lights beginning to flicker awake. Nadira sat quietly in the passenger seat of Reyhan’s Range Rover, her fingers curled around her seatbelt, mind spinning faster than the traffic they weaved through.
Neither of them had spoken much since leaving the orphanage. The silence wasn’t awkward—but heavy. Full. Like pages yet to be turned.
Reyhan drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on his thigh, eyes fixed on the road. But his mind was on her.
She remembered him.
Not just vaguely. Not in the way people remembered a childhood neighbor or a teacher. She remembered him as he was—reserved, sharp-eyed, stubborn, and terrified of affection.
And he… had never been remembered by anyone that way before.
---
8:11 p.m. – Reyhan’s Penthouse
He parked at the private basement of his residence and stepped out. Nadira opened her door halfway, confused.
“This isn’t my building,” she said.
“You’re not going home yet.”
Her brow rose. “Excuse me?”
“You haven’t eaten. And I don’t like owing people.”
She crossed her arms. “You’re feeding me out of obligation?”
His lips curled. “Would you prefer I say it’s a date?”
“Would you prefer I slap you?”
He chuckled, stepping into the elevator. “Then dinner it is. No obligations. No slapping.”
She hesitated for a beat too long, then followed.
---
His penthouse was exactly what she expected: minimalistic, modern, cold. But beautiful. It smelled like expensive wood and expensive loneliness.
“Sit wherever,” he said, removing his blazer and rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. “I’ll fix something quick.”
She blinked. “You cook?”
“I control what I eat,” he replied without turning around. “Cooking is a science. If you follow the formula, you get the result. I like formulas.”
She sat at the kitchen island, watching as he moved around with ease—olive oil, garlic, pasta, something in a cast iron pan. Quiet competence.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in sleeves that aren’t tailored to your wrist,” she said.
He glanced at her. “And I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without a clipboard.”
She smirked. “Fair.”
There was a pause, a comfortable one.
Then, softly: “Do you ever miss it?”
He didn’t need to ask what she meant.
“The orphanage?” he asked. “Sometimes. Not because it was good—but because it was simple. You either had something or you didn’t. You either mattered or you didn’t.”
“You always mattered,” she said quietly.
His hands paused briefly at the stove.
“I didn’t know that back then,” he said, stirring the pasta again. “You did that. You made me feel real.”
Nadira stared at the marble counter. Her heart was too loud in her chest.
Reyhan set two bowls in front of them—creamy garlic pasta with grilled chicken, garnished with rosemary. Of course, even his impromptu meals looked like they belonged in a five-star restaurant.
They ate mostly in silence. But the energy between them had shifted—softer, warmer, slightly more dangerous.
Halfway through the meal, Reyhan set his fork down and leaned forward slightly.
“I don’t remember much from childhood,” he said. “But I remember the way you looked at me. Like I wasn’t broken.”
She set her fork down too. “You weren’t. You just didn’t know how to be seen.”
Their eyes locked.
A breath passed.
Another.
“You’re doing it again,” he murmured.
“What?”
“Looking at me like that.”
She swallowed. “And how am I looking at you, Mr. Azhari?”
“Like you still see me.”
Silence bloomed between them again—but this time it carried something more volatile than memory.
Desire.
Not loud, not obvious—but present. Subtle. Alive.
“I should go,” Nadira said suddenly, standing.
Reyhan stood too, following her to the door. “I’ll drive you.”
“I’ll take a cab.”
“I don’t let people I care about take cabs at night.”
She froze. Slowly turned.
“You care?”
His voice was steady, but his gaze was unsure. That was new. That was rare.
“I don’t know how much yet,” he said. “But it’s not nothing.”
That silenced her.
He stepped closer—not touching, just near enough that she could feel the pull of his presence.
“I’ve spent my whole life being untouchable,” he said softly. “But with you… I don’t feel like I have to be.”
Her breath caught.
“Reyhan…”
“I won’t rush you,” he said. “I won’t blur the lines unless you let me.”
His hand came up, slowly, carefully—fingertips brushing a stray strand of hair from her cheek.
It was the softest thing he’d ever done.
And it nearly unraveled her.
She reached up, her hand covering his wrist—not pulling away, not pulling him closer. Just anchoring him there.
“I don’t want to be one of your exceptions,” she said, voice trembling. “I don’t want to be a moment. I need to know I’m not just… nostalgia.”
He stepped even closer.
“You were never just anything, Nadira.”
The air thickened.
But before the distance could fully collapse, her phone buzzed loudly between them.
She flinched. Stepped back. Reality returned like cold air.
“I need to go,” she said again—this time firmer.
He nodded once, jaw tight. “I’ll call the driver.”
---
Later That Night – Nadira’s Apartment
She sat on the edge of her bed, still in her blazer, staring at the wall.
Every defense she had carefully built was starting to crack.
He saw her.
He remembered her.
And worse—he made her want to be remembered by him all over again.
Not as the girl with crooked glasses and a candy wrapper in her hand.
But as the woman who could ruin his walls.
And possibly… lose her own in the process.
To be continued....