Chapter 7: "When the past whispered"

Cullen's POV – 

 Something didn’t sit right with me. 

I couldn't explain it, but the tension in my chest had been building all night. 

Maybe it was the way everything happened too fast—or maybe it was her.

She lay there, fast asleep on the makeshift bed, bathed in the faint glow of the lamp. Even in slumber, there was a kind of quiet sadness drawn across her features. A soft crease between her brows. Her lips slightly parted like she was holding back a breath.

I stood still for a moment, watching her. Something about her made the air feel heavier. 

Familiar, almost. And that unsettled me more than I wanted to admit.

I stepped closer, crouched beside her, and gently said, “Hey. You have to eat.”

Her eyes fluttered open slowly, adjusting to the light before they locked on mine. She didn’t speak at first. Just blinked, like she wasn’t sure where she was—or who I was. 

Then she sat up, rubbing her arms. Vulnerability clung to her like second skin.

“I… I don’t know how to pay you back,” she whispered. “But I will.” 

She lowered her gaze, her fingers fidgeting in her lap. 

“Thank you,” she added, voice soft like a sigh.

I nodded wordlessly. I couldn’t say much. 

Not when I didn’t even know what I was feeling.

She took a few bites, quiet and careful. Then, her eyes lifted toward me again.

“How about you?” she offered, nudging the food gently my way.

“I’m fine,” I replied, too quickly.

But of course, my stomach betrayed me.

A loud growl broke the silence, and her eyes widened in surprise—then a smile tugged at her lips. It was small, but it lit something in me I hadn’t felt in years.

“Here,” she said. “Please eat with me.”

I hesitated, then finally nodded and sat beside her. Our knees nearly touched. I tried not to think about it, but the electricity in the air was impossible to ignore.

We ate quietly, but the silence wasn’t empty. 

It buzzed with unsaid thoughts and something fragile… like a thread stretched between two people on the verge of something they didn’t yet understand.

After finishing, I stood to gather the dishes.

“I’ll clean up—” I began.

But she stood, too. “Let me. You’ve already done enough.”

She reached for the plate just as I did. 

Our hands touched.

I froze.

Her warmth seeped into my skin, and for a second, I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even breathe.

It had been so long since someone touched me like that—casual, gentle, unguarded. It felt like something cracked open inside me.

I let go of the plate and stepped back quickly.

“I’ll rinse off,” I said stiffly, already heading toward the bathroom.

The door shut behind me with a soft click. 

I gripped the edge of the sink, staring at my reflection.

What was happening to me?

I splashed cold water on my face, again and again. 

But it didn’t help. Not when her touch still lingered on my skin. Not when the silence between us said more than words ever could.

It was past three a.m., and the night had grown colder. 

But somehow, I felt like I was burning from the inside out.

PAIGE’S POV:

      I was caught in another bad dream when a familiar voice gently pulled me back to reality.

“You have to eat,” he said, his voice low and dark—yet oddly comforting.

Even with the cold air that always seemed to cling to him, his presence brought warmth to the room. Safety. I watched from where I lay as he carefully prepared the food, each movement calm and precise. I wanted to help, to at least sit up and speak properly, but my body stayed glued to the mattress, too weak to move, too drawn to the quiet comfort he brought.

So I listened. I followed his voice. I began to eat, bite by bite.

He didn’t join me. He just sat there in silence, watching. I could feel his gaze—not heavy, just... present. I glanced up and noticed he hadn’t touched any food.

“You’re not eating,” I mumbled, suddenly feeling shy. “You should.”

He shook his head lightly. But then—his stomach betrayed him with a low growl.

We both froze.

A tiny smile tugged at my lips, and for the first time, I saw him hesitate. Embarrassed. That made him feel more human to me, more real. Without thinking, I pushed the plate a little toward him.

“Please,” I said softly. “You saved me twice... Let me at least share this with you.”

He looked at me for a long second, something unreadable in his eyes. Then, without a word, he picked up the spoon and began to eat in silence. The moment felt strangely intimate, like something sacred was being exchanged through the quiet.

After we finished, he reached for the dishes.

I sat up quickly. “Wait—let me. You’ve done enough already.”

Our hands collided over the plates.

Just a brief touch. But it was enough.

A shock of something—warm and electric—ran up my spine. His fingers were cold, deathly cold. But instead of pulling away, I lingered for a second longer than necessary. It didn’t feel wrong. It felt... familiar.

He pulled his hand back first, his expression unreadable. Without another word, he stood and walked out, almost as if fleeing.

And just like that, he was gone again.

I stayed frozen for a moment, staring at the doorway. He was always there when I needed him, then gone before I could ask why. I didn’t even know his name. Yet he took care of me. Again and again.

A part of me whispered: You’re not a burden. 

But the louder part said: He’s tired. And I’ve been nothing but a weight.

I bit my lip, more determined than ever.

Tomorrow, I’d wake up early. I’d cook him breakfast. Something warm. Something to say thank you.

After cleaning the table, I crawled back into bed. The clock read 4:03 a.m.

Just two hours of sleep, I told myself. Enough to make it happen.

As I pulled the blanket over me, a small smile found its way to my lips.

For the first time in days, I closed my eyes with a full belly—and a full heart.

CULLEN’S POV

  My sleep was restless. My body twisted and turned, weighed down by a heaviness I couldn't shake. When I finally opened my eyes, I felt more tired than when I’d closed them. But then... I heard something—soft clattering, the faint sound of movement from the kitchen.

Wait.

It all came rushing back.

“Shit,” I muttered under my breath. “I brought a woman home.”

I ran a hand through my messy hair, disbelief creeping in. What the hell was I thinking? I wasn’t the type to let strangers into my space—especially not since... well, not since my mother died.

My mind spiraled. Should I go out there? What if I made her uncomfortable? What if she regrets staying? I’ve never had anyone stay here. Not in years.

I stood by the window, pretending to check the weather but really just stalling. It was 8:30 a.m. I had no idea how long I’d been standing there, staring into nothing, lost in my own head. Eventually, I dragged myself toward the shower.

Since when does Cullen shower this early? I scoffed at myself but brushed off the thought.

After the water hit my skin, I felt clearer. I threw on a clean black V-neck shirt and dark pants—simple, but they clung to my frame just right. I took a deep breath, trying to calm the anxiety that had crept into my chest, and made my way toward the sound.

She was there.

Standing in the middle of my kitchen like she belonged, wearing a loose white shirt and denim shorts. Her long brown hair cascaded down her back, soft and tousled. The morning light streamed in through the window and kissed her delicate skin. She moved gently, quietly—like the kind of peace I hadn’t known in years.

I stared.

I didn't mean to—but I did.

And then she noticed.

“Oh—you’re awake,” she said brightly, her voice a warm burst of sunlight in my otherwise cold space.

She looked so different from the girl I found at the bar—so alive.

“I wanted to cook something nice,” she said, scratching the back of her head, clearly flustered. “But... there’s only bread and eggs.”

I crossed my arms. “It’s fine. I don’t eat breakfast.”

The mood shifted instantly. Her face fell.

Why did that bother me?

“Oh. I—I didn’t know,” she whispered, looking down. Her hands fidgeted nervously.

I watched her for a second, guilt creeping in for no good reason.

I sighed and walked to the table, sitting down. “But I can eat today. No point wasting food.”

She perked up. Her eyes lit with surprise, and she immediately set the table, moving with quiet energy. She worked in the kitchen like she’d done it a hundred times.

“Black coffee?” she asked, her voice soft.

I nodded silently.

A few minutes later, she joined me, sitting across the table. We ate in silence. Again. But it wasn’t heavy—it was... comforting. Like something old, something I’d forgotten.

She smiled at me—gentle, sincere.

“By the way... thank you,” she said.

I gave a small nod, words stuck somewhere between my chest and throat. Why couldn’t I speak when it came to her?

It wasn’t just breakfast. It felt like home. Something I hadn’t felt in a very long time.

Then her voice broke the quiet again.

“Uhm...”

I looked up.

“Can I stay here?” she asked suddenly, locking eyes with me. “Just for a while.”

I blinked. What is she doing?

“I know it’s bold. But I... I don’t really have a choice right now,” she added quickly. “I’ll do all the housework, I’ll find a job soon. I’ll pay you back. I promise. Just—please.”

Her voice cracked.

I kept my face calm, but inside, I was a mess. Cullen, breathe. Stay calm. Don’t let her see the storm in your chest.

She took a breath—deep and shaky. Her eyes filled with tears she tried hard to hide.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m being too pushy. I understand if you say no. I mean—what do you even get from this?”

She was unraveling. Her fingers trembled. She was doing her best to hold herself together, and I just sat there—silent. Frozen. My heart pounded in my ears.

Say something, Cullen.

Finally, I managed to mutter, “Okay.”

She blinked at me, wide-eyed.

“Really?” she gasped. “I can stay here?”

I gave a small nod.

Without thinking, she rushed over and wrapped her arms around me from behind.

I stiffened. My chest tightened. Her warmth against my back was almost unbearable.

What is she doing? This is dangerous.

My heart thundered in my chest.

“Thank you,” she whispered, holding on.

I must’ve tensed, because she let go and stepped around to face me. Her smile was soft—radiant.

“I promise... I won’t give you a headache,” she said with a playful spark in her eye.

Too late, I thought to myself. You already did.

But I didn’t say that aloud. I just watched her, silently, as an unexplainable joy crept up inside me.

I pushed the chair back and stood up from the table, the quiet scrape of wood against the floor breaking the stillness.

“After you’re done with the dishes,” I said, voice low and steady, “let’s go out for a bit. Do some shopping.”

It came out casually, but even I could feel the shift in the air.

I glanced her way, expecting her to be busy at the sink—but to my surprise, she was already turned toward me, eyes wide and beaming, like she’d been waiting for me to say something.

She wasn’t just smiling. She was glowing.

“Yes, sir,” she replied with a cheerful salute, her voice light and playful.

I let out a short breath I didn’t realize I was holding, the corner of my mouth tugging ever so slightly.

She turned back to the dishes with renewed energy, and I stood there for a second longer, quietly watching.

This—whatever it was—was new to me. But it didn’t feel forced.

It felt like the beginning of something I didn’t know I needed.

Her voice, her presence—it stirred something deep, like a memory long buried.

Familiar.

Like a soft whisper from a past I didn’t know I had.